Rocks, through myrtle boughs, When a cup or a lip shall woo thee, And turn untouch'd away! Then, quick! we have but a second, Fill round, fill round, while you may ; For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, And we must away, away! Hath been won downward by them— AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS AIR- Unknown. And doth not a meeting like this make amends For all the long years I've been wandering away? Lakes where the pearl lies hid,? To see thus around me my youth's early friends, And caves where the diamond's sleeping, As smiling and kind as in that happy day! Bright as the gems that lid Though haply o’er some of your brows, as o'er mine, Of thine lets fall in weeping. The snow-fall of time may be stealing-what then? Glens, where Ocean comes, Like Alps in the sun-set, thus lighted by wine, We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. And harbours, worthiest homes What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, Where Freedom's sails could anchor. In gazing on those we've been lost to so long! Then if, while scenes so grand, The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng. So beautiful, shine before thee, As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, Pride for thy own dear land When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced, The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light. To think how man hath curst And thus, in Memory's bark we shall glide To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew- The wreck of full many a hope shining through Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. That once made a garden of all the gay shore, Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours, Air-Paddy Snap. And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning once Quick! we have but a second, more. So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, Is all we can have of the few we hold dear; And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. Could keep sweet hours from dying, Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, Or charm them to life again. To meet in some world of more permanent bliss; Then quick! we have but a second, For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hastening on, Is all we enjoy of each other in this.? But come—the more rare such delights to the heart, The more we should welcome, and bless them the more: See the glass, how its flushes, Like some young Hebe's lip, They're ours when we meet—they are lost when we And half meets thine, and blushes part, That thou shouldst delay to sip. Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 't is o'er. Shame, oh shame unto thee, If ever thou seest the day, 1 Jours charmans, quand je songe à vos heureux instans, Je pense remonter le fleuve de mes ans; 1 In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Et mon cæur enchanté sur sa rive fleurie, Forth) Dr. Keating says, "there is a certain attractive virtue Respire encore l'air pur du matin de la vie. in the soil, which draws down all the birds that attempt to 2 The same thought has been happily expressed by my fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock." friend, Mr. Washington Irving, in bis Bracebridge Hall, 2 “Nennius, a British writer of the 9th century, mentions vol. i. p. 213. The pleasure which I feel in calling this genthe abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, tleman my friend, is enhanced by the reflection that he is hung them behind their ears, and this we find confirmed by too good an American to have admitted me so readily to a present made A. c. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to such a distinction, if he had not known that my feelings toAnselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a considerable wards the great and free country that gave him birth have quantity of Irish pearls."--O'Halloran. long been such as every real lover of the liberty and happi 3 Glengarill. ness of the human race must entertain. Thus circling the cup, hand in hanå, ere we drink, Let sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, through pain, That fast as a feeling but touches one link, Her magic shall send it direct through the chain. Alas for her who sits and mourns, Even now beside that riverUnwearied still the fiend returns, And stored is still his quiver. “When will this end ? ye Powers of Good !" She weeping asks for ever ; The demon answer, “Never !" THE SPRITE. Air—The Mountain Sprite. In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose life all had calmly flown, Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite. As he, by moonlight, went wandering o'er The golden sands of that island shore, A foot-print sparkled before his sight, "T was the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite. Beside a fountain, one sunny day, As, looking down on the stream, he lay, Behind him stole two eyes of light, And he saw in the clear wave the Mountain Sprite. He turn'd—but lo, like a startled bird, The Spirit fled—and he only heard Sweet music, such as marks the flight Of a journeying star, from the Mountain Sprite. One night, pursued by that dazzling look, The youth, bewilder'd, his pencil took, And, guided only by memory's light, Drew the fairy form of the Mountain Sprite, “Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried, A gentle voice, whispering by his side, “Now turn and see,”—here the youth's delight Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite “Of all the Spirits of land and sea,” Exclaim'd he then, “there is none like thee; And oft, oh oft, may thy shape alight In this lonely arbour, sweet Mountain Sprite." DESMOND'S SONG.? AIR-Unknown.2 By the Feal's wave benighted, Not a star in the skies, eyes. Some voice whisper'd o'er me, As the threshold I cross'd, There was ruin before me, If I loved, I was lost. Love came, and brought sorrow Too soon in his train; Yet so sweet, that to-morrow "Twould be welcome again. Were misery's full measure Pour'd out to me now, I would drain it with pleasure, So the Hebe were thou. You who call it dishonour To bow to this flame, If you've eyes, look but on her, And blush while you blame. Hath the pearl less whiteness Because of its birth ? Hath the violet less brightness For growing near earth? To history flies; Is told in her eyes. Through mortals his line, Ranks next to divine ! AS VANQUISH'D ERIN. AIR—The Boyne Water. The Boyne's ill-fated river, Had dropp'd his loaded quiver. Where mortal eye may shun you; That bled for me is on you." THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART. AIR-Coolon Das. They know not my heart, who believe there can be One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; But vain her wish, her weeping vain As Time too well hath taught her : And dives into that water : His shafts of desolation, Throughout her maddening nation. 