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GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.

Go where glory waits thee,
But, while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,

Oh! then remember me!

When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,
Oh! thus remember me.

Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its ling'ring roses,

Once so lov'd by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,
Oh! then remember me.

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,

Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I us'd to sing thee,--

Oh! then remember me.

OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.

Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
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.

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,

Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resign'd?

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;

For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee, were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;

In my last humble prayer, to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live

The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give

Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

In the following song, mark-how strangely beautiful and weirdlike is the flow of the uncommon measure! It is perfect, but requires the aid of the music fully to interpret and evolve the very peculiar rhythm:

AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT.

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we lov'd, when life shone warm in thine eye,
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear!
When our voices commingling breath'd, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,
I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of
Souls,

Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

OH THE SHAMROCK,

Through Erin's Isle,
To sport awhile,

As Love and Valour wander'd,
With Wit, the sprite,

Whose quiver bright

A thousand arrows squander'd.

Where'er they pass,

A triple grass

Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,

As softly green

As emeralds seen

Through purest crystal gleaming.

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf,

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

Says Valour, "See,

They spring for me,

Those leafy gems of morning!"-–

Says Love, "No, no,

For me they grow,

My fragrant path adorning."

But Wit perceives

The triple leaves,
And cries, "Oh! do not sever
A type, that blends

Three godlike friends,

Love, Valour, Wit, for ever!"

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

So firmly fond

May last the bond

They wove that morn together,
And ne'er may fall

One drop of gall

On Wit's celestial feather.

May Love, as twine

His flowers divine,

Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ;

May Valour ne'er

His standard rear

Against the cause of Freedom!

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,
How sweet to rove

Through Morna's grove,

When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake!-the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,

And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days,

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star,

More glorious far,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH
TARA'S HALLS.

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,

As if that soul were fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tara swells;

The chord alone, that breaks at night,

Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,

The only throb she gives,

Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;

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