62.-GILDEROY.-Campbell.

The last, the fatal hour is come, that bears my love from me:
I hear the dead-note of the drum, I mark the gallows tree!

The bell has tolled; it shakes my heart; the trumpet speaks thy name;
And must my Gilderoy depart to bear a death of shame ?
No bosom trembles for thy doom; no mourner wipes a tear:
The gallows' foot is all thy tomb, the sledge is all thy bier!
Oh, Gilderoy, bethought we then, so soon, so sad, to part,
When first in Roslin's lovely glen you triumphed o'er my heart!
Your locks they glittered to the sheen, your hunter-garb was trim;
And graceful was the ribbon green that bound your manly limb!
Ah! little thought I to deplore those limbs in fetters bound;
Or hear, upon the scaffold-floor, the midnight hammer sound.
Ye cruel, cruel, that combined the guiltless to pursue!
My Gilderoy was ever kind—he could not injure you !...

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A long adieu !-but where shall fly thy widow all forlorn,
Whenevery mean and cruel eye regards my woe with scorn
Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears, and hate thy orphan boy!
Alas! his infant beauty wears the form of Gilderoy.
Then will I seek the dreary mound that wraps thy mouldering clay,
And weep, and linger on the ground, and sigh my heart away!

63.-OH! WHY LEFT I MY HAME?-Gilfillan.

Oh! why left I my hame? why did I cross the deep?
Oh! why left I the land where my forefathers sleep?
I sigh for Scotia's shore, and I gaze across the sea;
But I canna get a blink o' my ain countrie!

The palm-tree waveth high, and fair the myrtle springs,
And to the Indian maid the bulbul sweetly sings;
But I dinna see the broom wi' its tassels on the lee,
Nor hear the lintie's sang o' my ain countrie!
Oh! here no Sabbath-bell awakes the Sabbath-morn,
Nor song of reapers heard amang the yellow corn;
For the tyrant's voice is here, and the wail of slavery
But the sun of Freedom shines in my ain countrie!
There's a hope for every woe, and a balm for every pain ;
But the first joys of our heart come never back again!
There's a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea-
But the weary ne'er return to their ain countrie!

III.-From Irish Authors.

64.-HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED.-Sheridan.

Had I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne'er could injure you;

For, though your tongue no promise claim'd, your charms would make me

true:

To you no soul shall bear deceit, no stranger offer wrong;

But friends in all the age'd you'll meet, and lovers in the young.

For when they learn that you have bless'd another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest, and act a brother's part;
Then, lady, dread not here deceit, nor fear to suffer wrong;
For friends in all the age'd you'll meet, and lovers in the young.

65.-AH! CRUEL MAID.-Sheridan.

Ah, cruel maid, how hast thou chang'd the temper of my mind!
My heart, by thee from love estrang'd, becomes, like thee, unkind.
By fortune favour'd, clear in fame, I once ambitious was;

And friends I had who fann'd the flame, and gave my youth applause.

But now, my weakness all accuse, yet vain their taunts on me;
Friends, fortune, fame itself I'd lose, to gain one smile from thee.
And only thou shouldst not despise my weakness or my woe;
If I am mad in others' eyes, 'tis thou hast made me so.

But days, like this, with doubting curst, I will not long endure;
Am I disdained?-I know the worst, and likewise know my cure.
If, false, her vows she dares renounce, that instant ends my pain;
For oh! the heart must break at once that cannot hate again.

66. THE TUNEFUL LARK.-O'Keefe.

The tuneful lark, when soaring high upon its downy wings,
With wonder views the vaulted sky, and mounting sweetly sings.
Ambition swells its little breast, suspended high in air;
But, gently dropping to its nest, finds real pleasure there.

67.-HOPE.-Goldsmith.

The wretch condemned with life to part, still, still on Hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, adorns and cheers the way;
And still, as darker grows the night, emits a brighter ray.

68.-MEMORY.-Goldsmith.

O, Memory! thou fond deceiver, still importunate and vain ;
To former joys recurring ever, and turning all the past to pain.

Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing, thy smiles increase the wretch's woe!

And he who wants each other blessing, in thee must ever find a foe.

69.-SONG TO MARY.-Wolfe.

If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, that thou couldst mortal be:

It never through my mind had passed, the time would e'er be o'er-
And I on thee should look my last, and thou shouldst smile no more!

And still upon that face I look, and think 'twill smile again;
And still the thought I will not brook, that I must look in vain!
But when I speak-thou dost not say what thou ne'er left'st unsaid;
And now I feel, as well I may, sweet Mary! thou art dead!

If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, all cold and all serene-
I still might press thy silent heart, and where thy smiles have been!
While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have, thou seemest still mine own;
But there, I lay thee in thy grave—and I am now alone!

