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100 IRISH MELODIES, |
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And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one —
Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful, This philter in secret was first taught to flow on,
Yet 'tis n't less potent for being unlawful. And ev'n though it taste of the smoke of that flame
Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden — Fill up — there 's a fire in some hearts I could name,
"Which may work too its charm, though as lawless and hidden. So drink of the cup — for oh 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. |
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THE FORTUNE-TELLER.
Down in the valley come meet me to-night, And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 't was told, by the new-moon's light, To a young maiden, shining as newly.
But, for the world, let no one be nigh, Lest haply the stars should deceive me ;
Such secrets between you and me and the sky Should never go farther, believe me.
If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim, My science shall call up before you
A male apparition — the image of him Whose destiny 'tis to adore you. |
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