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FLY NOT YET.

Then let mem'ry bring thee

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Strains I used to sing thee;

Her purest of chrystal and brightest of green; Oh! then remember me.

'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill!

Oh no-it was something more exquisite still :Air-Planxty Kelly,

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,

near, When pleasure, like the midnight flower,

Who made ev'ry dear scene of enchantment more That scorns the eye of vulgar light,

dear; Begins to bloom for sons of night,

And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, And maids who love the moon!

When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade

Sweet Vale of Ovoca! how calm could I rest That beauty and the moon were made;

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, 'Tis then their soft attractions glowing

Where the storms which we feel in this cold world Set the tides and goblets flowing!

should cease, Oh! stay,---oh! stay,--

Andour hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace! Joy so seldom weaves a chain, Like this to-night, that oh! 'tis pain

EVELEEN'S BOWER. To break its links so soon.

on! WEEP FOR THE HOUR. Fly not yet! the fount that play'd,

AIR-Unknown. In times of old, through Ammon's shade,

Oh! weep for the hour, Though icy cold by day it ran,

When to Eveleen's bower Yet still, like sounds of mirth, began

The Lord of the Valley with false vows came. To burn when night was near;

The moon hid her light And thus should woman's heart and looks

From the heavens that night, At noon be cold as winter-brooks,

And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. Nor kindle till the night, returning,

The clouds past soon
Brings their genial hour for burning.

From the chaste cold moon,
Oh! stay,-oh! stay,

And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; When did morning ever break,

But none will see the day And find such beaming eyes awake

When the clouds shall pass away, As those that sparkle here!

Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.

The white snow lay

On the narrow path-way,
Air-The Summer is coming.

Where the Lord of the Valley cross'd over the moor; Rich and rare were the gems she wore,

And many a deep print And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;

On the white snow's tint But oh! her beauty was far beyond

Shew'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. Her sparkling gems and snow-white wand.

The next sun's ray “ Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,

Soon melted away “ So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?

Ev'ry trace on the path where the false lord came. “ Are Erin's sons so good or so cold

But there's a light above, “ As not to be tempted by womar nan or gold ?"

Which alone can remove “ Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm;

That stain upon the snow of Eveleen's fame. “No son of Erin will offer me harm: " For though they love woman and golden store, “ Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more!"

AIR-The Red Fox. On she went, and her maiden smile

Let Erin remember the days of old, In safety lighted her round the Green Isle;

Ere her faithless sons betrayed her, And bless'd for ever is she who relied

When Malachi wore the collar of gold
Upon Erin's honour, and Erin's pride!

Which he won from her proud invader;
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

When her kings with standard of unfurl'd

green

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger, THERE IS NOT IN THIS WIDE WORLD A VALLEY

Ere the emerald gem of the western world

Was set in the crown of a stranger. AIR-The Old Head of Denis. There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; When the clear cold eve's declining, Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart He sees the round towers of other days Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart! In the ware beneath bim shining!

RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE.

LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD.

SO SWEET.

AD

W

TE

A

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T

Thus shall memory often in dreams sublime

Has been my heart's undoing. Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;

Though wisdom oft has sought me, Thus sighing look through the waves of time

I scorn'd the lore she brought me; For the long-faded glories they cover!

My only books

Were woman's looks,
'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

And folly's all they've taught me.
Air-Groves of Blarney,
'Tis the last rose of summer,

Her smile when beauty granted,
Left blooming alone:

1 hung with gaze enchanted,
All her lovely companions

Like him the Sprite
Are faded and gone ;

Whom maids by night
No flower of her kindred,

Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
No rosebud is nigh,

Like him, too, beauty won me,

But while her eyes were on me,
To reflect back her blushes,

If once their ray
Or give sigh for sigh!

Was turn'd away,
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,

O! winds could uot outrun me.
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,

And are those follies going?

And is my proud heart growing
Go, sleep thou with them;

Too cold or wise
Thus kindly I scatter

For brilliant eyes
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden

Again to set it glowing?

No-vain, alas! th' endeavour
Lie scentless and dead.

From bonds so sweet to sever;-
So soon may I follow,

Poor wisdom's chance
When friendships decay,

Against a glance
And from love's shining circle

Is now as weak as ever!
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd,

oa! WHERE'S THE SLAVE!
And fond ones are flown,

AIR-Sios agus sios liom.
Oh! who would inbabit

Oh! where's the slave so lowly,
This bleak world alone?

Condemn'd to chains unholy,

Who, could he burst

His bonds at first,
Air-The Dandy 0!

Would pine beneath them slowly?
The young May moon is beaming, love,

What soul whose wrongs degrade it,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love;

Would wait till time decay'd it,
How sweet to rove

When thus its wing
Through Morna's grove,

At once may spring
While 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 TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.

