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WILT THOU SAY FAREWELL, LOVE?
"WILT thou say farewell, love,
And from Zelinda part?
Zelinda's tears will tell, love,
The anguish of her heart."

“I'll still be thine, and thou'lt be mine,
I'll love thee though we sever;
Oh! say, can I e'er cease to sigh,
Or cease to love?-oh never.'

"Wilt thou think of me, love,
When thou art far away?"
"Oh! I'll think of thee, love,
Never, never stray!"

"Let not other wiles, love,
Thy ardent heart betray;
Remember Zelinda's smile, love,
Zelinda, far away!"

CEASE, OH CEASE TO TEMPT.

CEASE, oh cease to tempt

My tender heart to love,

It never, never can

So wild a flame approve.

All its joys and pains

To others I resign;

But be the vacant heart,

The careless bosom, mine.

Say, oh say no more,

That lovers' pains are sweet;

I never, never can

Believe the fond deceit.

Weeping day and night,

Consuming life in sighs;

This is the lover's lot,

And this I ne'er could prize.

JOYS THAT PASS AWAY.

Joys that pass away like this,
Alas! are purchased dear,

If every beam of bliss

Is followed by a tear.

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Fare thee well! oh fare thee well!

Soon, too soon, thou hast broke the spell;

Oh! I ne'er can love again

The girl whose faithless art

Could break so dear a chain,

And with it break my heart!

Once when truth was in those eyes.
How beautiful they shone;
But now that lustre flies,

For truth, alas, is gone!

Fare thee well! oh fare thee well!
How I've loved my hate shall tell.
Oh how lorn, how lost, would prove
Thy wretched victim's fate,
If, when deceived in love,
He could not fly to hate!

MY MARY.

LOVE, my Mary, dwells with thee,
On thy cheek his bed I see;
No, that cheek is pale with care,
Love can find no roses there.

'Tis not on the cheek of rose
Love can find the best repose;
In my heart his home thou'lt see,
There he lives, and lives for thee!

Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam,
While he makes that eye his home;
No, the eye with sorrow dim
Ne'er can be a home for him.

Yet, 'tis not in beaming eyes
Love for ever warmest lies;
In my heart his home thou'lt see,---
Here he lives, and lives for thee!

NOW LET THE WARRIOR.

Now let the warrior wave his sword afar,
For the men of the East this day shall bleed,

And the sun shall blush with war.

Victory sits on the Christian's helm,

To guide her holy band;

The Knight of the Cross this day shall whelm
The men of the Pagan land.

Oh, blest who in the battle dies!
God will enshrine him in the skies!

LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP.

LIGHT Sounds the harp when the combat is over,
When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom,
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover,
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume.
But when the foe returns,

Again the hero burns;

High flames the sword in his hand once more:
The clang of mingling arms

Is then the sound that charms,

And brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung.
Oh then comes the harp, when the combat is over,
When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom;
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover,
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume.

Light went the harp when the War-God, reclining,
Lay lulled on the white arm of Beauty to rest,
When round his rich armour the myrtle hung twining,
And flights of young doves made his helmet their nest.
But when the battle came,

The hero's eye breathed flame:

Soon from his neck the white arm was flung;
While, to his wakening ear,

No other sounds were dear

But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung.
But then came the light harp when danger was ended,
And Beauty once more lulled the War-God to rest;
When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended,
And flights of young doves made his helmet their nest.

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PREFATORY LETTER ON MUSIC.