1 "Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had accidentally been so engaged in the chace, that he was benighted near Tralee, and obliged to take shelter at the Abbey of Feal, in the house of one of his dependents, called Mac Čormac. Catherine, a beautiful daughter of his host, instantly inspired the Earl with a violent passion, which he could not subdue. He married her, and by this inferior alliance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded this indulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation of his family."- Leland, vol. 2. 2 T'his air has been already so successfully supplied with words by Mr. Bayly, that I should have left it untouched, if we could have spared so interesting a melody out of our collection. Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour, As if to feed with their soft fire The soul within that trembling shell. And play'd around those lips that sung And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, No—beaming with light as those young features are, If love could lend their leaves a tongue. There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far: It is not that cheek—'t is the soul dawning clear But soon the West no longer burn'd, Through its innocent blush makes thy beauty so Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew; dear And, when to gaze again I turn'd, As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair, The minstrel's form seem'd fading too. Is look'd up to the more, because heaven is there! As if her light and heaven's were one, The glory all had left that frame; And from her glimmering lips the tone, Who ever loved, but had the thought That he and all he loved must part? Where sinful souls their farewells take Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught Of this vain world, and half-way lie That fading image to my heartIn Death's cold shadow, ere they die. And cried, “Oh Love! is this thy doom? There, there, far from thee, Oh light of youth's resplendent day! Deceitful world, iny home should be Must ye then lose your golden bloom, And thus, like sunshine, die away ?" SING-SING-MUSIC WAS GIVEN. AIR-The Humours of Ballamaguiry; or, the Old These-ay-these should wean Langolee. My soul from Life's deluding scene, Sing—sing—Music was given And turn each thought, each wish I have, To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; Like willows, downward towards the grave. Souls here, like planets in heaven, As they who to their couch at night By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. Would welcome sleep, first quench the light, Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, So must the hopes that keep this breast But love from the lips his true archery wings; And she who but feathers the dart when she speaks, Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest. Cold, cold, my heart must grow, At once sends it home to the heart when she sings. Unchanged by either joy or woe, Then sing—sing—Music was given Like freezing founts, where all that 's thrown To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; Within their current turns to stone. Souls here, like planets in heaven, When Love, rock'd by his mother, Lay sleeping as calm as slumber could make him, “Hush, hush,” said Venus, “no other She sung of love-while o'er her lyre Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake him." The rosy rays of evening fell, Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while, Till faint from his lips a soft melody broke, 1 These verses are meant to allude to that ancient haunt And Venus, enchanted, look'd on with a smile, of superstition, called Patrick's Purgatory. "In the midst of these gloomy regions of Donnegall (says Dr. Campbell) While Love to his own sweet singing awoke! lay a lake, which was to become the mystic theatre of this Then sing—sing-Music was given fabled and intermediate state. In the lake was several To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; islands; but one of them was dignified with that called the Souls here, like planets in heaven, Mouth of Purgatory, which, during the dark ages, attracted the notice of all Christendom, and was the resort of peni- By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. tents and pilgrims, from almost every country in Europe.” as the same writer tells us, “one of the most dismal and dreary spots in the North, almost inaccessible, 1 The thought here was suggested by some beautiful lines through deep glens and rugged mountains, frightful with in Mr. Rogers's Poem of Human Life, beginning: impending rocks, and the hollow murmurs of the western “Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows winds in dark caverns, peopled only with such fantastic Less and less earthly." beings as the mind, however gay, is from strange association wont to appropriate to such gloomy scenes.