Yet let me keep the book; To let wild passion write Haply when from those eyes Fancy may trace some line Worthy those eyes to meet; Thoughts that not buru, but shine, Pure, calm, and sweet. And as the records are, Which wand'ring seamen keep, Led by the hidden star Tell through what storms I stray, You still the unseen light Guiding my way. THE LEGACY. WHEN IN DEATH I SHALL CALM RECLINE. AIR-Unknown. WHEN in death I shall calm recline, To sully a heart so brilliant and light; When the light of my song is o'er, Then take my harp to your ancient hall; Hang it up at that friendly door Where weary travellers love to call :' In every house was one or two harps free to all travellers, who were the more caressed, the more they excelled in music.-O'Halloran Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, Revive its soft note in passing along, Oh! let one thought of its master waken Your warmest smile for the child of song. Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, On lips that beauty hath seldom blest! To her he adores shall bathe its brim, Oh then my spirit around shall hover, And hallow each drop that foams for him. . HOW OFT HAS THE BANSHEE CRIED. AIR--The Blak Maid. How oft has the Benshie cried! Bright links that glory wove, Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth! Sigh o'er the hero's grave! We've fallen upon gloomy days; ' Star after star decays: Ev'ry bright name that shed Light o'er the land is fled. Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth Lost joy or hope, that ne'er returneth; Oh! quench'd ore our beacon lights, I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish character which it is my object to preserve through this work, to allude to that sad and ominous fatality, by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men, at a moment when she most requires all the aid of talent and integrity. 2 This designation, which has been appned to Lord NELSON before, is the title given to a celebrated Irish hero, in a Poem, by O'Gnive, the bard of O'Nial, which is quoted in the « Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland, » p. 433. « Con of the hundred fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeat with thy victories ! » Thou on whose burning tongue Tell how they lived and died! WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD. AIR-Gary one. WE may roam through this world like child at a feast, Who but sips of a sweet and then flies to the rest, And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be set off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, Are the dearest gift that heaven supplies, We never need leave our own Green Isle For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd 3 Fox, ultimus Romanorum. |