When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming,
And smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twin'd us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us!

And, when in other climes we meet
Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flow'ry, mild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,
If Heav'n had but assign'd us

To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!

As trav'llers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing-
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

In the morning of life.

Air-The little Harvest Rose.

In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright beaming world of our own, And the light that surrounds us is all from within; Oh! 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time

We can love, as in hours of less transport we may; Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime, But affection is warmest when these fade away.

When we see the first charm of our youth pass us by, Like a leaf on the stream, that will never return; When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,

Now tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urq; Then, then is the moment affection can sway

With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew ; Love, nurs❜d among pleasures, is faithful as they, But the love born of sorrow, like sorrow is true!

In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about;
'Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies,
That call their full spirit of fragrancy out.

So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,
But 'tis only in grief true affection appears;-
To the magic of smiles it may first owe its birth,

But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears!

When cold in the earth.

Air-Limerick's Lamentation.51

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast lov'd,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be remov'd,
Weep o'er them in silence and close it again.
And oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far

From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam,
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star
That arose on his darkness, and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings that taught him true love to adoreTo feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame, From the idols he darkly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Thou cam'st like a soft golden calm o'er the sea: And, if happiness purely and glowingly smil'd

On his ev'ning horizon, the light was from thee.

And tho' sometimes the shade of past folly would rise, And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray, He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood soon vanish'd away. As the priests of the sun, when their altar grew dim, At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair,

So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there!

Remember thee.

Air-Castle Tirowen.

Remember thee! yes, while there's life in this heart, It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art,

More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and thy showers, Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow,
But oh! could I love thee more deeply than now?

No, thy chains as they torture thy blood as it runs, But make thee more painfully dear to thy sonsWhose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest, Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast!

Wreath the bowl.

Air-Noran Kista.

Wreath the bowl

With flow'rs of soul,

The brightest wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heav'n to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us!

Should love amid

The wreaths be hid

That joy, th' enchanter, brings us, No danger fear

While wine is near,

We'll drown him, if he stings us. Then, wreath the bowl

With flow'rs of soul,

The brightest wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rd heav'n to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us!

'Twas nectar fed

Of old, 'tis said,

Their Junos, Joves, Apollos;

And man may brew

His nectar too,

The rich receipt's as follows:

Take wine, like this,

Let looks of bliss

Around it well be blended,

Then bring wit's beam

To warm the stream,

And there's your nectar, splendid!

So, wreath the bowl, &c.

Say, why did Time

His glass sublime

Fill up with sands unsightly,