ia 1 ' l/>u^ Class ?Y\ W 2* Book 5b G LB 50 pricsen*teTi BY )STH TEM1.3CAL GAL. SONGS AND BALLADS, SAMUEL LOVER. fXCLtTDINO THOSE SUNG IN HIS " IRISH BVBNINOS," AND HITHERTO DNPUBLISHSJ Jaques. Will you sing t Amiens. More at your request than to please myself. Touchstone. Lovers are given to poetry. As You Like It Clown. What hast here 1— Ballads ?— Mopsa. Pray now buy some. Winter's Talt. THIRD EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS, CORRECTED BY THE AUTBOK NEW-YORK: PUBLISHED BYD. & J. SADLIER, 164 WILLIAM-STREET, c i 9 b *& Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by , WILEY AND PUTNAM, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for \e Southern District of New York. ! TO LORD VISCOUNT MORPETH, SECRETARY OF STATE FOF. IRELAND. Mt T Lour, Although entertaining the highest admiration of your Lordship's private worth, it is in your public capacity I beg to inscribe to you the following pages. Former Secretaries of State for Ireland have considered the fulfilment of government duties sufficient, and having buckled on their political armor, have seemed to consider it impossible to lay it aside ; but to your Lordship is due the credit of having discovered a neutral ground whereon your love of Ireland might display itself, apart from the fiery contention of politics, and where, unarmed, you might tread in security. That one sacred spot is the refined and the refining region of literature and the arts. You, my Lord, have dedicated one particular banquet, among your official entertainments, to rally round you Irishmen distin- DEDICATION. guished in arts and letters, regardless of their political opinions ; thus honoring with a distinct recognition the genius and talent of Ireland. Of this mark of favor to my country, which you, my Lord, are the first to have instituted, I, for one, profess myself proud ; and as some of the following songs relate to my native land, they may the more fitly be offered as a heartfelt homage to your Lordship from a grateful Irish- man. I have the hr>nnr to be, Your Lordship's obliged and faithful servant, SAMUEL LOVER. PREFACE. The s'Jvice of many literary friends has induced me to offer the foil-owing pages to the world. I should have feared to do so on my own judgment. T have to he thankful for the public favor with which many of the songs have already been received in a musical shape ; whether they will bear to be separated from the airs to which I have wedded them is yet to be determined : — my friends say that, after the fashion of another sort of separation, they will survive the divorce, I hope they are right. SAMUEL LOVER. PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. My Songs having the good fortune of being popular in America, have appeared in different shapes, at different times and places. A reprint of a London edition of my " Songs and Ballads " has lately been republished in this country, deficient of the songs of " Handy Andy " and " Treasure Trove," and having but a very few from my " Irish Evenings." This present edition contains p.11 those I have enumerated, besides all the Songs of my " Irish Evenings," many of which are here published for the first time. In fact, the present edition is the only perfect one in existence, being much more ample than any collection of my songs published, even in Europe, and the only authentic copy of my poetical works in this country, it having gone through typographical correction under my own hand. SAMUEL LOVER JLstor House, New York, Dec , 1846. CONTENTS. SONGS OF THE SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. PAca THE MAY-DEW . ,1 THE RING AND THE WINDING-SHEET 3 rory o'more; OR, GOOD OMENS .... .5 THE ANGEL'S WHISPER 7 THE MORNING DREAM 9 THE FAIRY TEMPTER 11 THE NEW MOON . .... . . ■ • .13 THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK 14 THE CHARM , .15 THE FALLING STAR ........ 17 THE FAIRY BOY ......... 19 THE LETTER 21 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET 25 THE BLARNEY 27 THE HAUNTED SPRING 28 NED OF THE HILL 30 THE TRYSTING TREE ......... 32 MEMORY AND HOPE ...... 33 CAN'T YOU GUESS ? ..'.'. ... 