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THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.
AIR—Pease upon a Trencher.
The time I've lost in wooing,
The light that lies
My only books
Were Woman's looks,
Her smile when Beauty granted,
Like him the Sprite
! This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which is to be met with, they say, in the fields, at dusk ;-as long as you keep your eyes upon hiin, he is fixed and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is inge
Whoni maids by night
If once their ray
Was turn'd away.
And are those follies going?
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance
nious in furnishing, some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite which we call the Leprechaun ; but a high authority upon such subjects, Lady MORGAN (in a note upon her national and interesting novel, «O'Donnel») has given a very different account of that goblin.
OH! WHERE'S THE SLAVE!
Air-Sios agus sios liom.
On! where's the slave so lowly,
Who, could he burst
His bonds at first, Would piñe beneath them slowly? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, Would wait till time decay’d it,
When thus its wing
At once may spring
Farewell, Erin! farewell all,
Less dear tne jaurel growing, .
Than that, whose braid
· The friends we've tried
Are by our side,
Farewell, Erin! farewell all
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
Oh! what was ove made for, if ’tis not the same Through joy and through torments, through glory
i and shame!
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
Thou hast call’d 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
"Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the
dead, When man, from the slumber of ages awaking, Look'd upward and bless’d the pure ray ere il . fled! .
. . 'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning, But deepen the long night of bondage and mour