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IRISH MELODIES.

GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.

Go where glory waits thee;
But, while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh! then remember me!

When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,

Oh! thus remember me.

Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its ling'ring roses,

Once so lov'd by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,
Oh! then remember me.

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I us'd to sing thee, -
Oh! then remember me.

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE BRAVE.*

WAR SONG.

REMEMBER the glories of Brien the brave,
Tho' the days of the hero are o'er;
Tho' lost to Mononia † and cold in the grave,
He returns to Kinkora ‡ no more.

That star of the field, which so often hath pour'd
Its beam on the battle, is set;

But enough of its glory remains on each sword,
To light us to victory yet.

Mononia! when Nature embellish'd the tint
Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair,
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print
The footstep of slavery there?

No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,
Go, tell our invaders, the Danes,

That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, Than to sleep but a moment in chains.

* Brien Boromhe, the great monarch of Ireland, who was killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the 11th century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty-five engagements. † Munster.

The palace of Brien.

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood *
In the day of distress by our side;

While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died.

That sun which now blesses our arms with his light, Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain;

Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, To find that they fell there in vain.

ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN

THINE

EYES.

ERIN, the tear and the smile in thine eyes,
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies!
Shining through sorrow's stream,
Saddening through pleasure's beam,
Thy suns with doubtful gleam,
Weep while they rise.

This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais, the favourite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest. .-"Let stakes (they said) be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by the side of a sound man." "Between seven and eight hundred wounded men (adds O'Halloran) pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops; - never was such another sight exhibited." — History of Ireland, book xii. chap. i.

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