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IRISH MELODIES. |
141 |
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No ;—whate'er the fires that try thee, In the same this heart shall burn.
Tho' the sea, where thou embarkest,
Offers now no friendly shore, Light may come where all looks darkest,
Hope hath life, when life seems o'er. And of those past ages dreaming,
When glory deck'd thy brow, Oft I fondly think, though seeming
So fall'n and clouded now, Thou'It again break forth, all beaming, -
None so bright, so blest as thou. |
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SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS. *
Silence is in our festal halls, —
Sweet Son of Song ! thy course is o'er : In vain on thee sad Erin calls,
Her minstrel's voice responds no more ; — All silent as th' Eolian shell
Sleeps at the close of some bright day, When the sweet breeze, that wak'd its swell
At sunny morn, hath died away.
* It is hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the reader, that these lines are meant as a tribute of sincere friendship to the memory of an old and valued colleague in this work, Sir John Stevenson. |
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