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But ah! if vain the patriot's zeal,

If neither valour's force nor wisdom's light

Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal Which shuts so close the book of Europe's rightWhat song shall then in sadness tell Of broken pride, of prospects shaded; Of buried hopes, remembered well, Of ardour quenched and honour faded?

What muse shall mourn the breathless brave,

In sweetest dirge at memory's shrine?

What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave? O Erin! thine!

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"The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and he sun. Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summ-

and winter."-Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17.

I.

THOU art, O God! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.

II.

When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven;
Those hues that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are thine.

III.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes;-
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are thine.

I have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. 1 cautiful old words, "I do confess thou'rt smooth and fait."

It is sung to the

IV.

When youthful spring arcund us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; And every flower the summer wreathes

Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.

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And false the light on glory's plume,

As fading hues of even;

And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,There's nothing bright but Heaven!

III.

Poor wanderers of a stormy day,'
From wave to wave we're driven,
And fancy's flash and reason's ray
Serve but to light the troubled way,-
There's nothing calm but Heaven!

FALLEN IS THY THRONE.

AIR-Martini.

I.

FALLEN is thy throne, O Israel!
Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
Thy children weep in chains.

Where are the dews that fed thee

On Etham's barren shore?

That fire from heaven which led thee
Now lights thy path no more.

II.

Lord! thou didst love Jerusalem ;—
Once, she was all thy own;

Her love thy fairest heritage,
Her power thy glory's throne,+
Till evil came, and blighted

Thy long-loved olive-tree ;--
And Salem's shrines were lighted
For other gods than Thee!

III.

Then sunk the star of Solyma ;-
Then passed her glory's day,
Like heath that in the wilderness §
The wild wind whirls away.
Silent and waste her bowers,
Where once the mighty trod,
And sunk those guilty towers
Where Baal reigned as God!

IV.

"Go," said the Lord-"ye conquerors!
Steep in her blood your swords,
And raze to earth her battlements, ||
For they are not the Lord's!
Till Zion's mournful daughter

O'er kindred bones shall tread,
And Hinnom's vale of slaughter T
Shall hide but half her dead!"

WHO IS THE MAID? **
AIR-Beethoven.

I.

WHO is the maid my spirit seeks,

Through cold reproof and slander's blight,
Has she Love's roses on her cheeks?

Is hers an eye of this world's light?

No, wan and sunk with midnight prayer
Are the pale looks of her I love;

* "I have left mine heritage; I have given the dearly beloved of my soul into the hands of her enemies."-Jer. xii. 7.

"Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory."-Jer. xiv, 21.

"The Lord called thy name, A green olive-tree, fair, and of goodly fruit," &c.-Jer. xi. 16.

$"For he shall be like the heath in the desert."-Jer. xvii. 6.

"Take away her battlements; for they are not the Lord's."-Jer. v. 10. ། "Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the valley of the son of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury in Tophet, till there be no place."-Jer. vii. 32.

**These lines were suggested by a passage in St. Jerome's reply to some calumnious remarks that had been circulated upon his intimacy with the Matron Paula:-"Numquid me vestes serica, nitentes gemmæ, picta facies, aut auri rapuit ambitio? Nulla funt alia Romæ matronarum, quæ meam possit edomare - Epist. **Si tibi mentem, nisi lugens atque jejunans, fletu pene cæcata.' putem."

"

"

Or if, at times, a light be there,
Its beam is kindled from above.

II.

I chose not her, my soul's elect,

From those who seek their Maker's shrine
In gems and garlands proudly decked,

As if themselves were things divine!
No Heaven but faintly warms the breast
That beats beneath a broidered veil;
And she who comes in glittering vest
To mourn her frailty still is frail.*

III.

Not so the faded form I prize

And love, because its bloom is gone;
The glory in those sainted eyes

Is all the grace her brow puts on.
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright,
So touching as that form's decay,
Which, like the altar's trembling light,
In holy lustre wastes away!

THE BIRD LET LOOSE.

AIR-Beethoven.

I.

THE bird, let loose in Eastern skies, +
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,

Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.

II.

So grant me, God, from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to Thee!
No sin to cloud-no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;-
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings!

* Οὐ γαρ χρυσοφορείν την δακρύουσαν δει.-Chrysost. Homil. 8, in Epist. ad Tim.

The carrier pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined.

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