MY MARY. LOVE, my Mary, dwells with thee, No, that cheek is pale with care, 'Tis not on the cheek of rose Yet, 'tis not in beaming eyes NOW LET THE WARRIOR. Now let the warrior wave his sword afar, 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 Oh, blest who in the battle dies! 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, High flames the sword in his hand once more: Is then the sound that charms, And brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung. Light went the harp when the War-God, reclining, The hero's eye breathed flame : No other sounds were dear But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung. And flights of young doves made his helmet their nest. A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. ADVERTISEMENT. THESE verses were written for a Benefit at the Dublin Theatre, and were spoken by Miss Smith, with a degree of success which they owed solely to her admirable manner of reciting them. I wrote them in haste; and it very rarely happens that poetry, which has cost but little labour to the writer, is productive of any great pleasure to the reader. Under this impression, I should not have published them if they had not found their way into some of the newspapers, with such an addition of errors to their own original stock, that I thought it but fair to limit their responsibility to those faults alone which really belong to them. With regard to the title which I have invented for this Poem, I feel even more than the scruples of the Emperor Tiberius, when he humbly asked pardon of the Roman Senate for using "the outlandish term monopoly." But the truth is, having written the Poem with the sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought that an untelligible word of this kind would not be without its attraction for the multitude, with whom, "If 'tis not sense, at least 'tis Greek." some of my readers, however, it may not be superfluous to say, that by "Melologue," I mean that mixture of recitation and music which is frequently adopted in the performance of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and of which the most striking example I can remember is the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of Racine. T. M. To MELOLOGUE. INTRODUCTORY MUSIC. THERE breathes a language known and felt That language of the soul is felt and known. Where oft, of old, on some high tower, Not worlds could keep her from his arms away, Where, beneath a sunless sky, The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly, Of vernal Phœbus burn'd upon his brow; Is still resistless, still the same; To the pale star that o'er its realm presides, The spell-bound tides Of human passion rise and fall for thee! GREEK AIR LIST! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings, She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn, And by her side, in music's charm dissolving, Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving, Dreams of bright days that never can return, When Athens nursed her olive bough, With hands by tyrant power unchain'd, |