I do not think, where'er thou art, thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, in thinking, too, of thee:
Yet there was round thee such a dawn of light ne'er seen before,
As Fancy never could have drawn, and never can restore !

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70.-GO, FORGET ME.-Wolfe.

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Go, forget me! Why should sorrow o'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me! and to-morrow brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smilethough I shall not be near thee; sing-though I shall never hear thee: may thy soul with pleasure shine, lasting as the gloom of mine! Like the sun, thy presence glowing clothes the meanest things in light; and when thou, like him, art going, loveliest objects fade in night. All things looked so bright about thee, that they nothing seem without thee;-by that pure and lucid mind, earthly things were too refined. Go, thou vision wildly gleaming, softly on my soul that fell; go!-for me no longer beaming;-Hope and Beauty! fare ye well! Go! and all that once delighted take, and leave me, all benighted-Glory's burning, generous swell, Fancy, and the Poet's shell.

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71.-SYMPATHY.-Mrs. Tighe.

Wert thou sad, I would beguile thy sadness by my tender lay;
Wert thou in a mood to smile, with thee laugh the hours away.
Didst thou feel inclined to sleep, I would watch and hover near;
Did misfortune bid thee weep, I would give thee tear for tear.
Not a sigh that heaved thy breast, but I'd echo from my own;
Did one care disturb thy rest, mine, alas! were also flown.
When the hour of death should come, I'd receive thy latest sigh;
Only ask to share thy tomb,-then, contented, with thee die.

72.-FAREWELL.-Callanan.

Though dark fate hath 'reft me of all that was sweet,
And widely we sever, too widely to meet,

Oh! yet, while one life-pulse remains in this heart,
'Twill remember thee, Mary, wherever thou art.
How sad were the glances at parting we threw;
No word was there spoke, but the stifled adieu;
My lips o'er thy cold cheek all raptureless pass'd;
'Twas the first time I pressed it-it must be the last!
But why should I dwell thus on scenes that but pain?
Or think on thee, Mary, when thinking is vain?
Thy name to this bosom now sounds like a knell ;
My fond one-my dear one, for ever-farewell!

73.-THE DEPARTURE.-Banim.

'Tis not for love of gold I go, 'tis not for love of fame Though fortune should her smile bestow, and I may win a name. -And yet it is for gold I go, and yet it is for fame... That they may deck another brow, and bless another name! For this, but this, I go; for this I lose thy love awhile, And all the soft and quiet bliss of thy young, faithful smile I go to brave a world I hate, and woo it o'er and o'er, And tempt a wave, and try a fate upon a stranger shore.

Oh! when the bays are all my own, I know a heart will care!
Oh! when the gold is wooed and won, I know a brow shall wear
And when, with both returned, again my native land to see,
I know a smile will meet me there, and a hand will welcome me!

74.-KNOW YE NOT THAT LOVELY RIVER?—Gerald Grifin.

Know ye not that lovely river? know ye not that smiling river,

Whose gentle flood, by cliff and wood, with 'wildering sound goes winding ever?

Oh! often, yet with feeling strong, on that dear stream my memory ponders, And still I prize its murmuring song; for by my childhood's home it wanders.

There's music in each wind that blows within our native valley breathing; There's beauty in each flower that grows around our native woodland wreathing.

The memory of the brightest joys in childhood's happy morn that found as,
Is dearer than the richest toys, the present vainly sheds around us.

Oh, sister! when 'mid doubts and fears that haunt life's onward journey ever,
I turn to those departed years, and that belov'd and lovely river;
With sinking mind, and bosom riven, and heart with lonely anguish aching,
It needs my long-taught hope in heaven, to keep that weary heart from
breaking!

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75.-GILLE MA CHREE.-Gerald Griffin.

1 Gille ma chree,* sit down by me, we now are joined, and ne'er shall sever; this hearth's our own, our hearts are one, and peace is ours for ever! 2 When I was poor, your father's door was closed against your constant lover with care and pain I tried in vain my fortunes to recover. I said, "To other lands I'll roam, where fate may smile on me, love;" I said, "Farewell, my own old home;" and I said, "Farewell to thee, love !" I might have said, "My mountain maid, come live with me, your own true lover; I know a spot, a silent cot, your friends can ne'er discover; where gently flows the waveless tide by one small garden only; where the heron waves his wings so wide, and the linnet sings so lonely!" I might have said, "My mountain maid, a father's right was never given true hearts to curse with tyrant force, that have been blest in heaven." But then, I said, "In after years, when thoughts of home shall find her, my love may mourn with secret tears her friends, thus left behind her." 5 "Oh, no," I said; my own dear maid, for me, though all forlorn for ever, that heart of thine shall ne'er repine o'er slighted duty-never! From home and thee, though, wandering far, a dreary fate be mine, love, I'd rather live in endless war, than buy my peace with thine, love." Far,

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* Brightener of my heart.

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