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Power takes the liberty of announcing to the Public a Work which has long been a Desideratum in this country, Though the beauties of the National Music of Ireland have been very generally felt and acknowledged, yet it has happened, through the want of appropriate English words, and of the arrangement necessary to adapt them to the voice, that many of the most excellent compositions have hitherto remained in obscurity. It is intended, therefore, to form a Collection of the best Original IRISH MELODIES, with characteristic Symphonies and Accompaniments; and with Words containing, as frequently as possible, allusions to the manners and history of the Country. SIR John STEVENSON has very kindly consented to undertake the arrangement of the Airs; and the lovers of simple National Music may rest secure, that, in such tasteful hands, the native charms of the original melody will not be sacrificed to the ostentatiou of science.

In the poetical Part, Power has had promises of assistance from several distinguished Literary Characters; particularly from MR. MOORE, whose lyrical talent is so peculiarly suited to such a task, and whose zeal in the undertaking will be best understood from the following Extract of a Letter which he addressed to Sir John STEVENSON on the subject:

“ I feel very anxious that a Work of this kind should be “ undertaken. We have too long neglected the only talent, “ for which our English neighbours ever deigned to allow us

any credit. Our National Music has never been properly " collected; * and, while the composers of the Continent “ have enriched their Operas and Sonatas with Melodies bor“ rowed from Ireland, -very often without even the honesty % of acknowledgment, we have left these treasures, in a great " degree, unclaimed and fugitive. Thus our Airs, like too ma

ny of our Countrymen, for want of protection at home, have “ passed into the service of foreigners. But we are come, I

hope, to a better period of both Politics and Music; and

* The writer forgot, when he made this assertion, that the Public are indebted to Mr. BUNTING for a very valuable Col. lection of Irish Music; and that the patriotic genius of Miss Owenson has been employed upon some of our finest Airs.

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“ how much they are connected, in Ireland at least, appears “ too plainly in the tone of sorrow and depression which cha“racterizes most of our early Songs.--The task which you propose

to me of adapting words to these airs, is by no means easy. The Poet, who would follow the various sentiments " which they express, must feel and understand that rapid ! fluctuation of spirits, that unaccountable mixture of gloom “ and levity, which composes the character of my countrymen, " and has deeply tinged their Music. Even in their liveliest “ strains we find some melancholy note intrude,-some minor “ Third or flat Seventh-which throws its shade as it passes, " and makes even mirth interesting. If Burns had been an “ Irisliman, (and I would willingly give up all our claims upon “ Ossian for him,) his heart would have been proud of such “ music, and his genius would have made it immortal.

“ Another difficulty (which is, however, purely mechanical) “ arises from the irregular structure of many of those airs, " and the lawless kind of metre which it will in consequence “ be necessary to adapt to them. In these instances the Poet

must write, not to the eye, but to the ear; and must be content to have his verses of that description which CICERO

mentions, Quos si cantu spoliaveris nuda remanebit oratio.' “ That beautiful Air, “The Twisting of the Rope,' which has « all the romantic character of the Swiss Ranz des Vaches, is

one of those wild and sentimental rakes which it will not be very easy to tie down in sober wedlock with Poetry. How

ever, notwithstanding all these difficulties, and the very little “ talent which I can bring to surmount them, the design ap

pears to me so truly National, that I shall feel much pleasure “ in giving it all the assistance in my power.

Leicestershire, Feb. 1807.”

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No. I.

AIR–Maid of the Valley.

Go where glory waits thee,
But, while fame elates thee,

Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh ! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee
Sweeter far may be ;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh ! then remember me.

When at eve thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning-

Oh ! then remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,

Once so loved by thee-
Think of her.who wove them,
Her who made thee love them

Oh ! then remember me.

When, around thee dying
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh ! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,

Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee ;
Strains I used to sing thee-

Oh! then remember me.


AIR.-Molly Macalpin.

REMEMBER the glories of BRIEN the brave,

Though the days of the hero are o'er ;
Though lost to MONONIA* and cold in the grave,

He returns to KINKORA + no more !
That star of the field, which so often has pour'd

Its beam on the battle, is set ;
But enough of its glory remains on each sword
To light us to victory yet !

MONONIA ! when nature embellish'd the tint

Of thy fields and thy mountains so fair,
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print

The footstep of Slavery there?
No, Freedom! whose smile we shall never resign,

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes,
That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine,

Than to sleep but a moment in chains ! * Brien Borombe, the great Monarch of Ireland, who was killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the 11th century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty-five engagements. * Munster.

+ The palace of Brien.


Forget not our wounded companions who stood $

In the day of distress by our side;
While the moss of the valley grew red with their bloods

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died !
The sun that now blesses our arms with his light,

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain !
Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night,

To find that they fell there in vain!



AIR.-Aileen Aroon.


ERIN ! the tear and the smile in thine eyes
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies !

Shining through sorrow's stream,
Saddening through pleasure's beam,
Thy suns, with doubtful gleam,
Weep while they rise!


ERIN ! thy silent tear never shall cease,
ERIN ! thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,

Till, like the rainbow's light,
Thy various tints unite,
And form, in Heaven's sight,

One arch of peace ! $ This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais, the favourite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, Prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest.—Let slakes (they said) be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his ranle by the side of a sound man." “Between seven and eight hundred wounded men (adds O'Halloran), pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops :-never was such another sight exhibited.”HISTORY OF IRELAND, Book 12, Chap. 1.

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