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Then, oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove,
dear; And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips that are
THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS.
THROUGH GRIEF AND THROUGH DANGER.
AIR-I once had a True Love.
THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile
hath cheer'd my way, Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that
round me lay; The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure
love burn'd, Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn’d: Oh! slave as I
was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, And bless'd e'en the sorrows that made me more
dear to thee.
Thy rival was honour'd while thou wert wrong'd
and scorn'd; Thy crown was of briers while gold her brows
She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid
in caves; Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas!
were slaves; Yet cold in the earth at thy feet I would rather be Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought
They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are
frailHadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd
less pale! They say too, so long thou hast worn these
ling’ring chains ! That deep in thy heart they have printed their
servile stains; Oh! do not believe them-no chain could that
soul subdue; Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth
1 “ Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."
St. Paul, 2 Corinthians iii. 17.
WHEN THROUGH LIFE UNBLEST WE ROVE.
AIR-Banks of Bunna.
When through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear; Should some notes, we used to love
In days of boyhood, meet our ear; Oh! how welcome breathes the strain,
Wakening thoughts that long have sleptKindling former smiles again
In faded eyes that long have wept!
Like the gale that sighs along
Beds of oriental flow'rs,
That once was heard in happier hours.
Fill'd with balm the gale sighs on,
Though the flow'rs have sunk in death: So, when pleasure's dream is gone,
Its memory lives in Music's breath!
Music! oh! how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell! Why should Feeling ever speak,
When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship’s balmy words may feign,
Love's are ev’n more false than they; Oh! 'tis only Music's strain
Can sweetly sooth, and not betray!