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"Hail, star of my isle!" said the spirit, all sparkling With beams, such as break from her own dewy skies; "Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling,

I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. For, tho' heroes I've number'd, unblest was their lot, And unhallow'd they sleep in the crossways of fame; But, oh! there is not

One dishonouring blot

On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's name!

"And still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,

The grandest, the purest e'en thou hast yet known; Tho' proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,

Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood, Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame,-And bright o'er the flood

Of her tears and her blood

Let the rainbow of hope be her Wellington's name!"

The time I've lost in wooing.

Air-Peas upon a Trencher.

The time I've lost in wooing,

In watching and pursuing

The light that lies

In woman's eyes,

Has been my heart's undoing.

Though wisdom oft has sought me, I scorn'd the love she brought me ; My only books

Were woman's looks,

And Folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile when beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him the sprite,48
Whom maids by night

Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, beauty won me,
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray

Was turn'd away,

O! winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?

And is my proud heart growing

Too cold or wise

For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing?

No-vain, alas! th' endeavour
From bonds so sweet to sever;-
Poor wisdom's chance

Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever!

Oh! where's the slave.

Air-Sios agus sios liom.

Oh! where's the slave, so lowly,
Condemn'd to chains unholy,

Who, could he burst

His bonds at first,

Would pine beneath them slowly? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, Would wait till time decay'd it, When thus its wing

At once may spring

To the throne of Him who made it? Farewell, Erin! farewell all, Who live to weep our fall!

Less dear the laurel growing,
Alive, untouch'd and blowing,
Than that, whose braid
Is pluck'd to shade

The brows with victory glowing!
We tread the land that bore us,
Our green flag glitters o'er us,
The friends we've tried

Are by our side,

And the foe we hate before us!
Farewell, Erin! farewell all,
Who live to weep our fall!

Come, rest in this bosom.

Air-Lough Sheeling.

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer!
Tho' the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last !

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Thro' joy and thro' torments, thro' glory and shame?
I know not, I ask not if guilt's in that heart;
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art!

Thou hast call'd me thy angel, in moments of bliss, Still thy angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this,Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too!

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'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead, When man, from the slumber of ages awaking,

Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray ere it fled!

'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning, But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning,

And, darkest of all, hapless Erin! o'er thee.

For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting Around thee, thro' all the gross clouds of the world; When Truth from her fetters indignantly starting,

At once, like a sun-burst, her banner unfurl'd, 49 Oh, never shall earth see a moment so splendid! Then, then had one hymn of deliverance blended The tongues of all nations, how sweet had ascended The first note of liberty, Erin! from thee.

But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing!
And shame on the light race, unworthy its good,
Who, at death's reeking altar, like furies caressing
The young hope of freedom, baptiz'd it in blood!
Then vanish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision,
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision,
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian,
As first it arose, my lost Erin! on thee,

I saw from the beach.

Air-Miss Molly.

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;

I came when the sun o'er that beach was decliningThe bark was still there, but the waters were gone!

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