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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS.
Silence is in our festal halls,
Oh! son of song, thy course is o'er, In vain on thee sad Erin calls.
Her minstrel's voice responds no mora; All silent as th' Eollan shell
Doth sleep at close, at close of some bright d»y, When the sweet breeze that wak'd its swell.
At sunny morn hath died away.
Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame,
Or if thy bard have shar'd the crown, From thee the borrowed glory came,
And at thy feet Is now laid down. Enough if Freedom still Inspire .
His latest song, and still there be, As evening closes round his lyre.
One ray upon its chords from th««. |
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THE FAIRIES ARE DANCING.
The fairies are dancing by brake and by bow'r. By brake and by bow'r, by brake and by bow'r, The fairies are dancing by brake and by bow'r, For this in their land is the merriest hour. Their steps are so soft and their robes are so bright. Their robes are so bright, their robes are so bright, Their steps are so soft and their robes are so bright, As they trip it at ease in the clear moonlight.
Their queen is in youth and in beauty there,
In beauty there, in beauty there,
Their queen is in youth and In beauty there,
The daughters of earth are not half so fair."
Her glance is so quick and her eyes are so bright,
Her eyes so bright, her eyes so bright,
Her glance is so quick and her eyes are so bright,
But they glitter with wild and unearthly light.
She'll meet thee at dark like a lady fair,
A lady fair, a lady fair,
She'll meet thee at dark like a lady fair,
But go not, for danger awaits thee there!
She'll take thee to ramble by grove and by glen,
By grove and by glen, by grove and by glen,
She'll take thee to ramble by grove and by glen.
And the friends of thy youth will ne'er know thee again! |
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THERE'S A COLLEEN FAIR AS MAY.
There*s a colleen fair as Hay for a year and for a day
I have sought hy ev'ry way her heart to gain. There's no art of tongue or eye fond youths with maidens try
But I've tried with ceaseless sigh, yet tried in vain. If to France or far-off Spain she'd cross the wat'ry main.
To see her face again the seas I'd brave: And If 'tis heav'n's decree that mine she may not be,
May the Son of Mary me in mercy save.
0 thou blooming milk-white dove whom I've giv'n true love,
Do not ever reprove my constancy. There are maidens would be mine, with "wealth in land and kine,
If my heart would but incline to turn from thee. But a kiss with welcome bland and touch of thy fair hand
Are all that I demand—would'st thoh not spurn? For If not mine, dear girl, oh, snowy-breasted Pearl,
May I never from the Fair—with life return. |
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