Air-Peas upon a Trencher.
The time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing

The light that lies
In woman's eyes,

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

To the throne of Him who made it?

Farewell, Erin! farewell all

Who live to weep our fall!
Less dear the laurel.growing,
Alive, untouch'd, and blowing,

Than that, whose braid

Is pluck'd to shade
The brows with victory glowing!
We tread the land that bore us,
Our green flag glitters o'er us,

The friends we've tried

Are by our side,
And the foe we hate before us!

Farewell, Erin! farewell all
Who live to weep our fall!

WREATHE THE BOWL.

AIR-Noran Kitsu.
Wreathe the bowl

With flow'rs of soul,
The brightest wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight
Tow'rds heav'n to-night,

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And leave dull earth behind us!

OH, FOR THE SWORDS OF PORMER TIME'
Should Love amid

AIR-Name unknown.
The wreaths be hid

Oh, for the swords of former time!
That Joy th’ enchanter brings us,

Oh, for the men who bore them,
No danger fear

When, arm’d for right, they stood sublime,
While wine is near,

And tyrants crouch'd before them!
We'll drown him if he stings us.

When pure, yet ere courts began
Then wreathe the bowl

With honors to enslave him,
With flow'rs of soul,

The best honours worn by man
The brightest wit can find us;

Were those which virtue gave him.
We'll take a flight

Oh, for the swords of former time! &c.
Tow'rds heav'n to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us!

Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then!

Oh, for the pomp that crown'd them,
'Twas nectar fed

When hearts and hands of freeborn men
Of old, 'tis said,

Were all the ramparts round them!
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos,

When safe built on bosoms true,
And man may brew

The throne was but the centre,
His nectar too,

Round which love a circle drew,
The rich receipt's as follows:---

That treason durst not enter.
Take wine like this,

Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then! &c.
Let looks of bliss
Around it well be blended,

OH, BANQUET NOT.
Then bring wit's beam

AIR-Planxty Irwine.
To warm the stream,

Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers,
And there's your nectar, splendid !

Where youth resorts--abut come to me,
So, wreathe the bowl, &c.

For mine's a garden of faded flowers,

More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.
Say, why did Time

And there we shall have our feast of tears,
His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly,

And many a cup in silence pour--

Our guests the shades of former years,
When wine he knew

Our toasts to lips that bloom no more.
Runs brisker through,
And sparkles far more brightly.

There, while the myrtle's withering boughs
Oh, lend it us,

Their lifeless leaves around us shed,
And, smiling thus,

We'll brim the bowl to broken vows,
The glass in two we'd sever,

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead.
Make pleasure glide

Or, as some blighted laurel waves
In double tide,

Its branches o'er the dreary spot,
And fill both ends for ever!

We'll drink to those neglected graves
Then wreathe the bowl, &c.

Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot!

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ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814.

The vision then is past, That held the eyes of nations,

Swept in his own careering blast, That shook the earth's foundations!

No more throughout the air

Settles the burning glare,
That far and wide, metallic twilight, shone;

No more the bolts from south to north

Leap in their fiery passion forth: We look'd and saw the Wonder on his throne; We raised our eyes again, and lo, his place was gone!

Nor did the Shape give way To mightier spirits like him,

Nor did upon that final day Elder Corruption strike him.

The long-taught world no more

Those idle charms explore,
Nor call on evil to restore from ill;

But heav'n-ward things, that have their birth

And shed their early tears on earth,
Experience, Truth, and Conquest of the will,
These took the Troubler's place, and bade the

Plague be still.
Never did sweeter sound
From discord drop resolving,

Than struck the balanced world around
Once more set smooth revolving;

And princely visions rare
Went stepping through the air,
With frank eyes listening to the glassy spheres ;

The Eagles of the north were seen
Sailing the sunny Doves between;
The Lily whiten'd from its dust with tears;
And Hopes with lifted smiles, and holy-minded

Fears.

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The

THOUGHTS OF THE AVON,

On the 28th of September, 1817. It is the loveliest day that we have had This lovely month, sparkling, and full of cheer; The sun has a sharp eye, yet kind and glad; Colours are doubly bright: all things appear Strong outlined in the spacious atmosphere; And through the lofty air the white clouds go, As on their way to some celestial show. The banks of Avon must look well to-day; Autumn is there in all his glory and treasure ; The river must run bright, the ripples play Their crispest tunes to boats that rock at leisure; The ladies are abroad with cheeks of pleasure; And the rich orchards, in their sunniest robes, Are pouting thick with all their winy globes. And why must I be thinking of the pride Of distant bowers, as if I had no nest

And lo, how earth and sky,
As if the charm completing,

From winter's other tyranny
Revive and give us greeting.

