Even now, while calm he sleeps, IV. Fearless she had track'd his feet And when morning met his view, V. GLENDALOUGH! thy gloomy wave Round the Lake light music stole ; And her ghost was seen to glide, Smiling, o'er the fatal tide! SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. AIR.-Open the Door. I. SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, II. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Ah little they think, who delight in her strains, III. He had lived for his love, for his country he died, IV. Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the West, NAY, TELL ME NOT. AIR. Dennis, don't be threatening. I. NAY, tell me not, dear! that the goblet drowns Ne'er hath a beam Been lost in the stream That ever was shed from thy form or soul; The balm of thy sighs, The light of thine eyes, Still float on the surface and hallow my bowl! Then fancy not, dearest! that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me! Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee! II. They tell us that Love in his fairy bower He sprinkled the one with a rainbow's shower, Soon did the buds, That drank of the floods Distill❜d by the rainbow, decline and fade; While those which the tide Of ruby had dyed All blush'd into beauty, like thee, sweet maid! Then fancy not, dearest! that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me ; Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee. AVENGING AND BRIGHT. AIR.-Crooghan a Venee. I. AVENGING and bright fall the swift sword of ERIN * On him who the brave sons of USNA betray'd! * The words of this song were suggested by the very ancient Irish story, called "Deirdri, or the lamentable fate of the sons of Usnach," which has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by Mr. O'FLANAGAN (see vol. 1. of Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Dublin), and upon which it appears that the "Darthula" of Macpherson is founded. The treachery of Conor, King of Ulster, in putting to death the three sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against Ulster, which For every fond he hath waken'd a tear in, eye A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade. II. By the red cloud that hung over CoNOR's dark dwelling,* When ULAD's three champions lay sleeping in gore-† By the billows of war which, so often, high swelling, Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore !— III. We swear to revenge them!-no joy shall be tasted, The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed; terminated in the destruction of Eman. "This story (says Mr. Whatever may be thought of those sanguine claims to antiquity, which Mr. O'FLANAGAN and others advance for the literature of Ireland, it would be a very lasting reproach upon our nationality if the Gaelic researches of this gentleman did not meet with all the liberal encouragement which they merit. * “Oh Naisi! view the cloud that I here see in the sky! I see over Eman green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red." -Deirdri's Song. + Ulster. |