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IRISH MELODIES. |
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I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee. Like spells that nought on earth can break,
Till lips that know the charm have spoken, This heart, howe'er the world may wake Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken By thee, thee, only thee. |
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SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT.
Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave To our country a name is withdrawn from all eyes ?
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave
Where the first — where the last of her Patriots lies ?
No—faint tho' the death-song may fall from his lips, Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crost,
Yet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse,
And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost! *
What a union of all the affections and powers By which life is exalted, embellish'd, refin'd,
Was embrac'd in that spirit — whose centre was ours, While its mighty circumference circled mankind. |
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* It is only the first two verses that are either fitted or intended to be sung. |
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