When thine eye reposes On its lingering roses, Once so loved by thee Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them Oh! then remember me. III. When, around thee dying Autumn leaves are lying, Oh! then remember me. To thy heart appealing, Draw one tear from thee; Strains I used to sing thee- WAR SONG. REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN AIR.-Molly Macalpin. I. REMEMBER the glories of BRIEN the brave, Though the days of the hero are o'er; * Brien Borombe, the great Monarch of Ireland, who was killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the 11th century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty-five engagements. Though lost to MONONIA* and cold in the grave, He returns to KINKORA † no more! That star of the field, which so often has pour'd But enough of its glory remains on each sword II. MONONIA! when nature embellish'd the tint No, Freedom! whose smile we shall never resign, That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, Than to sleep but a moment in chains! III. Forget not our wounded companions who stood S In the day of distress by our side; * Munster. The palace of Brien. This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais, the favourite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, Prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood, They stirr❜d not, but conquer'd and died! The sun that now blesses our arms with his light, Saw them fall upon OSSORY's plain !— Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, To find that they fell there in vain! ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN AIR.-Aileen Aroon. I. ERIN! the tear and the smile in thine eyes Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies! Saddening through pleasure's beam, "Let stakes they might be allowed to fight with the rest.- II. ERIN! thy silent tear never shall cease, Till, like the rainbow's light, Thy various tints unite, And form, in Heaven's sight, One arch of peace! OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. AIR.-The Brown Maid. I. OH! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, II. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. |