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AIR.–St. Patrick's Day:

I. THOUGH dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget

them, And smile through our tears, like a sun-beam in

showers ; There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, More form’d to be grateful and bless'd than ours!

But, just when the chain

Has ceased to pain, And hope has enwreathed it round with flowers,

There comes a new link

Our spirit to sinkOh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles,

Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay; But, though 'twere the last little spark in our souls,

We must light it up now on our Prince's Day.

* This song was written for a fête in honour of the Prince of Wales's Birth-Day, given by my friend, Major Bryan, at his seat in the county of Kilkenny.


Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal!

Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are

true ;

And the tribute most high to a head that is royal,
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too.

While cowards who blight

Your fame, your right,
Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array,

The Standard of Green
In front would be seen-

faith! were you summon'd this minute, You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, And show what the arm of old ERIN has in it,

When roused by the foe, on her Prince's Day.

Oh! my

life on your

He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded

In hearts which have suffer'd too much to forget ; And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment rewarded, And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet!

The gem may be broke
By many a stroke,


But nothing can cloud its native ray;

Each fragment will cast

A light, to the last! And thus, Erin, my country! though broken thou

art, There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will decay; A spirit which beams through each suffering part,

And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's Day!


AIR.The Song of Sorrow.


WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past;

Your dreams of pride are o'er ;
The fatal chain is round you cast,

And you are men no more!
In vain the hero's heart hath bled;

The sage's tongue hath warn’d in vain ;-
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,

It never lights again!

Weep on-perhaps in after days

They'll learn to love your name ;
When many a deed shall wake in praise

That now must sleep in blame ! And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,

Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wond'ring ask, how hands so vile

Could conquer hearts so brave.

III. “ 'Twas fate,” they'll say,

" a wayward fate 66 Your web of discord wove; “ And, while your tyrants join’d in hate,

You never join'd in love! “ But hearts fell off that ought to twine,

And man profaned what God hath given, • Till some were heard to curse the shrine

66 Where others knelt to Heaven!”


AIR.—Nora Creina.

1. Lesbia hath a beaming eye,

But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they, aim at no one dreameth! Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon

My Nora's lid, that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light, surprises !

Oh, my Nora CREINA, dear!'
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina !

Beauty lies

In many eyes,
But love in yours, my Nora Creina!

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LESBIA wears a robe of gold,

But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of Beauty's mould Presumes to stay where Nature placed it!

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