Hibernian Songster - Irish song lyrics

500 Songs That Are Dear To The Irish Heart - online book

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IS                                        HYLAND'S MAMMOTH
AS SLOW OUR SHIP.
As alow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still looked back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us, So turn our hearts, as on we rove,
To those we've left behind us.
When, round the bowl, of vanished years
We talk, with joyous seeming— With smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming; While memory brings us back again
Each early tie that twined us, Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind usl
And when, in other climes, we meet
Some isle or vale enchanting— Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,
And naught but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss,
If heaven had but assigned us To live and die in scenes like this.
With some we've left behind us!
As travelers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going. To gaze upon that light they leave,
Still faint behind them glowing— So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consigned us, We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.
A PLACE IN THY MEMORY, DEAREST.
A place in thy memory, dearest,
Is all that I claim, To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name. Another may woo thee, nearer,
Another may win and wear; . I care not though he be dearer,
If I am remembered there.
Remember me—not as a lover
"Whose hope was cross'd— Whose bosom can never recover
The light it hath lost. As the young bride remembers the mother
She loves, though she never may see, As a sister remembers a brother,
Oh, dearest! remember me.
Could I be thy true lover, dearest,
Couldst thou smile on me; I would be the fondest and Dearest
That ever loved thee! But a cloud on my pathway is glooming,
That never-must .burst upon thine; And Heaven, that made thee all blooming',-
Ne'er made thee to wither on mine.
Remember me, then—Oh, remember
My calm, Jight-love; Though bleak as the blasts of November My love may prove.                              s,