IRISH MELODIES. No. IV. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. I. OH! the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove ; When my dream of life, from morn till night, New hope may bloom, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream! Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life II. Though the bard to purer fame may soar, Though he win the wise, who frown'd before, He'll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear And, at every close, she blush'd to hear III. Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot, Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot "Twas odour fled As soon as shed; "Twas morning's winged dream; 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again THE PRINCE'S DAY.* 1. THOUGH dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, Has ceased to pain, And hope has enwreathed it round with flowers, Our spirit to sink Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles, II. Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal! Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true; And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. While cowards who blight Your fame, your right, Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, In front would be seen Oh! my life on your faith! were you summon'd this minute, You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, And show what the arm of old ERIN has in it, When roused by the foe, on her Prince's Day. *This song was written for a fête in honour of the Prince of Wales's Birth-Day, given by my friend, Major Bryan, at his seat in the county of Kilkenny. III. He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded, The gem may be broke By many a stroke, But nothing can cloud its native ray; A light, to the last !— And thus, ERIN, my country! though broken thou art, WEEP ON, WEEP ON. I. WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past; And you are men no more! In vain the hero's heart hath bled; The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain ;- II. Weep on-perhaps in after days They'll learn to love your name; When many a deed shall wake in praise And, when they tread the ruin❜d isle, Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wond'ring ask, how hands so vile III. ""Twas fate," they'll say, "a wayward fate "And, while your tyrants join'd in hate, "But hearts fell off that ought to twine, "And man profaned what God hath given, "Till some were heard to curse the shrine "Where others knelt to Heaven!" LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. I. LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth! Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon My NORA's lid, that seldom rises; Like unexpected light, surprises! My gentle, bashful NORA CREINA! In many eyes, But love in yours, my NORA CREINA! II. LESBIA wears a robe of gold, But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of Beauty's mould Presumes to stay where Nature placed it! Oh! my NORA's gown for me, That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free To sink or swell, as Heaven pleases! My simple, graceful NORA CREINA! Is loveliness The dress you wear, my NORA CREINA! III. LESBIA hath a wit refined, But, when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're design'd To dazzle merely or to wound us? Pillow'd on my NORA's heart, Hath not the Light That warms your eyes, my NoRa Creina! I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. AIR.-Domhnall. I. I saw thy form in youthful prime, And waste its bloom away, MARY! As streams that run o'er golden mines, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines And that which charm'd all other eyes If souls could always dwell above, To live with them is far less sweet Than to remember thee, MARY!* I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite inscription of Shenstone's," Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse !" |