III.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

THE YOUNG MAY-MOON.

AIR.-The Dandy O!

I.

THE Young May-moon is beaming, love!
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love!

How sweet to rove

Through MORNA's grove,*

While the drowsy world is dreaming, love!

"Steals silently to Morna's Grove."

See a translation from the Irish, in Mr. Bunting's collection, by JOHN BROWN, one of my earliest college companions and friends, whose death was as singularly melancholy and unfortunate as his life had been amiable, honourable, and exemplary.

Then awake!-the heavens look bright, my dear! 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear! And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days,

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

II.

Now all the world is sleeping, love!
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love!

Is the

And I, whose star,

More glorious far,

eye from that casement peeping, love! Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear! The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear!

Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!

THE MINSTREL-BOY.

AIR.-The Moreen.

I.

THE Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him,
His father's sword he has girded on,

.

And his wild harp slung behind him.— "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Though all the world betrays thee, "One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, "One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

II.

The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under ;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
"Thou soul of love and bravery!

Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery!"

THE SONG OF O'RUARK, PRINCE OF
BREFFNI.*

AIR.-The pretty Girl milking her Cow.

I.

THE Valley lay smiling before me,
Where lately I left her behind;

* These stanzas are founded upon an event of most melancholy importance to Ireland, if, as we are told by our Irish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing us. The following are the circumstances as related by O'Halloran. "The King of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter to the King of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to O'Ruark, Prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. They carried on a private correspondence, and she informed him that O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage (an act of piety frequent in those days), and conjured him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her from a husband she detested to a lover she adored. Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns."-The monarch Roderic espoused the cause of O'Ruark, while Mac Murchad fled to England, and obtained the assistance of Henry II.

"Such," adds Giraldus Cambrensis (as I find him in an old translation)," is the variable and fickle nature of woman, by whom all mischief in the world (for the most part) do happen and come, as may appear by Marcus Antonius, and by the destruction of Troy."

Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me,
That sadden'd the joy of my mind.

I look'd for the lamp, which she told me
Should shine when her Pilgrim return'd,
But, though darkness began to infold me,
No lamp from the battlements burn'd!

II.

I flew to her chamber-'twas lonely
As if the loved tenant lay dead!
Ah! would it were death, and death only!
But no-the young false one had fled.
And there hung the lute, that could soften
My very worst pains into bliss,

While the hand that had waked it so often
Now throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss.

III.

There was a time, falsest of women!

When BREFFNI'S good sword would have sought

That man, through a million of foemen,

Who dared but to doubt thee in thought!
While now-oh, degenerate daughter
Of ERIN!-how fall'n is thy fame!