There's not a joy of spring,

But's up upon the wing; The leaves put out their hands into the ray;

The bee, that rings the basking hour,

Comes for his kiss from flow'r to flow'r; Glad faces are abroad with crowding play, . And all creation keeps full-hearted holiday.

The soldier sheathes his sword,
The statesman breathes from thinking,

The freeman feels his hope restored,
When most his heart was shrinking.

To sing in here, though by the houses’ side?
As if I could not in a minute rest
In leafy fields, rural, and self-possest,
Having, on one side, Hampstead for my looks,
On t'other, London, with its wealth of books?
It is not that I envy autumn there,
Nor the sweet river, though my fields have done;
Nor yet that in its all-productive air
Was born Humanity's divinest son,

Shakspeare ;

nor yet,

moh nog--that here I miss

WRITTEN TO BE SET TO MUSIC BY VINCENT

NOVELLO.

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No; but it is that on this very day,

Its very hush and creeping And upon Shakspeare's stream, a little lower,

Seem wbispering us a smile:Where drunk with Delphic air, it comes away

Something divine and dim Dancing in perfume by the Peary Shore,

Seems going by one's ear,
Was born the lass that I love more and more; Like parting wings of Cherubim,
A fruit as fine as in the Hesperian store,

Who say, “ We've finished here."
Smooth, roundly smiling, noble to the core ;
An

eye for art; a nature, that of yore
Mothers and daughters, wives and sisters wore,

SONG.
When in the golden age one tune they bore ;
Marian,--who makes my heart and very rhymes
run o'er.

When lovely sounds about my ears

Like winds in Eden's tree-tops rise,
TO TLH-

And make me, though my spirit hears,

For every luxury close my eyes,
SIX YEARS OLD, DURING A SICKNESS.

Let none but friends be round about
Sleep breathes at last from out thee,

Who love the smoothing joy like me,
My little patient boy;

That so the charm be felt throughout,
And balmy rest about thee

And all be harmony.
Smooths off the day's annoy.
I sit me down, and think

And when we reach the close divine,
Of all thy winning ways;

Then let the hand of her I love
Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink,

Come with its gentle palm on mine
That I had less to praise.

As soft as snow or lighting dove;

And let, by stealth, that more than friend
Thy sidelong pillowed meekness,

Look sweetness in my opening eyes,
Thy thanks to all that aid,

For only so such dreams should end,
Thy heart, in pain and weakness,

Or wake in Paradise.
Of fancied faults afraid;

The little trembling hand
That wipes thy quiet tears,

TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON,
These, these are things that may

demand
Dread memories for years.

Dio ti dia, baron, ventura.-Pulci.
Sorrows I've had, severe ones,

Since you resolve, dear Byron, once again
I will not think of now;

To taste the far-eyed freedom of the main,
And calmly, midst my dear ones,

And as the coolness lessens in the breeze,
Have wasted with dry brow;

Strike for warm shores that bathe in classic seas,
But when thy fingers press

May all that hastens, pleases, and secures,
And pat my stooping head,

Fair winds and skies, and a swift ship, be yours,
I cannot bear the gentleness,-

Whose sidelong deck affords, as it cuts on,
The tears are in their bed.

An airy slope to lounge and read upon;

And may the sun, cooled only by white clouds,
Ah, first-born of thy mother,
When life and hope were new,

Make constant shadows of the sails and shrouds;

And may there be sweet, watching moons at night, Kind playmate of thy brother,

Or shows, upon

of curious light; Thy sister, father too;

And morning wake with happy-blushing mouth, My light, where'er I go,

As though her husband still had “ eyes of youth;"
My bird, when prison-bound,

While fancy, just as you discern from far
My hand in hand companion,-no,

The coasts of Virgil and of Sannazzar,
My prayers shall hold thee round.

May see the nymphs emerging, here and there,
To say, “ He bas departed"-

To tie up at the light their rolling hair. " His voice his face—is gone;'

I see you now,

half eagerness, half ease,
To feel impatient-hearted,
Yet feel we must bear on;

Ride o'er the dancing freshness of the seas;
Ah, I could not endure

I see you now (with fancy's eyesight too)

Find, with a start, that lovely vision true,
To whisper of such woe,

While on a sudden, o'er the horizon's line
Unless I felt this sleep ensure

Phæbus looks forth with his long glance divine,
That it will not be so.

At which old ocean's white and shapely daughters
Yes, still he's fixed and sleeping!

Crowd in the golden ferment of the waters,
This silence too the while

And halcyons brood, and there's a glistering show

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ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR ITALY AND GREECE.

the sea,

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