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No—vain, alas! th' endeavour From bonds so sweet to sever;

Poor Wisdom's chance

Against a glance
Is now as weak as ever!

OH! WHERE'S THE SLAVE!

Air-Sios agus sios liom.

Oh! where's the slave so lowly,
Condemn'd to chains unholy,

Who, could he burst

His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, Would wait till time decay'd it,

When thus its wing

At once may spring
To the throne of Him who made it?

Farewell, Erin! farewell all,
Who live to weep our fall!

Less dear the laurel growing,
Alive, untouch'd and blowing,

Than that, whose braid

Is pluck'd to shade The brows with victory glowing! We tread the land that bore us, Our green flag glitters o'er us,

The friends we've tried

Are by our side,
And the foe we hate before us!

Farewell, Erin! farewell all
Who live to weep our fall!

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.

Arr—Lough Sheeling.

COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken

deer! Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home

is still here: Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'er

cast, And the heart and the hand all thy own to the

last!

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torments, through glory

and shame! I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou

art!

Thou hast calld me thy angel, in moments of

bliss, Still thy angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this, Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to

pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there

too!

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