The wild notes he heard o'er the waters were those To which he had sung Erin's bondage and woes, And the breath of the bugle had wafted them o'er From Dinnis' green Isle to Glenà's wooded shore.

He listened-while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest
The lingering sounds on their way lov'd to rest;
And the echoes sung back from their full mountain
choir,

As if loth to let song so enchanting expire.

It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note that died here
Was again brought to life in some airier sphere,
Some heaven in those hills, where the soul of the strain
That had ceas'd upon earth, was awaking again.

Oh forgive, if, while listening to music, whose breath
Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against death,
He should feel a proud spirit within him proclaim,
"Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of fame;

"Even so, though thy memory should now die away, ""Twill be caught up again in some happier day; "And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, "Thro' the answering future, thy name and thy song!"

Fairest! put on a while.

Air--Cummilum.

Fairest! put on a while

These pinions of light I bring thee,
And o'er thy own green isle

In fancy let me wing thee.
Never did Ariel's plume,
At golden sunset, hover
Q'er such scenes of bloom,
As I shall waft thee over!

Fields, where the spring delays,
And fearlessly meets the ardour
Of the warm Summer's gaze,

With but her tears to guard her.
Rocks, through myrtle boughs
In grace majestic frowning-
Like some warrior's brows,

That love hath just been crowning.

Islets, so freshly fair,

That never hath bird come nigh them,

But from his course through air,

Hath been won downward by them-

Types, sweet maid, of thee,

Whose look, whose blush inviting, Never did Love yet see

From Heav'n, without alighting.

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,

And caves, where the diamond's sleeping,
Bright as the gems that lid

Of thine lets fall in weeping.
Glens, where Ocean comes,

To 'scape the wild wind's rancour,
And Harbours, worthiest homes,
Where freedom's sails could anchor.

Then if while scenes so grand,

So beautiful, shine before thee, Pride for thy own dear land

Should haply be stealing o'er thee,

Oh, let grief come first,

O'er pride itself victorious-

To think how man hath curst

What Heaven hath made so glorious!

Quick! we have but a second.

Air-Paddy Snap.

Quick! we have but a second,

Fill round the cup while you may ; For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, And we must pass away, away!

Grasp the pleasure that's flying,

For oh! not Orpheus' strain
Could keep sweet hours from dying,
Or charm them to life again-

Then quick! we have but a second, etc.

See the glass, how it flushes,

Like some young Hebe's lip,
And half meets thine, and blushes
That thou shouldst delay to sip.
Shame, oh shame unto thee,

If ever thou seest that day,

When a cup or lip shall woo thee,

And turn untouch'd away.

Then quick! we have but a second, etc.

And doth not a meeting like this.

Air-Unknown.

And doth not a meeting like this make amends
For all the long years I've been wand'ring away——
To see thus around me my youth's early friends,
As smiling and kind as in that happy day!
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine,
The snow-fall of time may be stealing--what then?
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine,

We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.

What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart,
In gazing on those we've been lost to so long!
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part,
Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng.
As letters some hand hath invisibly trac❜d,

When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So many a feeling that long seem'd effac'd,

The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light.

And thus, as in memory's bark, we shall glide
To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew,
Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide,
The wreck of full many a hope shining through-
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers,

That once made a garden of all the gay shore, Deceiv'd for a moment, we'll think them still ours, And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning once

more.

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most,
Is all we can have of the friends we hold dear;
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,

For want of some heart, that could echo it, near.
Oh, well may we hope, when this short life is gone,
To meet in some world of more permanent bliss,
For, a smile or a grasp of the hand hast'ning on,
Is all we enjoy of each other in this.