IT has often been remarked, and oftener felt, that our music is the truest of all comments upon our history. The tone of defiance, succeeded by the languor of despondency-a burst of turbulence dying away into softness-the sorrows of one moment lost in the levity of the next-and all that romantic mixture of mirth and sadness which is naturally produced by the efforts of a lively temperament to shake off or forget the wrongs which lie upon it:-such are the features of our history and character, which we find strongly and faithfully reflected in our music; and there are many airs which, I think, it is difficult to listen to without recalling some period or event to which their expression seems peculiarly applicable. Sometimes, when the strain is open and spirited, yet shaded here and there by a mournful recollection, we can fancy that we behold the brave allies of Montrose* marching to the aid of the royal cause, notwithstanding all the perfidy of Charles and his ministers, and remembering just enough of past sufferings to enhance the generosity of their present sacrifice. The plaintive melodies of Carolan take us back to the times in which he lived, when our poor countrymen were driven to worship their God in caves, or to quit for ever the land of their birth, (like the bird that abandons the nest which human touch has violated ;) and in many a song do we hear the last farewell of the exile, mingling regret for the ties he leaves at home, with sanguine expectations of the honours that await him abroad-such honours as were won on the field of Fontenoy, where the valour of Irish Catholics turned the fortune of the day in favour of the French, and extorted from

*There are some gratifying accounts of the gallantry of these Irish auxiliaries in The Complete History of the Wars in Scotland under Montrose, (1660., Clarendon owns that the Marquis of Montrose was indebted for much of his miraculous success to this small band of Irish heroes under Macdonnell.

George II, that memorable exclamation, "Cursed be the laws which deprive me of such subjects !”

Though much has been said of the antiquity of our music, it is certain that our finest and most popular airs are modern; and perhaps we may look no further than the last disgraceful century for the origin of most of those wild and melancholy strains which were at once the offspring and solace of grief, and which were applied to the mind as music was formerly to the body, "decantare loca dolentia Mr. Finkerton is of opinion that none of the Scotch popular airs are as old as the middle the sixteenth century; and though musical antiquaries refer us some of our melodies to so

early a period as the fifth century, I am persuaded that there are few of a crainted description (and by this I mean to exclude all the savage ceanans, cries, &c.) which can claim quite so ancient a date as Mr. Pinkerton allows to the Scotch. But music is not the only subject upon which our taste for antiquity is rather unreasonably indulged; and, however heretical it may be to dissent from these romantic speculations, I cannot help thinking that it is possible to love our country very zealously, and to feel deeply interested in her honour and happiness, without believing that Irish was the language spoken in Paradiset-that our ancestors were kind enough to take the trouble of polishing the Greeks—or that Abaris, the Hyperborean, was a native of the north of Ireland. §

By some of these archaeologists it has been imagined that the Irish were early acquainted with the counterpoint, and they endeavour to support this conjecture by a well-known passage in Giraldus, where he dilates with such elaborate praise upon the beauties of our national minstrelsy. But the terms of this eulogy are too vague, too deficient in technical accuracy, to prove that even Giraldus himself knew anything of the artifice of counterpoint. There are many expressions in the Greek and Latin writers which might be cited with much more plausibility to prove that they understood the arrangement of music in parts; yet I believe

*Of which some genuine specimens may be found at the end of Mr. Walker's work upon the Irish Bards. Mr. Bunting has disfigured his last splendid volume by too many of these barbarous rhapsodies.

+ See Advertisement to the Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Dublin. O'Halloran, vol. i., part i., chap. vi.

§ Id. ib., chap. vii.

It is also supposed, but with as little proof, that they understood the diésis, or enharmonic interval. The Greeks seem to have formed their ears to this delicate gradation of sound; and, whatever difficulties or objections may lie in the way of its practical use, we must agree with Mersenne, (Preludes de l'Harmonie, quest. 7,) that the theory of music would be imperfect without it; and, even ir. practice, as Tosi, among others, very justly remarks, (Observations on Florid Song, chap. i., § 16,) there is no good performer on the violin who does not make a sensible difference between D sharp and E flat, though, from the imperfection of the instrument, they are the same notes upon the pianoforte. The effect of modulation by enharmonic transitions is also very striking and beautiful,

- The words ποικιλια and ἑτεροφωνια, in a passage of Plato, and some expressions of Cicero, in fragment, lib. ii., De Republ., induced the Abbé Fraguier to maintain that the ancients had a knowledge of counterpoint. M. Burette, however, has answered him, I think, satisfactorily, ("Examen d'un Passage de Platon," in the third volume of Histoire de l'Acad.) M. Huet is of opinion (Pensées Diverses) that what Cicero says of the music of the

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