SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. AIR.-Open the Door. I. SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, II. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Ah little they think, who delight in her strains, III. He had lived for his love, for his country he died, IV. Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the West, From her own loved Island of Sorrow! NAY, TELL ME NOT. AIR.-Dennis, don't be threatening. I. NAY, tell me not, dear! that the goblet drowns Ne'er hath a beam Been lost in the stream That ever was shed from thy form or soul; The balm of thy sighs, The light of thine eyes, Still float on the surface and hallow my bowl! Then fancy not, dearest! that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me! Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee! II. They tell us that Love in his fairy bower He sprinkled the one with a rainbow's shower, Soon did the buds, That drank of the floods Distill'd by the rainbow, decline and fade; While those which the tide Of ruby had dyed All blush'd into beauty, like thee, sweet maid! Then fancy not, dearest! that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me; Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee. AVENGING AND BRIGHT. AIR.-Crooghan a Venee. I. AVENGING and bright fall the swift sword of ERIN * On him who the brave sons of USNA betray'd!— * The words of this song were suggested by the very ancient Irish story, called "Deirdri, or the lamentable fate of the sons of Usnach," which has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by Mr. O'FLANAGAN (see vol. 1. of Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Dublin), and upon which it appears that the "Darthula" of Macpherson is founded. The treachery of Conor, King of Ulster, in putting to death the three sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against Ulster, which For every fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in, A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade. II. By the red cloud that hung over CONOR's dark dwelling,* When ULAD's three champions lay sleeping in gore-t By the billows of war which, so often, high swelling, Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore !— III. We swear to revenge them!-no joy shall be tasted, The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed ; terminated in the destruction of Eman. "This story (says Mr. O'FLANAGAN) has been from time immemorial held in high repute as one of the three tragic stories of the Irish. These are, The death of the children of Touran;' 'The death of the children of Lear' (both regarding Tuatha de Danans); and this, 'The death of the children of Usnach,' which is a Milesian story."-It will be recollected, that in the Second Number of these Melodies there is a ballad upon the story of the children of Lear or Lir: "Silent, oh Moyle!" etc. Whatever may be thought of those sanguine claims to antiquity, which Mr. O'FLANAGAN and others advance for the literature of Ireland, it would be a very lasting reproach upon our nationality if the Gaelic researches of this gentleman did not meet with all the liberal encouragement which they merit. * "Oh Naisi! view the cloud that I here see in the sky! I see over Eman green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red.” -Deirdri's Song. + Ulster. Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted, Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head! IV. Yes, monarch! though sweet are our home recollections, Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections, Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET. AIR.-The Yellow Horse. I. He.-WHAT the bee is to the floweret, Through the leaves that close embower it, She. What the bank, with verdure glowing, Is to waves that wander near, Whispering kisses, while they're going, |