THE PRINCE'S DAY.* AIR.-St. Patrick's Day. I. THOUGH dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, And smile through our tears, like a sun-beam in showers; There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, More form'd to be grateful and bless'd than ours! But, just when the chain Has ceased to pain, And hope has enwreathed it round with flowers, There comes a new link Our spirit to sink Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles, *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. II. Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal! true; you are And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, Your fame, your right, Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, Oh! The Standard of Green In front would be seen 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. III. He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded But nothing can cloud its native ray; Each fragment will cast A light, to the last! And thus, ERIN, my country! though broken thou art, There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will decay; A spirit which beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's Day! WEEP ON, WEEP ON. AIR.-The Song of Sorrow. I. WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past; The fatal chain is round you cast, And you are men no more! In vain the hero's heart hath bled; The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain ;Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled, It never lights again! :. II. Weep on-perhaps in after days 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 ""Twas fate," they'll say, " a wayward fate "Your web of discord wove; 66 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. AIR.-Nora Creina. 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; Few its looks, but every one, Like unexpected light, surprises! Oh, my NORA CREINA, dear!" 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! |