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While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died !
Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain!
To find that they fell there in vain!
ERIN ! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN
Shining through sorrow's stream,
Weep while they rise !
they might be allowed to fight with the rest.-- 6. Let stakes (they said) be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by the side of a sound man.
9 66 Between seven and eight hundred wounded men (adds O'Halloran), pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops :-never was such another sight exhibited."--HISTORY of IRELAND, Book 12, Chap. I.
Exis! thy silent tear nerer shall cease,
Till, like the rainbow's light,
One arch of peace!
OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.
AIR.-The Brown Maid.
OH! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade
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.
When he who adores thee has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
weep, when they darken the fame
Thy tears shall efface their decree;
I have been but too faithful to thee !
With thee were the dreams of my earliest love
Every thought of my reason was thine;
my last humble prayer to the Spirit above
The days of thy glory to see ;
Is the pride of thus dying for thee!
THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
As if that soul were fled.
So glory's thrill is o’er,
Now feel that pulse no more!
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
Its tale of ruin tells.
The only throb she gives
To show that still she lives !
FLY NOT YET.
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
And maids who love the moon! 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made; 'Tis then their soft attractions glowing Set the tides and goblets flowing.
Oh! stay-Oh! stay.--
To break its links so soon.
Fly not yet, the fount that play'd
* Solis Fons, near the temple of Ammon.