DRINK OF THIS CUP.

AIR-Paddy O'Rafferty.

DRINK of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial that sparcled for HELEN,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

Would you forget the dark world we are in,
Only taste of the bubble that gleams on the top

of it;

But would you rise abo e earth, till akin

To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it.

Send round the cup-for, oh! there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality—
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

Never was philter form'd with such power
To charm and bewilder as this we sre quaf

fing;

Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing.

There, having by nature's enchantment been

fill'd

With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest

weather,

This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd, To enliven such hearts as are here brought to

gether!

Then drink of the cup- you'll find there's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen, Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps but breathe it to na

one

--

Like cauldrons the witch brews at midnight sa

awful,

In secret this philter was first taught to flow on, Yet-'tisn't less potent for being unlawful. What, though it may taste of the smoke of that flame,

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden

Fill up there's a fire in some hearts I could

--

name,

Which may work too its charm, though gow lawless and hidden,

So drink of the cup-for, oh! there's a spell in Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial, that sparkled for Helen, Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER:

DOWN IN THE VALLEY COME MEET ME.

AIR-Open the Dor softly

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly

As ever 'twas told, by the new moon's light
To young maiden, shining as newly.

ut, for the world, let no one be nigh, Lest haply the stars should deceive me; These secrets between you and me and the sky Should never go farther, believe me.

If at that hour the heavens be not dim,
My science shall call up before you
A male apparitiou―the image of him,
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you.

Then to the phantom be thou but kind,
And round you so fondly he'll hover,
You'll hardly my dear any difference find
"Twixt him and a true living lover.

Down at your feet, in the pale moon-light,
He'll kneel with a warmth of emotion-
An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite
You'd scarcely believe had a notion.

What other thoughts and events may arise,
As in Destiny's book I've not seen them.
Must only be left to the stars and your eyes
To settle, ere morning, between them.

OH, YE DEAD!

AIR-Plough Tune.

Оn, ye Dead! Oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give

From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live

Why leave you thus your graves;

In far off fields and waves,

Where the worm and the sea-bird only hnow your bed,

To haunt his spot, where all

Those eyes that wept your fall,

And the hearts that bewail'd you, like

your own,

lie dead?

It is true-it is true-we are shadows cold and

wan;

It is true-it is true-all the friends we loved are

gone.

But, oh! thus ev'n in death,

So sweet is still the breath

Of the fields and the flow'rs in our youth we wander'd o'er,

That, ere condemn'd we go

To freeze mid Hecla's snow,

We would taste it awhile, and dream we live once more!

Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands, walk about and converse with those they meet like living people. If asked why they do not return to their homes, they say, they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately.