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Nor expect that the heart-beaming sinile of to

night Will return with to-morrow to brighten ny

brow : 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 touched 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


The thread of our life would be dark Heaven

knows ! If it were not with friendship and love inter

twined ; 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 bm

lieved ; . And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship


Is happy indeed if twere never deceived : But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be

mineThat the sunshine of Love may illumine our

youth, And the moonlight of Friendship console oar





Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I

see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we


To the gloom of some desert, or cold rocky shore, Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough


wind Less rude than the foes we leave frowning be

hind :

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it

wreaths, 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


I « In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII. an act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general, of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being shorn or shaven above the cars, or from wearing Glibbcs, or Coulins (long locks), on their heads, or hair on the upper lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was written by one of our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to give the preference to her dear Coulin for the youth with the flowing locks), to all strangers (by which the English were meant), or those who wore their habits. Of this song the air alone has reached us, and is universally admired. » Walker's Memoirs of the Irish Bards, page 134.

Mr. Walker informs us, also, that, about the same pe.. riod, there were some harsh measures taken against the Irish minstrels.


Air-The summer is coming.

Rich and rare were the gems slie wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;
But, oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems and snow-white wand.

« Lady! dost thou not fear to stray, « So lone and lovely, through this bleak way? « Are Erin's sons so good or so cold « As not to be teinpted by woman or gold?

i This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote :« The people were inspired with such a spirit of honour, virtue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and costly dress, undertook a journey alone, from one end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great value ; and such an impression had the laws and government of this monarch made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt was made upor her honour, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels. -Warner's Ilistory of Ireland, vol. i. book 10.

« Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm; « No son of Erin will offer me harm : « For though they love woman and golden store, « Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more!»

On s'ie went, and her maiden smile
In sasety lighted her round the Green Isle ;
And bless’d for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride !



Air-The Young Man's Dream.

As a beain o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness be

low, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny

smile, Tho' the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow, that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our wors,

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