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Libr. Suckling 2-29-36 32548
CONTENTS OF VOL. IV.
IRISH MELODIES.-No. I.
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Go where glory waits thee
Remember the glories of Brien the brave
Erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes
Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade.
When he who adores thee has left but the name
The harp that once through Tara's halls
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour.
Oh! think not my spirits are always as light
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see
Rich and rare were the gems she wore.
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies
Take back the virgin page
When in death I shall calm recline
How oft has the Benshee cried
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We may roam through this world, like a child at a
Oh! weep for the hour.
Let Erin remember the days of old
Silent, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water
Come, send round the wine, and leave points of be-
lief
Sublime was the warning which Liberty spoke.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
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Like the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane 71
Drink to her, who long
Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers
While gazing on the moon's light.
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow
By the hope, within us springing.
Night closed around the conqueror's way
Oh! 'tis sweet to think, that, where'er we roam
Through grief and through danger
When through life unbless'd we rove
It is not the tear at this moment shed
'Tis believed that this harp, which I wake now
No. IV.
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Oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright
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Though dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them 101
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps 111
Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns.
Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin
What the bee is to the floweret
Here we dwell, in holiest bowers.
At the 'mid hour of night, when stars are weeping. 130
One bumper at parting!—though many
131
'Tis the last rose of summer
The young May-moon is beaming, love
The minstrel-boy to the war is gone
The valley lay smiling before me.
Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own
Farewell!-but whenever you welcome the hour
Oh! doubt me not-the season
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me
No. VI.
Come o'er the sea
Has sorrow thy young days shaded
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
When first I met thee, warm
and
young
While History's muse the memorial was keeping
The time I've lost in wooing
Where is the slave, so lowly
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Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer!
'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking. 164
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining 166
Fill the bumper fair!
Dear harp of my country! in darkness I found thee.
No. VII.
My gentle harp! once more I waken
As slow our ship her foamy track
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In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, 181
When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved 182
Remember thee! yes, while there's life in this heart.
Wreathe the bowl
Page
They may rail at this life-from the hour I began it.
193
Oh for the swords of former time!
195
No. VIII.
Ne'er ask the hour-what is it to us
Sail on,
Yes, sad one of Sion-if closely resembling
Drink of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Down in the valley come meet me to-night
Oh, ye dead! oh, ye dead! whom we know
Of all the fair months that round the sun
How sweet the answer Echo makes
Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers
sail on, thou fearless bark
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking
Shall the harp then be silent, when he who first gave 215
Oh, the sight entrancing.
NATIONAL AIRS.-No. I.
219
A temple to Friendship.-Spanish Air
Flow on, thou shining river.-Portuguese Air.
All that's bright must fade.-Indian Air
So warmly we met.-Hungarian Air .
Those evening bells.-AIR, The Bells of St. Peters-
burgh.
Should those fond hopes.-Portuguese Air
Reason, Folly, and Beauty.-Italian Air
Fare thee well, thou lovely one!-Sicilian Air.
Dost thou remember?-Portuguese Air
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Oh! come to me when daylight sets.-Venetian Air 238
Oft, in the stilly night.-Scotch Air
Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing.-Russian Air
My harp has one unchanging theme.-Swedish Air. 248
Oh! no-not e'en when first we loved.-Cashmerian
Air.
Peace be around thee!-Scotch Air
Common Sense and Genius.-French Air.
Then, fare thee well!-Old English Air .
Gaily sounds the castanet.-Maltese Air
Love is a hunter-boy.-Languedocian Air
Come, chase that starting tear away.-French Air. 257
Joys of youth, how fleeting!-Portuguese Air.
Hear me but once.-French Air
No. III.
258
ib.
When Love was a child.-Swedish Air
263
Say, what shall be our sport to-day?-Sicilian Air. 264
Bright be thy dreams!-Welch Air
Go, then-'tis vain.-Sicilian Air
266
The crystal hunters.-Swiss Air.
Row gently here.-Venetian Air.
Oh! the days of youth.-French Air.
When first that smile.-Venetian Air
Peace to the slumberers!-Catalonian Air
When thou shalt wander.-Sicilian Air
Who'll buy my love-knots?-Portuguese Air.
See, the dawn from Heaven.-Sung at Rome on
Christmas Eve
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276.
Nets and cages.-Swedish Air
When through the piazzetta.-Venetian Air
Go, now, and dream.-Sicilian Air
Take hence the bowl.-Neapolitan Air
Farewell, Theresa !-Venetian Air
How oft, when watching stars.-Savoyard Air
When the first summer bee.-German Air
Though 'tis all but a dream.-French Air
'Tis when the cup is smiling.-Italian Air