66 Raymond!"-"Oh hush, my Kathleen dear, But cast not, love, those looks of fear "My red roan steed's in yon Culdee grove, And thine, to-morrow will offer thee "But away, my love, away with me! To a land where the breeze from the orange bowers Like the light-wing'd dreams of his early hours Or his hope of a happier morrow. "And there, in some valley's loneliness, We'll live in the light of wedded bliss, Then thither with me, my Kathleen, fly! "Die, Saxon, now! "-At that fiend-like yell In vain does he doff the hood so white, Five murderous brands through his corslet bright SHANE DYMAS' DAUGHTER.-Continued. His last groan echoing through the grove, He dies, thy first and thy only love, Vain, vain, was the shield of that breast of snow! Through his Kathleen's heart the murderous blow Too deadly aimed, has slain him. The spirit fled with the red, red blood The blast of death has blighted the bud 'Tis morn;-in the deepest doubt and dread The gloomy hours are rolling; No sound save the requiem for the dead, "Tis dead of night-not a sound is heard, Save from the night-wind sighing; Or the mournful moan of the midnight bird, Who names the name of his murder'd child? Saw ye that cloud o'er the moonlight cast, "Tis the fire from Ardsaillach's willow'd height, Tower and temple falling; 'Tis the groan of death, and the cry of fright, From monks for mercy calling! SMIGGY MAGLOORAL. THERE was a man lived in the West, Arrah! he married a maid, she was none the best, CHORUS. And her name was Noral, Maggie Noral, Arrah! she goes to bed at eleven o'clock, She sat on grass till she caught the cramp, They built a tent out of her hoops, And they brought her to with some turtle soup. Now this morning she arose from her sweet repose, Arrah! she puts on her clothes, and it's out she goes, MAGGIE'S SECRET.-Continued. I sat by his mother, one midsummer day, Though my heart beat high with joy So, you see, that they needn't come wooing to me, For my heart-my heart is over the sea. WHERE THE GRASS GROWS GREEN. I'm Denny Blake, from the County Clare, CHORUS. I love my native country, Poor Pat is often painted With a ragged coat and hat; His heart and hospitality Has much to do with that. Let slanderers say what they will, They cannot call him mean; Sure a stranger's always welcome Where the grass grows green. He's foolish, but not vicious, His faults I won't defend; His purse to help the orphan, His life to serve a friend. He'll give without a murmur, So his follies try and screen; For there's noble hearts in Erin, Where the grass grows green. 'Tis true he has a weakness For a drop of something pure, Though his wit 'tis not too keen, For there's feeling hearts in Erin, Where the grass grows green. There's not a true-born Irishman, That sparkles on the sea. Struck one by one, Makes melody sweet, it is true, on the ear- All at once every string And, oh! there is harmony now that is glorious, In hues, tones, or hearts, on St. Patrick's Day. Let each Irish heart wear those emblems so true; Be fresh as the green, and be pure as the white, boys, Be bright as the orange, sincere as blue. I care not a jot Be your scarf white or not, If you love as a brother each child of the soil; I ask not your creed, If you'll stand in her need To the land of your birth in the hour of her dolours, FAIR was that eve, as if from earth away Passed, in the light of the eternal day, The pale and shadowy mountains in the dim A sea of light along the horizon's rim, Blue sky, and cloud, and grove, and hill, and glen, The form and face of man Beamed with unwonted beauty, as if then Yet heavy grief was on me, and I gazed Wreck of a ruin! lovelier, holier far, In lust and rapine, treachery and blood, Darkly they frown, where God's own altars stood, In hatred and in guilt. But to make thee, of loving hearts the love, Truth, peace, and piety together strove And thou wast theirs, and they within thee met, And did thy presence fill; And their sweet light, even while thine own is set, Hovers around thee still. "Tis not work of mind, or hand, or eye, Builder's or sculptor's skill, Thy sight, thy beauty, or thy majesty— Not these my bosom thrill. 'Tis that a glorious monument thou art, Of the true faith of old, When faith was one in all the nation's heart, Purer than purest gold. A light, when darkness on the nations dwelt, In Erin found a home The mind of Greece, the warm heart of the Celt, The bravery of Rome. But, O! the pearl, the gem, the glory of her youth, That shone upon her brow; She clung forever to the Chair of TruthClings to it now! THE ROCK OF CASHEL.-Continued. Love of my love, and temple of my God! How would I now clasp thee Close to my heart, and, even as thou wast trod, So with thee trodden be! O, for one hour a thousand years ago, THE MAID OF CASTLE CRAIGH. THREE times the flowers have faded since I left my native home, No maiden could e'er compare with the Maid of Castle Craigh. Her blooming cheek was like the rose, all blushing; and her eye To hear the chant, in deep and measured flow, But oh! it seem'd as cold to me, sweet Maid of Castle Craigh. To see of priests the long and white array, To see the Prince of Cashel o'er the rest, Their prelate and their king, I courted her a year and more, and sought to gain her love, That I had won thy gentle heart, dear Maid of Castle Craigh. But now my griefs are all at rest, the wars at length are o'er, But live in peace and joy, to bless each happy day, The sacred bread and chalice by him blest, With thee, my own, my only love, dear Maid of Castle Craigh. Earth's holiest offering. came, And never since that time DERMOT ASTORE. OH! Dermot Astore! between waking and sleeping Shall we wander no more in Killarney's green bow'rs, Oh! Dermot Astore! how this fond heart would flutter, Round thy torn altars burned the sacred And heard thine own voice in a soft whisper utter flame, Those words of endearment, "Mavourneen colleen!" SWEET KATHLEEN THE GIRL I ADORE. FAR away o'er the sea, there's a spot dear to me I left her one day for to roam far away, REFRAIN Sweet Kathleen my darling, I'll never forget, Oh my heart holds one hope, 'tis to see just once more Though long years have gone by, since I kissed her good-bye Still the tears on her face, in my dreams I can trace, |