I'D MOURN THE HOPES THAT LEAVE ME.

AIR-The Rose Tree.

I'D mourn the hopes that leave me,
If thy smiles had left me too;
weep, when friends deceive me,
If thou wert, like them, untrue.

I'd

But, while I've thee before me,

With heart so warm and eyes so bright,

No clouds can linger o'er me,

That smile turns them all to light!

"Tis not in fate to harm me,

While fate leaves thy love to me;

'Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shared with thee.

10

One minute's dream about thee

Were worth a long, an endless year Of waking bliss without thee,

My own love, my only dear!

And, though the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
More safely, without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me,

Along the path I've yet to roam,

The mind, that burns within me,

And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted
The traveller, at first goes out,

He feels a while benighted,

And looks round in fear and doubt.

But soon, the prospect clearing,

By cloudless star-light on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering

As that light which Heaven sheds!

COME O'ER THE SEA.

AIR-Cuishlih ma chree1.

COME o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows;
Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, where'er it

goes.

Let Fate frown on, so we love and part not;

'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou

art not!

The following are some of the original words of this wild and singular air;-they contain rather an odd assortment of grievances.

Cuishlih ma chree,

Did you but see

How, the rogue, he did serve me ;-Bis.
He broke my pitcher, he spilt my water,
He kiss'd my wife, and he married my daughter!
O Cuishlih ma chree! &c.

Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same,

where'er it goes.

No

Is not the sea

Made for the free,

Land for courts and chains alone?

Here we are slaves;

But, on the waves,

Love and Liberty's all our own!

eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us! Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, where'er it goes.

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED?

AIR-Sly Patrick.

HAS sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded,
That even in sorrow were sweet?
Does Time with his cold wing wither
Each feeling that once was dear?
Come, child of misfortune! come hither,
weep with thee tear for tear.

I'll

Has Love to that soul so tender

Been like our Lagenian mine', Where sparkles of golden splendour All over the surface shine?

1 Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, the character here given of them.