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: The gein may be broke .

By many a stroke,
But nothing can cloud its native ray;

Each fragrnent will cast

A light to the last, And thus, Erin, my country! though broken thou

art, There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will


A spirit, that beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's


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WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past;

Your dreams of pride are o'er ;
The fatal chain is round you cast,

And you are men no more!
In vain the hero's heart hath bled ;

The sage's tongue hath warn’d in vain ..
Oh, Freedom! once thy fame hath fled,

It never lights again!

Weep 01—perhaps in after days

They'll learn to love your name; And many a deed may wake in praise

That long hath slept in blame ! And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,

Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wondering ask how hands so vile

Could conquer hearts so brave ?

« 'Twas sate, » they'll say, « a wayward fate

Your web of discord wove;
And while your tyrants join'd in late,

You never join'd in love!
But hearts fell off, that ought to twine,

And man profaned what God had given,
Till some were heard to curse the shrine,

Where others knelt to heaven !»


Air-Nora Creina.

Lesbix hath a beaming eye,
But no one knows for whom it beametb;

Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they aim at no one dreameth!

Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid that seldom rises ;

lew its looks, but every one Like unexpected light surprises !

Oh, my Nora Creina, dear! My gentle bashsul Nora Creina!

Beauty lies

In iany eyes,
But love in yours, my Nora Creina!

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
But all so close the nymph hath laced it

Nat a charm of beauty's mould
Presumes to stay where Nature placed it!

Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
That floats as wild as mountain breezes,

Leaving every beauty free
To sink or swell, as heaven pleases."

Yes, my Nora Creina, dear!
My simple graceful Nora Creina!

Nature's dress

Is loveliness,
The dress you wear, my Nora Creina!

Lesbia liath a wit refined, Put, when its points are gleaming round u9g,

Who can tell if they're desigu'd . .
To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
· Pillow'd on my Nora's heart,
In safer slumber love reposes ;--

Bed of peace! whose roughest par
Is but the crumpling of the roses!

Oh, my Nora Creina, dear!
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!

Wit, though bright,

Hath not the light That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina:


AIR- Domhnall.

I saw thy form in youthful prime,

Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of time,

And waste its bloom away, MARY! Yet still thy features wore that light

Which fleets not with the breath ; And life look'd ne'er more purely brighi

Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden nuires,

With modest murmur glide,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines

Within their gentle tide, Mary?
So, veil'd beneath a simple guise,

Thy radiant genius shone,
And that, which charm'd all other eyes,

Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell above,

Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere;
Or, could we keep the souls we love,

We ne'er had lost thee here, MARY :
Though many a gifted mind we meet,

Though fairest forms. we see,
To live with them is far less sweet

Than to remember thee, Mary!!

I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite inscription of SHENSTONE's—«Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse.

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