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Remember the glories of Brien the brave
Erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes
Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade.
When he who adores thee has left but the name
The harp that once through Tara's halls
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour.
Oh! think not my spirits are always as light
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see
Rich and rare were the gems she wore.
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
No. II.
Oh! haste and leave this sacred isle
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies
Take back the virgin page
When in death I shall calm recline
How oft has the Benshee cried
We may roam through this world, like a child at a
feast
Oh! weep for the hour
Let Erin remember the days of old
Silent, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water
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Come, send round the wine, and leave points of be-
Sublime was the warning which Liberty spoke. Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
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Like the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane 71
Drink to her, who long
Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers
While gazing on the moon's light.
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow
By the hope, within us springing.
Night closed around the conqueror's way
Oh! 'tis sweet to think, that, where'er we roam
Through grief and through danger
When through life unbless'd we rove.
It is not the tear at this moment shed
'Tis believed that this harp, which I wake now
No. IV.
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Oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright
Though dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them to
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past,
Lesbia hath a beaming eye
I saw thy form in youthful prime
By that lake, whose gloomy shore
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She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps
Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns .
Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin
What the bee is to the floweret
Here we dwell, in holiest bowers.
127
At the 'mid hour of night, when stars are weeping. 130
One bumper at parting!—though many
Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own.
Farewell!-but whenever you welcome the hour
Oh! doubt me not-the season
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me
No. VI.
Come o'er the sea
Has sorrow thy young days shaded
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
-When first I met thee, warm and young
While History's muse the memorial was keeping
The time I've lost in wooing
Where is the slave, so lowly.
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Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer! . 163
'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking 164
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining 166
Fill the bumper fair!
Dear harp of my country! in darkness I found thee. 170
In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown. 181
When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved 182
Remember thee! yes, while there's life in this heart. 184
Wreathe the bowl
Whene'er I see those smiling eyes .
If thou❜lt be mine, the treasures of air
To ladies' eyes a round, boy.
Forget not the field where they perish'd
They may rail at this life-from the hour I began it. 193
Oh for the swords of former time!
No. VIII.
Ne'er ask the hour-what is it to us
Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark
Yes, sad one of Sion-if closely resembling
Drink of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Down in the valley come meet me to-night
Oh, ye
dead! oh, ye dead! whom we know
Of all the fair months that round the sun
How sweet the answer Echo makes
Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking
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Shall the harp then be silent, when he who first gave 215
Oh, the sight entrancing.
219
NATIONAL AIRS.-No. I.
A temple to Friendship.-Spanish Air
Flow on, thou shining river.-Portuguese Air.
All that's bright must fade.—Indian Air
So warmly we met.—Hungarian Air .
Those evening bells.-AIR, The Bells of St. Peters-
burgh.
Should those fond hopes.-Portuguese Air
Reason, Folly, and Beauty.-Italian Air
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Fare thee well, thou lovely one!-Sicilian Air.
Dost thou remember?-Portuguese Air
Oh! come to me when daylight sets.-Venetian Air 238
Oft, in the stilly night.-Scotch Air
Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing.-Russian Air. 241