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ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN TIINE

EYES.

AIR--Aileen Aroon.

Eri! the tear and the smile in thine eye's
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies ;

Shining through sorrows stream
Saddening through pleasure's beam,
Thy suns, with doubtful gleam,

Weep while they rise !

Erin! thy suent tear never shall cease,
Erin! thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,

Till, like the rainbow's lighi,
Thy various tints unite,
And form in Heaven's sight,

One arch of peace!

OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.

Air-The Bruwn Maid.

Ch! breathe not his name— let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid!

Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his

- head!

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it

weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he

sleeps ; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

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When he who adores thee has left but the name

Of his faults and his sorrows behind, Oh! say, wilt thou weep when they darken the

fame Of a life that for thee was resign'd! Yes, weep! and, however my foes may condemn.

Thy tears shall efface their decree; For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,

I have been but too faithful to thee!

These words a lude to a story in a old Irish manuscript, which is too long and melancholy lo be inserted here.

With thee were the dreanis of my earliest love.

Every thought of my reason was thine :In my last humble pray’r to the Spirit above, Thy name shall be mingled with mine! Oh! bless'd are the lovers and friends who shall

live The days of thy glory to see;. But the next dearest blessing that I'eaven can give

Is the pride of thus dying for thee !

TIJE KARP THAT ONCE THROUGII TARA'S HALLS.

AIR-Gramachree.

Que harp that once through Tara's halls,

The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls.

As if that soul were fled :
So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er ; ,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,

Now feel that pulse no more!

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No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tara swells ; '
The chord, alone, that breaks at night,

Its' tale of ruin tells .-
Thus Freedom now so seldoin wakes,

The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,

To shew that still she lives!

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I'ly not yet, ’tis just the liour,
When pleasure, like the midnight flower,

That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night

And maids who love the moon !
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade

That beauty and the moon were made ; 'Tis then their soft attractions glowing Set the tides and goblets flowing !

Oh! stay,-oh! stay,–
Joy so seldom weaves a chain,
Like this to-night, that, oh ! 'tis pain

To break ils links so soon.

Fly not yet! the fount that play'd,
In times of old through Ammon's shade,'
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like sons of mirth, began

To burn when night was near ;
And thus should woman's heart and looks'
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings the genial hour for burning.

Oh! stay,-oh! stay,-
When did morning ever break!
And find such beaming eyes awake

As those that sparkle here !

OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS

LIGHT.

Air-John O'Reilly the Active.

On! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang as they seem to you

now;

i Solis Fons, near the Temple of Ammon.

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