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IRISH MELODIES. |
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"VY hen the light of my song is o'er,
Then take my harp to your ancient hall; Hang it up at that friendly door,
"Where weary travellers love to call.* Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
Revive its soft note in passing along, Oh ! let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.
Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing,
To grace your revel when I'm at rest; Never, oh! never its balm bestowing
On lips that beauty hath seldom blest. But when some warm devoted lover
To her he adores shall bathe its brim, Then, then my spirit around shall hover,
And hallow each drop that foams for him. |
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HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED.
How oft has the Benshee cried !
How oft has death untied
Bright links that Glory wove,
Sweet bonds entwin'd by Love! Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth : Best to each faithful eye that weepeth :
Long may the fair and brave
Sigh o'er the hero's grave!
* " In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed, the more they excelled in music." — O'Hallorak. |
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