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WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.
AIR.-The Fox's Sleep.
When he who adores thee has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say, wilt thou wilt thou 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 ;
Thy name shall be mingled with mine!
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.
Though icy cold by day it ran,
To burn when night was near :
Oh! stay-Oh! stay.
As those that sparkle here!
OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS
AIR.-John O'Reilly the Active.
Oi! think not my spirits are always as light,
And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now; Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
re No-life is a waste of wearisome hours,
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns ! But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile ;
May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here, Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.
The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows !
If it were not with friendship and love intertwined ; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my
mind! But they who have loved the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest,
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived.
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine, That the sun shine of love may illumine our youth,
And the moon-light of friendship console our decline.