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THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.
SILENT, OH, MOYLE! BE THE ROAR OF THY
SALENT, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water,
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose; While murmuring mournfully Lir's lonely
daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.
. To make this story intelligible in a song wouia re-quire a much greater number of verses than any one is authorised to inflict on an audience at once; the reader must therefore be eontent to learn in a note, that FionQuata, the daughter of Lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformed into a swan, and condemned to wander, 'for many hundred years, over certain lakes an-4 rivers of Ireland, till the coming of Christianity, when the first sound of mass-bell was to be the ssignad of her Helease. - I found this fanciful fiction among some manu. kript translations from the Irish, which were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of Ire snd, the late Countess of Moira.
When shah tle swan her deatherio ke singing,
Sleep with wings in darkness furl?d? When will Heaven its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit from tlus-stormy world ?
Sadly, oh Moyle! to thy winter-rave wcąpiuga
Fale bids me languish long ages away; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping;
Stin, doth the pure light its dawning delay! When will that day star, inidly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing, - Call my spirit to the fields above ?
COME SEND ROUND THE WINE,
AIR-We brought the Summer w 'th us.
COME send round the wine and leave points of
belief To simpleton sages and reasoning fools; This monrent's a tower, too fair and brief
To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the
schools. Your glass may be purple and mine may be blue ; But while they are fillid from the same bright
bowl, The fool who would quarrel for diflerence of hue
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul.
Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side
In the cause of mankind , if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried,
If he kneel not before the same altar with ine? From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly,
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? No! perish the hearts and the laws that try
Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this?
SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING.
Ain—The Black Joke. "
SUBLIME was the warning which liberty spoke, And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke
It was life and revenge from the Conqueror's
chain! Oh, liberty ! let not this spirit have rest . . Till it move like a breeze o'er the waves of the
westGive the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, Nor, oh! be the Slanirock of Erin forgot, .. While you add to your Garland the Olive of
Isihe fame of your fathers, bequath'd with their
rights, Give to country its charm and to home its delights,
If deceit be a wound, and : uspicion a stain; Then ye men of Iberia! our cause is the same And oh! may his tomb want a lcar and a name, Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death,. Than to breathe his l'ast sigh into Victory's breath,
For the Shanrock of Erin and Olie of Spuin.
Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd The green hills of their youth among strangers to
find That repose which, at home, they had sig!ı'd for
in 'yain, Breathe a hope that the magical flame which yqu
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright ; And forgive even Albion, while blushing she draws, Like a .truant, her sword, in the long-sligl.ted
cause Of the Shainrock of Erin and Olive of Spain!
God prosper the cause.-Oh! it cannot but thrive, While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive,
Its devotion to free and its rights to maintain : Then how sainted by sorrow its maryrs will die ! The finger of glory shall point where they lie; While far from the footsteps of coward or slave, The young Spirit of Freedom shall shelter their
grave. Beneath Shainrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain!
BELIEVE ME IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING
My Lodging is on the cold Ground.
BELIEVE (ne if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gazę on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morro:v and feet in a