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IRISH MELODIES. |
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Glens *, where Ocean comes,
To 'scape the wild wind's rancour.
And harbours, worthiest homes "Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.
Then, if, while scenes so grand,
So beautiful, shine before thee, Pride for thy own dear land
Should haply be stealing o'er thee, Oh, let grief come first,
O'er pride itself victorious —-Thinking how man hath curst
What Heaven had made so glorious |
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QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.
Quick ! we have but a second,
Fill round the cup, while you may: For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,
And we must away, away! Grasp the pleasure that's flying,
For oh ! not Orpheus' strain Could keep sweet hours from dying, Or charm them to life again.
Then, quick ! we have but a second,
Fill round the cup, while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, And we must away, away!
* Glengariff*. |
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