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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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Oh! may the angels, oh, wakin' and sleepin',
Watch o'er my bird in the land far away! And it's my prayer will consign to their keepin'
Care o' my jewel by night and by day. When by the fireside I watch the bright embers,
Then all my heart flies to England and thee, Cravin' to know if my darlin' remembers,
.Or If her thoughts may be crossin' to me.
Come back to Erin, etc. |
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DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY.'
Dear harp of my country! in darkness I found thee;
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long; When proudly, my own island harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song! The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have wakened thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness.
That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Dear harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers—
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine. Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touched by some hand less unworthy than mine. If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone; I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own. |
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BEAUTIFUL ERIN.
beautiful Erin! I leave thy shore,
For a home far over the sea; But where Niagara's waters roar.
This heart still will beat for thee. In fancy I'll roam the mountain side,
Where the homes of my fathers stand; And I'll sing amid the dark woods wide,
The songs of my own green land,
I'll sing, I'll sing the songs of my own green land,
I'll sing, I'll sing the songs of my own green land.
Breaking the bough with weary toil,
In that land where plenty flows, I'll sigh for my own dear verdant soil,
Where my native shamrock grows. Oh! beautiful Erin, then fare thee well,
Dear home of my childhood's hours! No more 'mid thy fond bright scenes I dwell,
Farewell to thy fields and flowers,
Farewell! farewell! farewell to thy fields and flowers,
Farewell! farewell! loved Erin, oh, faro thee well. |
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BEFORE THE BATTLE.
By the hope within us springing,
Herald of to-morrow's strife: By that sun, whose light is bringing
Chains or freedom, death or life— Oh, remember, life can be No charm for him who lives not free!
Like the day-star in the wave,
Sinks a hero in his grave, Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears.
Happy is he o'er whose decline
The smiles of home may soothing shine. And light him down the steep of years—
But oh, how blest they sink to rest,
TTk» «l««e their eyes on victory's breast! |
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