Once, caught by their blushes, the light bird flew round, Oft on their ruby lips leaving love's wound;

But now he passes them, ah! too knowing,

To taste wither'd cherries, when fresh may be found.

Old Time thus fleetly his course is running;

If bards were not moral, how maids would go wrong! And thus thy beauties, now sunn'd and sunning,

Would wither if left on the rose-tree too long. Then love while thouʼrt able—e'en I should be glad So sweetly to save thee from ruin so sad;

But oh! delay not—we bards are too cunning To sigh for old beauties, when young may be had.

Oh! soon return.

The white sail caught the ev'ning ray,
The wave beneath us seem'd to burn,
When all my weeping love could say,

Was, "Soon return! Oh! soon return!"
Through many a clime our ship was driv'n,
O'er many a billow rudely thrown,
Now chill'd beneath a northern heav'n,
Now sunn'd by summer's zone;
Yet still, where'er our course we lay,

When ev'ning bid the west wave burn,

I thought I heard her faintly say,

Oh! soon return!-Oh! soon return!

If ever yet my bosom found.

Its thoughts one moment turn'd from thee, "Twas when the combat rag'd around,

And brave men look'd to me.

But though, mid battle's wild alarm,
Love's gentle pow'r might not appear,
He gave to glory's brow the charm,
Which made e'en danger dear.
And then, when vict'ry's calm came o'er
The hearts where rage had ceas'd to burn,
I heard that farewell voice once more,
"Oh! soon return!-Oh! soon return!

Oh yes! so well.

Oh yes! so well, so tenderly,

Thou'rt lov'd, ador'd by me; Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,

Were worthless without thee:

Though, brimm'd with blisses pure and rare,

Life's cup before me lay,

Unless thy love were mingled there,

I'd spurn the draught away,
Oh yes! so well, etc.

Without thy smile, how joylessly

All glory's meeds I see!

And even the wreath of victory

Must owe its bloom to thee,

Those worlds for which the conqu❜ror sighs,

For me have now no charms;

My only world's thy radiant eyes,

My throne those circling arms!
Oh yes! so well, etc.

Oh yes! when the bloom.

Oh yes! when the bloom of young boyhood is o'er,
He'll turn unto friendship that feels no decay;
And though time may take from him the wings he once

wore,

The charms that remain will be bright as before, And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away.

Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, That Friendship our last happy moments will crown; Like the shadows of morning, love lessens away, While friendship, like those at the closing of day, Will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes down,

One dear smile.

Couldst thou look as dear as when

First I sigh'd for thee;

Couldst thou make me feel again
Ev'ry wish I breath'd thee then,

Oh! how blissful life would be!

Hopes, that now beguiling leave me,
Joys, that lie in slumber cold-

All would wake, couldst thou but give me
One dear smile, like those of old.

Oh! there's nothing left to us now,
But to mourn the past;
Vain was ev'ry ardent vow,
Never yet did Heav'n allow

Love so warm, so wild to last.
Not e'en hope could now deceive me-
Life itself looks dark and cold:

Oh! thou never more canst give me
One dear smile, like those of old.

Poh, Dermot! go 'long with your goster.

Poh, Dermot! go along with your goster,
You might as well pray at a jig,
Or teach an old cow pater noster,
Or whistle Moll Row to a pig!

Arrah, child! do you think I'm a blockhead,
Or not the right son of my mother,

To put nothing at all in one pocket,
And not half so much in the other?
Poh, Dermot! etc.

Any thing else I can do for you,
Keadh mille faltha, and welcome,

Put up an ave or two for you,

Fear'd that you'd ever to hell come.

If you confess you're a rogue,

I will turn a deaf ear, and not care for't; Bid you put pease in your brogue,

And just tip you a hint to go barefoot,
Then get along with, etc.

If you've the whiskey in play.

To oblige you, I'll come take a smack of it; Stay with you all night and day,

Ay, and twenty four hours to the back of it. Oh! whiskey's a papist, God save it! The beads are upon it completely; But I think, before ever we'd leave it, We'd make it a heretic neatly. Then get along with, etc.

If you're afear'd of a Banshee,

Oh Leprochauns are not too civil, dear, Let Father Luke show his paunch, he Will frighten them all to the devil, dear. It's I can hunt them like ferrets,

gra;

And lay them without any fear,
But for whiskey, and that sort of spirits,

Why, them-I would rather lay here, gra.
Then get along with, &c.

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