Fair steed, fair steed, as white and free; And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers, Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers, Fair steed, around my love and thee. Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, Most sweet, most sweet, that death will be, Which under the next May evening's light, When thou and thy steed are lost to sight, Dear love, dear love, I'll die for thee. ECHO. HOW SWEET THE ANSWER ECHO MAKES. AIR-The Wren. How sweet the answer Echo makes When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. 'Tis when the sigh in youth sincere, And only then, The sigh, that's breathed for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear, Breathed back again! OH, BANQUET NOT. AIR-Planxty Irwine. OH, banquet not in those shining bowers, There, while the myrtle's withering boughs To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE! AIR" Staca an Mharaga," (The Market-stake.) THE dawning of morn, the day-light's sinking, When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, Whatever in fame's high path could waken For thee, thee, only thee. Like shores, by which some headlong bark |