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THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF
Though the last glimpse of Erin with
see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin
to me : In exile, thy bosom shall still be my
home, And thine eyes be my climate, wherever
To the gloom of some desert, or cold,
rocky shore, Where the eye of the stranger can
haunt us no more, I will fly with my Coulin, and think
the rough wind Less rude than the foes we left frown
ing behind. And I'll gaze on thy gold hair, as
graceful it wreathes, And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly
it breathes ; Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon
will tear One chord from that harp, or one lock
from that hair.
THE HUNTSMAN'S CHORUS.
What equals on earth the delight of
the huntsman ? For whom does life's cup more en
chantingly flow? To follow the stag through the forests
and meadows, When brightly the beams of the
morning first glow Oh, this is pleasure that's worthy of
princes, And health in its wanderings can
ever be found; When echoing caverns and forests
More blithely the pledge of the goblet will sound.
Hark, follow, &c. The light of Diana illumines our forests, The shades where in summer we
often retreat ; Nor is then the fell wolf in its covert
securest, The boar from his lair is laid at our feet.
Oh, this is pleasure, &c.
DASHING WHITE SERGEANT
lf I had a beau
For his bravery.
play, As a dashing white sergeant I'd march
think I'd take on
No, no, not I;
bosom would burn,
Crowned with victory. lf an army of Amazons e'er came in
play As a dashing white sergeant I'd inarch
ALL'S WELL. Deserted by the waning munn, When skies proclaim night's cheerless
noon, On tower, or fort, or tented ground, The sentry walks his lonely round; And should a footstep haply stray, Where caution marks the guarded
wayWho goes there ? stranger, quickly tell ; A friend ! the word ? good night! all's
.well ! Or sailing on the midnight deep, While weary messmates soundly sleep, The careful watch patroles the deck, To guard the ship from foes or wreck And while the thoughts oft homeward
veer Some well-known voice salutes his
earWhat cheer? ho, brother, quickly tell Above ! below! good night! all's well
HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR.
AIR-The twisting of the rope. How dear to me the hour when day.
light dies, And sunbeams melt along the silent
For then sweet dreams of other days
arise, And memory breathes her vesper
sigh to thee. And as I watch the line of light that
plays Along the smooth wave toward the
burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays, And think twould lead to somo
bright isle of rest.
THEY DON'T PROPOSE.
It's really very singular
I can not make it out;