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THE FORLORN HOPE.
A SONG OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.

AIRCruiskeen Lawn.
LET us lift the green flag high

Underneath this foreign sky, Unrol the verdant volume to the wind.

As we hasten to the fight

Let us drink a last good night To the beauty which we leave, boy, be

bind, behind, bebind ; To the beauty which we leave, boy, be

hind.

Plant it high upon the breach,

And within the flag-staff's reach ; We'll offer it the tribute of our gore.

Yes ! on that altar high,

'Spite of tyrants we can die, And our spirits to the saints above may

soar, soar, soar ; And our spirits to the saints above may

soar.

Liberty is gone,

Now 't is glory leads us on,
And spangles gloomy slavery's night;

If freedom's shattered bark
Have not foundered i’ the dark

Her wreck must see this beacon bright,

bright, bright; Her wreck will see this beacon bright.

Yes; glory's shining light

Must irradiate the night,
And renew the flaming splendor of the

day!
And freedom's sinking crew

Shall recover hope anew,
And hail the blazing splendor of this ray,

ray, ray; And hail the blazing splendor of this ray.

The green flag on the air,

Sons of Erin and despair,
To the breach in serried column quick

advance.
On the summit we may fall :

Hand in hand, my comrades all, Let us drink a last adieu to merry

France, France, France; Let us drink a last adieu to merry

France.

To Erin, comrades, too,

And her sunny skies of blue, A goblet commingled with tears i

With the fleur-de-lis divine,

The green shamrock shall entwine ; But the Ancient* see the Sun-burst rears

rears, rears ; The Ancient see the Sun-burst rears.

AILEEN MAVOURNEEN. He tells me be loves me, and can I be

lieve The heart he has won he can wish to

deceive, Forever and always his sweet words to

me, Are Aileen Mavourneen, acushlamachree.

Last night when we parted, his gentle

good bye, A thousand times said, and each time

with a sigh, And still the saine sweet words he whis

pered to me, My Aileen Mavourneen, acushlamachree.

The friend of my childhood, the friend

of my youth, Whose heart is all pure, and whose words are all truth;

.* Standard bearer.

O, still the same sweet words he whis

pered to me, My Aileen Mavourneen, acushlamachree.

O, when will the day come, the dear

happy day, That a maiden may hear all a lover can

say,

And speak out the words he now whis

pers to me, My Aileen Mavourneen, acushlamachree.

DERMOT ASTHORE. O, DERMOT A STHORE, between waking

and sleeping, I heard tay dear voice and wept to its

lay, Every pulse of my heart the sweet meas

ure was keeping, Till Killarney's wild echoes had borne

it away.

O, tell me, my love is this my last meet

ing? Shall we wander no more in Killar

ney's green bowers,

To watch the bright sun o'er the dim

hills retreating, And the wild stag at rest in his bed

of spring flowers ?

0, Dermot Asthore, how this fond heart

would flutter, When I met thee by night in the

shady boreen, Aud beard thine own voice in a soft

whisper utter Those words of endearment. “Ma

vourneen Colleen."

I know we must part, but O, say not

forever, That it may be for years adds enough

to my pain ; But I'll cling to the hope, that though

now we must sever, In some blessed hour I shall meet thee

again.

THE EXILE OF ERIN. CHERE came to the beach a poor exile

of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy

and chill :

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