They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

II.

In Mercury's star, where each minute can bring them
New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high,
Though the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing them,*
They've none, even there, more enamour'd than I.
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love,
And that eye its divine inspiration shall be,
They may talk as they will of their Edens above,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

III.

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour,
At twilight so often we've roam'd through the dew,
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. +

But, though they were even more bright than the queen
Of that isle they inhabit in Heaven's blue sea,
As I never those fair young celestials have seen,
Why,—this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

IV.

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation,
Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare,
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,
Heaven knows we have plenty on earth we could spare.
Oh! think what a world we should have of it here,
If the haters of peace, of affection and glee,
Were to fly up to SATURN's comfortless sphere,
And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me.

OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME!
AIR.-Name Unknown.

I.

Oн for the swords of former time!

Oh for the men who bore them,

* Tous les habitans de Mercure sont vifs.-Pluralité des Mondes.

La Terre pourra être pour Vénus l'étoile du berger et la mère des amours, comme Vénus l'est pour nous.—Ib.

When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them!
When pure yet, ere courts began
With honour to enslave him,
The best honours worn by Man

Were those which Virtue gave him.
Oh for the swords of former time!
Oh for the men who bore them,

When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime, And tyrants crouch'd before them.

II.

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then!
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men,
Were all the ramparts round them.
When, safe built on bosoms true,

The throne was but the centre,
Round which Love a circle drew,
That Treason durst not enter.
Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then!
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men,
Were all the ramparts round them!

IRISH MELODIES.

No. VIII.

NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.

AIR.-My Husband's a Journey to Portugal gone.

I.

NE'ER ask the hour-what is it to us
How Time deals out his treasures?
The golden moments, lent us thus,
Are not his coin, but Pleasure's.

If counting them over could add to their blisses,
I'd number each glorious second:

But moments of joy are, like LESBIA's kisses,
Two quick and sweet to be reckon❜d.

Then fill the cup-what is it to us

How Time his circle measures?

The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's!

II.

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,

Till Care, one summer's morning,

Set up, among his smiling flowers,

A dial, by way of warning.

But Joy lov'd better to gaze on the sun,

As long as its light was glowing,

Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on,

And how fast that light was going.

So fill the cup-what is it to us

How Time his circle measures?

The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's.

SAIL ON, SAIL ON.
AIR.-The Humming of the Ban.

I.

SAIL on, sail on, thou fearless bark—
Wherever blows the welcome wind,
L

It cannot lead to scenes more dark,

More sad than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say

"Though death beneath our smile may be,
"Less cold we are, less false than they,

"Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee.”
II.

Sail on, sail on,-through endless space-
Through calm-through tempest-stop no more:
The stormiest sea's a resting-place

To him who leaves such hearts on shore.
Or, if some desert land we meet,

Where never yet false-hearted men
Profan'd a world, that else were sweet,-
Then rest thee, bark, but not till then.

THE PARALLEL.

AIR.-I would rather than Ireland.

I.

YES, sad one of SION*-if closely resembling,"

In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same cup of trembling" Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.

II.

Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken,
And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown ;
In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken,
And "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."+
III.

Like thine doth her exile, mid dreams of returning,
Die far from the home it were life to behold;
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning,
Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old!
IV.

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken,"‡ Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves; * These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews.

+ "Her sun is gone down while it was yet day. Jer. xv. 9. $ "Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken."-Isaiah lxii. 4.

And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken,
Have breathings as sad as the wind over graves!

ས·

Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the morrow
That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night,
When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sorrow
Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight.

VI.

When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City * Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips, And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, The howl in her halls and the cry from her ships.

VII.

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over
Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust,

And—a ruin, at last, for the earth-worm to cover—†
The Lady of Kingdoms + lay low in the dust.

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

AIR.-Paddy O'Rafferty.

I.

DRINK of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for HELEN,
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in,

Only taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it;

But would you rise above earth, till akin

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it.

Send round the cup-forob there's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for HELEN,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

* "How hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased." -Isaiah xiv. 4.

"Thy pomp is brought down to the grave....and the worms cover thee." Isaiah, xiv. 11.

"Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms.” Isaiah, xlvii. 5.