I wish I was by that dim lake.

Air-I wish I was on yonder hill.

I wish I was by that dim lake

Where sinful souls their farewell take
Of this vain world and half-way lie
In death's cold shadows ere they die.
There, there, far from thee,

Deceitful world, my home should be-
Where, come what might of gloom and pain,
False hope should ne'er deceive again!

The lifeless sky, the mournful sound
Of unseen waters, falling round-
The dry leaves quiv'ring o'er my head,
Like man unquiet e'en when dead:
These-ay-these should wean
My soul from life's deluding scene,
And turn each thought each wish I have,
Like willows, downwards tow'rds the grave.

As they, who to their couch at night
Would welcome sleep, first quench the light,
So must the hopes, that keep this breast
Awake, be quench'd ere it can rest;
Cold, cold, my heart must grow,

Unchang'd by either joy or wo,

Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown Within their current turns to stone.

She sung of love.

Air-The Munster man.

She sung of love-while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,

As if to feed with their soft fire

The soul within that trembling shell. The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, And play'd around those lips, that sung And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, If love could lend their leaves a tongue.

But soon the west no longer burn'd,
Each rosy ray from heav'n withdrew ;
And, when to gaze again I turn'd,

The minstrel's form seem'd fading too.
As if her light and heav'n's were one,
The glory all had left that frame;
And from her glimmering lips the tone,
As from a parting spirit, came.

Who ever lov'd, but had the thought

That he and all he lov'd must part? Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught That fading image to my heart— And cried, "Oh, Love! is this thy doom? Oh light of youth's resplendent day! Must

ye then lose your golden bloom, And thus, like sunshine, die away?"

Sing-sing-music was given.

Air-The humours of Ballamaguiry, or the old Langolee.

Sing-sing-music was given,

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks,

But Love from the lips his true archery wings; And she, who but feathers the dart, when she speaks, At once sends it home to the heart when she sings. Then, sing-sing, &c.

When Love, rock'd by his mother,

Lay sleeping, as calm as slumber could make him, "Hush, hush," said Venus, "no other Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake him." Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while,

Till faint from his lip a soft melody broke, And, Venus, enchanted, look'd on with a smile, While Love to his own sweet singing awoke! Then, sing-sing, &c.

The East Indian.

Air-Mozart.

Come May, with all thy flowers,
Thy sweetly scented thorn,
Thy cooling ev'ning showers,
Thy fragrant breath at morn.

When May-flies haunt the willow,
When May-buds tempt the bee,

Then o'er the shining billow
My love will come to me.

From eastern isles she's winging, Through wat'ry wilds her way, And on her cheek is bringing, The bright sun's orient ray;

Oh! come and court her hither
Ye breezes mild and warm,
One winter's gale would wither
So soft so pure a form.

The fields where she was straying, Are blest with endless light,

With zephyrs always playing,

Through gardens always bright;

Then now, oh May! be sweeter

Than e'er thou'st been before, Let sighs from roses meet her When she comes near our shore.

12*