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And there hung the lute, that could soften
My very worst pains into bliss,
Now throbb'd to my proud rival's kiss!
There was a time, falsest of women!
When Breffni's good sword would have sought That man through a million of foemen,
Who dared but to doubt thee in thought! While now-oh! degenerate daughter
Of Erin! how fall'n is thy fame! And, through ages of bondage and slaughter,'
Thy country shall bleed for thy shame.
Already, the curse is upon her,
And strangers her vallies profane; They come to divide-to dishonour
And tyrants they long will remain! But, onward!--the green banner rearing,
Go, flesh ev'ry brand to the hilt; On'our side is VIRTUE and ERIN,
On theirs is the Saxon and GUILT.
OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF
AIR-Sheela na Guira.
Ou! had we some bright little isle of our own,
With so fond a delay,
A thin veil o'er the day;
There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the
clime, We should love, as they loved, in the first golden
time; The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer
From decline as the bowers;
Living always on flowers;
FAREWELL!--BUT, WHENEVER YOU WELCOME
FAREWELL!but, whenever you welcome the
houri That awakens the night-song of mirth in your
bower, Then think of the friend, who once welcomed
it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return—not a hope may remain Of the few that have brighten'd his path-way
painBut he ne'er will forget the short vision, that
threw Its enchantment around him, while ling’ring with
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills
up To the highest top sparkle. each heart and each
сир, , Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that
night; Shall join in your revels, your sports and your
wiles, And return to me, beaming all o'er with your
smiles! Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay
cheer, Some kind voice had murmur'd, “I wish he
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which he cannot de
stroy, Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and
care, And bring back the features that joy used to