The ge may be broke. But nothing can cloud its natiye ray; Each fragment 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 decay; A spirit, that beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's day! WEEP ON, WEEP ON. AIR-The Song of Sorrow. WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past; In vain the hero's heart hath bled; The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain : Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled, It never lights again! Weep on-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 fate, » they'll say, « a wayward fate Your web of discord wove; And while your tyrants join'd in hate. But hearts fell off, that ought to twine, LESEIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. AIR-Nora Creina. LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth; But what they aim at no one dreameth! Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon My Nora's lid that seldom rises; In many eyes, But love in yours, my Nora Creina! Lesbia wears a robe of gold, But all so close the nymph hath laced it 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 ' Is loveliness, The dress you wear, mv Nora Creina! Lesbia hath a wit refined, Put, when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're design'd In safer slumber love reposes ;~ Hath not the light That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina ! I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. AIR-Domhnall. I saw thy form in youthful prime, As streams that run o'er golden mires, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines And that, which charm'd all other eyes, If souls could always dwell above, To live with them is far less sweet 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! |