sake and our own, of the interest which this purely Chosen leaf Irish Work has excited, and so anxious lest a particle Of bard and chief, of that interest should be lost by any ill-judged pro- Old Erin's native Shamrock! fraction of its existence, that we think it wiser to take away the cup from the lip, while its flavour is yet, Says Valour, “See, we trust, fresh and sweet, than to risk any longer They spring for me, trial of the charm, or give so much as not to leave Those leafy gems of morning !". some wish for more. In speaking thus I allude en Says Love, “No, no, tirely to the Airs, which are, of course, the main at For me they grow, traction of these volumes; and, though we have still My fragrant path adorning!" many popular and delightful Melodies to produce, But Wit perceives yet it cannot be denied that we should soon expe The triple leaves, rience some difficulty in equalling the richness and And cries, “Oh! do not sever novelty of the earlier Numbers, for which, as we had A type that blends the choice of all before us, we naturally selected only Three god-like friends, the most rare and beautiful. The Poetry, too, would Love, Valour, Wit, for ever!” be sure to sympathize with the decline of the Music, Oh, the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock i and, however feebly my words have kept pace with Chosen leaf the excellence of the Airs, they would follow their Of bard and chief, falling off, I fear, with wonderful alacrity. So that, Old Erin's native Shamrock! altogether, both pride and prudence counsel us to stop, while the Work is yet, we believe, flourishing So, firmly fond and attractive, and, in the imperial attitude, “stantes May last the bond mori,” before we incur the charge either of altering They wove that morn together, for the worse, or, what is equally unpardonable, con And ne'er may fall tinuing too long the same. One drop of gall We beg, however, to say, it is only in the event of On Wit's celestial feather! our failing to find Airs as exquisite as most of those May Love, as shoot we have given, that we mean thus to anticipate the His flowers and fruit, natural period of dissolution, like those Indians who Of thorny falsehood weed 'em! put their relatives to death when they become feeble. May Valour ne'er His standard rear Against the cause of Freedom ! Oh, the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock! Chosen leaf Of bard and chief, Old Erin's native Shamrock! Air-Alley Croker. AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. AIR—Molly, my Dear. At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved when life was warm in And I think that if spirits can steal from the regions of air Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to As softly green me there, As emeralds, seen And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky! Through purest crystal gleaming! Oh, the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock, Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear, When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on 1 Among these is Savourna Deelish, which I have hitherto only withheld, from the diffidence I feel in treading And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad ori upon the same ground with Mr. Campbell, whose beautiful son rolls, words to this fine air have taken too strong possession of all ears and hearts, for me to think of producing any impression I think, oh, my love ! 't is thy voice from the kingafter him. I suppose, however, I must attempt it for the dom of souls,' next Number. Faintly answering still the notes that once were so 2 Saint Patrick is said to have made use of that species of the trefoil, in Ireland called the Shamrock, in explaining dear. the doctrine of the Trinity to the pagan Irish. I do not know if there be any other reason for our adoption of this plant as a national emblem. Hope, among the ancients, 1 “There are countries,” says Montaigne, " where they was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, "standing believe the souls of the happy live in all manner of liberty, upon tip-toes, and a trefoil or three-coloured grass in her in delightful fields; and that it is those souls, repeating the thine eye, the ear, words we utter, which we call Echo." hand.” ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. AIR-Moll Roe in the Morning. ONE bumper at parting!-though many Have circled the board since we met, The fullest, the saddest of any Remains to be crown'd by us yet. The sweetness that pleasure has in it Is always so slow to come forth, That seldom, alas, till the minute It dies, do we know half its worth! But fill-may our life's happy measure Be all of such moments made up; Those few sunny spots, like the present, But Time, like a pitiless master, Cries, "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours; And never does Time travel faster Than when his way lies among flowers. His beam o'er a deep billow's brim- And oh! may our life's happy measure T IS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. AIR-Groves of Blarney. 'Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh! I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away! When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? THE YOUNG MAY-MOON. THE Young May-moon is beaming, love! Through Morna's grove,' While the drowsy world is dreaming, love. To lengthen our days, Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! Now all the world is sleeping, love! More glorious far, Is the eye from that casement peeping, love! Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear! THE MINSTREL-BOY. AIR-The Moreen. THE Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone, And his wild harp slung behind him.- The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain For he tore its chords asunder; Thy songs were made for the pure and free, THE SONG OF O'RUARK, PRINCE OF BREFFNI.2 AIR-The pretty Girl milking her Cow. 1 "Steals silently to Morna's grove." See a translation from the Irish, in Mr. Bunting's collec tion, by John Brown, one of my earliest college companions and friends, whose death was as singularly melancholy and unfortunate as his life had been amiable, honourable, and exemplary. 2 These stanzas are founded upon an event of most melancholy importance to Ireland, if, as we are told by our 1 Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me, I look'd for the lamp, which she told me While the hand that had waked it so often Now throbb'd to a 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! Of ERIN-how fall'n is thy fame! Already the curse is upon her, And strangers her vallies profane; On theirs is THE SAXON and GUILT. OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OH! had we some bright little isle of our own, Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, A thin veil o'er the day; Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give! Irish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing us. The following are the circumstances as related by O'Halloran. "The King of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter to the King of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to O'Ruark, Prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. They carried on a private correspondence, and she informed him that O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage (an act of piety. frequent in those days,) and conjured him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her from a husband she detested to a lover she adored. Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns."-The Monarch Roderick espoused the cause of O'Ruark, while Mac Murchad filed to England, and obtained the assistance of Henry II. "Such," adds Giraldus Cambrensis, (as I find him in an old translation,) "is the variable and fickle nature of woman, by whom all mischiefs in the world (for the most part) do happen and come, as may appear by Marcus Antonius, and by the destruction of Troy." 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 there! With affection, as free From decline as the bowers, And with Hope, like the bee, Our life should resemble a long day of light, FAREWELL!-BUT, WHENEVER YOU AIR-Moll Roone. FAREWELL!-but, whenever you welcome the hour you! And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, OH! DOUBT ME NOT. Shall watch the fire awaked by Love Is o'er when Folly made me rove, The bee through many a garden roves, Far better lights shall win me And hums his lay of courtship o'er, Along the path I've yet to roam,— But, when he finds the flower he loves, The mind that burns within me, He settles there, and hums no more. And pure smiles from thee at home. Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveller, at first goes out, He feels awhile benighted, And looks around, in fear and doubt. soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless star-light on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which Heaven sheds ! How meekly she bless'd her humble lot, No. VI. Till William at length, in sadness, said, “We must seek our fortune on other plains ;" In presenting this Sixth Number as our last, and Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. bidding adieu to the Irish Harp for ever, we shall not answer very confidently for the strength of our resoThey roam'd a long and a weary way, lution, nor feel quite sure that it may not prove, after Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, all, to be only one of those eternal farewells which a When now, at close of one stormy day, lover takes of his inistress occasionally. Our only They see a proud castle among the trees. motive indeed for discontinuing the Work was a fear “To-night,” said the youth, “ we'll shelter there; that our treasures were beginning to be exhausted, The wind blows cold, the hour is late:" and an unwillingness to descend to the gathering of So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, mere seed-pearl, after the very valuable gems it has And the porter bow'd as they pass'd the gate. been our lot to string together. But this intention, which we announced in our Fifth Number, has ex“Now, welcome, Lady !” exclaim'd the youth," This castle is thine, and these dark woods all.” pleasant and flattering, but highly useful to us; for cited an anxiety in the lovers of Irish Music, not only She believed him wild, but his words were truth, the various contributions we have received in conFor Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall! sequence have enriched our collection with so many And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves choice and beautiful Airs, that, if we keep to our reWhat William the stranger woo'd and wed; solution of publishing no more, it will certainly be an And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, instance of forbearance and self-command unexamIs pure as it shone in the lowly shed. pled in the history of poets and musicians. T. M. March, 1815. AIR-The Rose Tree. COME O’ER THE SEA. AIR-Cuishlih ma Chree. COME o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows! No clouds can linger o'er me, Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. 'T is not in fate to harm me, Let fate frown on, so we love and part not ; 'Tis life where thou art, 't is death where thou art not. 'T is not in joy to charm me, Then, come o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Come wherever the wild wind blow; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes Is not the sea Made for the free, Land for courts and chains alone ? Here we are slaves, 1 This Ballad was suggested by a well-known and inte But, on the waves, resting story, told of a certain noble family in England. Love and Liberty 's all our own! No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us ! Then, come o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Seasons may roll, But the true soul Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken To such benign, bless'd sounds again. Of summer wind through some wreathed shellEach secret winding, each inmost feeling Of all my soul echoed to its spell ! 'T was whisper'd balm-'t was sunshine spoken! I'd live years of grief and pain, By such benign, bless'd sounds again! WHEN FIRST I MET THEE. Air-O Patrick ! fly from me. When first I met thee, warm and young, There shone such truth about thee, I did not dare to doubt thee. Still clung with hope the fonder, But go, deceiver! go, The heart, whose hopes could make it Trust one so false, so low, Deserves that thou shouldst break it! 1 HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED? Air-Sly Patrick As clouds o'er the morning fleet ? That, even in sorrow, were sweet? Does Time with his cold wing wither Each feeling that once was dear?TI child of misfortune! come her, I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. Has love to that soul, so tender, Been like our Lagenian mine," Where sparkles of golden splendour All over the surface shineBut, if in pursuit we go deeper, Allured by the gleam that shone, Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper, Like Love, the bright ore is gone. That flitted from tree to tree Has Hope been that bird to thee? The gem did she still display, Then waft the fair gem away! When Sorrow herself look'd bright; That led thee along so light; Each feeling that once was dear;- I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 2 When every tongue thy follies named, I fled the unwelcome story; Some gleams of future glory. Conspired to wrong, to slight thee; Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken The grief of hearts forsaken. No lights of age adorn thee; And they who flatter scorn thee. No genial ties enwreathe it; I would not now surrender For all thy guilty splendour ! When even those ties shall sever; On her thou'st lost for ever! With smiles had still received thee, "Tis weakness to upbraid thee; Than guilt and shame have made thee. NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. Air-Luggelaw. Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, He thinks the full quire of Heaven is near,Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, This heart long had sleeping lain, 1 Our Wicklow Gold-Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, the character here given of them. 2" The bird having got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in his mouth. The Prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it: but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again,” etc.-Arabian Nights, Story of Kummir al Zummaun and the Princess of China. |