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WREATH THE BOWL.

AIR-Noran Kitsa.

WREATH the bowl

With flow'rs of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight :

Tow'rds heav'n to-night : And leave dull earth behind us !

Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid . That Joy th’ enchanter brings us,

No danger fear,

While wine is near,
We'll drown him if he stings us.

Then, wreath the bowl
With flow'rs of soul,

The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight, ,

Tow'rds heav'n to night,
And leave dull earth behind us!

'Twas nectar fed

Of old, 'tis said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos,

And man may brew
His nectar too,
The rich receipt's as follows:-

Take wine like this,

Let looks of bliss Around it well be blended,

Then bring Wit's beam

To warm the stream," And there's your nectar, splendid!

So, wreath the bowl, &c. .

Say, why did Time
His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly,

When wine he knew

Runs brisker through
And sparkles far more brightly.

Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus, The glass in two we'd sever, Make pleasure glide

In double tide, And fill both ends for ever! · Then, wreath the bowl, &c.

WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.

Air-Father Quinn.

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,

All filld with hope, and joy, and light, As if no cloud could ever rise,

To dim a heav'n so purely brightI sigh to think how soon that brow

In grief may lose its every ray, And that light heart so joyous now,

Almost forget it once was gay.

For Time will come with all his blights,

The ruin'd hope—the friend unkind And Love who leaves, where'er he lights,

A chill’d or burning heart behind! And youth, that like pure snow appears,

Ere sullied by the dark’ning rain, When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears,

Will never shine so bright again!

IRISH MELODIES.

IRISH MELODIES.

173

IF THOU’LT BE MINE.

Air-The Winnowing Sheet.

If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,

Of earth, and sea shall lie at thy feet; Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet

Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love!

Bright flow'rs shall bloom where'er we rove,

A voice divine shall talk in each stream, The stars shall look like worlds of love, And this earth be all one beautiful dream

In our eyes, if thou wilt be mine, love!

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,

Like streams that flow from heaven-ward hills, Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie To be bathed by those eternal rills,

Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

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