-Strictures on I would quote the entire passage, but that I fear to put my the Ecclesiastical and Literary History of Ireland. own humble imitation of it out of countenance. "It was, NATIONAL AIRS. * * ADVERTISEMENT. FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER Portuguese Air. It is Cicero, I believe, who says " natura ad mo Flow on, thou shining river ; dos ducimur ;' and the abundance of wild indigenous But, ere thou reach the sea, airs, which almost every country except England Seek Ella's bower, and give her The wreaths I fling o'er thee. possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his assertion. The lovers of this simple but interesting kind And tell her thus, if she'll be mine, of music are here presented with the first number of The current of our lives shall be, a collection, which I trust their contributions will With joys along their course to shine, Like those sweet flowers on thee. enable us to continue. A pretty air without words resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, which But if, in wandering thither, are described as wandering, in search of the remain Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, der of themselves, through the world. To supply Then leave those wreaths to wither this other half, by uniting with congenial words the Upon the cold bank there. many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none, And tell her—thus, when youth is o'er, or only such as are unintelligible to the generality of Her lone and loveless charms shall be their hearers, is the object and ambition of the pre Thrown by upon life's weedy shore, sent work. Neither is it our intention to confine Like those sweet flowers from thee. ourselves to what are strictly called National Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not yet assigned a ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE. worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble Hippocrene with its Indian Air. song. ALL that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest. Stars that shine and fall ;- The flower that drops in springing ; These, alas! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest ! “ A TEMPLE to Friendship,” said Laura, enchanted, Who would seek or prize “I'll build in this garden—the thought is divine !" Delights that end in aching ? Her temple was built, and she now only wanted Who would trust to ties An image of friendship to place on the shrine. That every hour are breaking ? She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her Better far to be A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent, In utter darkness lying, But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer Than be blest with light, and see Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. That light for ever flying. All that 's bright must fade, — “Oh! never," she cried, “could I think of enshrining The brightest still the fleetest ; An image whose looks are so joyless and dim! All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! grove : SO WARMLY WE MET. “Farewell,” said the sculptor, “you're not the first Hungarian Air. maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love." So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, That which was the sweeter even I could not tell-. i The thought is taken from a song by Le Prieur called That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, " Le Statue de l'Amitié." Or that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell morrow 77 To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another - The bell of his cap rung merrily out; While Reason took To his sermon-book- The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet- Turn’d for a moment to Reason's dull page, “Look here, sweet maid !"Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; To think that such happiness could not remain ; While Reason read While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to His leaves of lead, With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again. Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap; Had he that on, he her heart might entrap “There it is,” Quoth Folly, “old quiz!" But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, That Beauty now liked him still less than before; Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! While Folly took How many a tale their music tells, Old Reason's book, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, And twisted the leaves in a cap of such Ton, When last I heard their soothing chime ! That Beauty vow'd Those joyous hours are past away! (Though not aloud,) And many a heart that then was gay, She liked him still better in that than his own! FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE' That tuneful peal will still ring on, Sicilian Air. While other bards shall walk these dells, FARE thee well, thou lovely one! Lovely still, but dear no more; Love's sweet life is o'er. Thy words, whate'er their flattering spell, Could scarce have thus deceived ; But eyes that acted truth so well 'SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee, Were sure to be believed. Which now so sweetly thy heart employ; Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! Should the cold world come to wake thee Lovely still, but dear no more; From all thy visions of youth and joy; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er. Yet those eyes look constant still, True as stars they keep their light; Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil Oh! 't is then he thou hast slighted Of blushing always bright. Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er; 'Tis only on thy changeful heart Then the truant, lost and blighted, The blame of falsehood lies; Would to his bosom be taken once more. Love lives in every other part, Like that dear bird we both can remember, But there, alas! he dies. Who left us while summer shone round, Then fare thee well, thou lovely one! But, when chill'd by bleak December, Lovely still, but dear no more ; Upon our threshold a welcome still found. Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er. REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY. DOST THOU REMEMBER. Portuguese Air. Dost thou remember that place so lonely A place for lovers and lovers only, Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ? When as the moon-beam, that trembled o'er thee, 1 The metre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes. the air. |