34 CONTENTS. LEGENDARY BALLADS AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. PAGE BEAUTY AND TIME ........ 36 THE CHILD AND THE GOSSAMER . . ... 38 THE FOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWER .... 40 LISTEN ... 41 UNDER THE ROSE . ...... 42 MY dark-hair'd GIRL ........ 43 i think of thee ......... 44 divided love ........ .46 yes and no . ........ 47 i leave you to guess ....... 49 oh ! once i had lovers 51 the land of the west . 52 the wind and the weathercock ..... 54 sleep, my love . . 56 the star of the desert ....... 57 oh, she is a bright-eyed thing ! . , . . . .58 native music 59 the poor blind boy 60 never despair .....,..* 62 the convent belle . . . . . . . . .63 oh ! don't you bemember 65 the land of dreams ........ 66 JESSIE .... ...... 63 THE HOUR I PASS WITH THEE . . . . . .70 THE ARAB 71 the sunshine of the heart . . . . .73 'tis sweet to remember ....... 74 the slave trade ......... 75 bring me that ancient bowl ...... 77 when and where . . . •'" . . . . . .78 soft on the ear 79 ■ 'twas loving thee too well ..... . . 80 when gentle music . . ...... 81 how sweet 'tis to return ....... 83 song of the spanish peasant 84 the happiest time is now ....... 85 the silent farewell ....... 87 'tis time to fly .88 CONTENTS. LEGENDARY BALLADS AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. PAGE MOLLY CAREW . 90 WOULD YOU KNOW WHO HAS MY VOW ? . . . .93 MY GENTLE LUTE ... ..... 95 THE angel's WING 97 WHO ARE YOU ? 99 MARCH ! 1U1 MORNING, SWEET MORNING ....... 103 LOVE ME !........... 104 SERENADE . . . . . . . . . . . 105 VICTORIA THE QUEEN ......... 107 SONG OF THE ITALIAN TROUBADOUR ..... 109 THE CHILD AND THE AUTUMN LEAF . . . . . .110 FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGirE ... . Ill MY MOUNTAIN HOME ......... 113 THE HOUR BEFORE DAY ... ... 114 'TWAS THE DAY OF THE FEAST . . • 116 SECRETS WERE NOT MEANT FCR THREE .... 118 MY MOTHER DEAR . *". . . . . . . 119 "HE MEETING OF FOES, AND THE MEETING OF FRIENDS . 120 MOLLY BAWN .......... 122 THE BIRTH OF ST. PATRICK . 123 there's NO SUCH GIRL AS MINE ...... 125 WHISPER LOW . , ^27 THE PILGRIM HARPER ........ 129 GRIEF IS MINE . . . . . i . . . 131 GENTLE LADY HEAR MY TOW . .... 132 THE WEDDING OF THE ADRIATIC . . . . . . 133 GONDOLIER, ROW . ........ 135 CUPID'S WING . . . . . ...... 136 FORGIVE BUT DON'T FORGET . ... 13S SONGS FEOM THE NOVEL OF " HANDY ANDY." I CAN NE'ER FORGET THEE ....... 140 THE SNOW . . . . . . . . 142 WHEN THE SUN SINKS TO REST ...... 144 THE SHOUT OF NED OF THE HILL .... 146 SALLY . . 148 THERE IS A GENTLE GLEAM . > 150 THE /'OICE WITHIN ...... . 151 CONTENTS SONGS FROM THF NOVEL OF " HANDY ANDY. PACK ask me not what l'm thinking ... . 153 a leaf that reminds me of thee . . . 154 say not my heart is cold . . . . .156 widow machree 158 the Quaker's meeting ....... 161 the dove song . . . 165 lady mine .......... 167 the bowld sojer boy . . ...... 169 THE SUNSHiprE IN YOU . 172 MACARTHY'S GRAVE ..... . . 173 SONGS OF THE IRISH EVENINGS. THE TWO BIRDS ......... 177 OH WATCH YOU WELL BY DAYLIGHT ..... 179 THE LOW-BACKED CAR ."...... . 181 PADDY'S PASTORAL RHAPSODY . . .... 1S4 WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE ? . . . 186 THE BEGGAR 183 THE ROAD OF LIFE : OR, SONG OF THE IRISH POST-BOY . . 190 KITTY CREAGH 192 DERMOT O'DOWD . . ...... 194 THE ROYAL DREAM ... 196 THE VENETIAN LOVE CHASE 198 THE DREAMER 200 ST KEVIN : A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH .... 202 MOTHER, HE'S GOING AWAY . , . . ... . . 204 TEA-TABLE TACTICS ... . ,. 206 THEY SAY MY SONGS ARE ALL THE SAME .... 208 SONGS FROM THE NOVEL OF "TREASURE TROVE." THE SOLDIER .......... 211 MARY MA CHREE " . 213 LOVE, AND HOME, AND NATIVE LAND 214 MY NATIVE TOWN ......... 215 OUR OWN WHITE CLIFF ........ 217 THE MOUNTAIN DEW 219 THE lady's HAND 220 FAG AN BEALACH ..... . 222 SONGS THE SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND SONGS, &C THE MAY-DEW. To gather the dew from the flowers on May-morning, before the sun has risen, is reck- oned a bond of peculiar power between lovers. Come with me, love, I'm seeking A spell in the young year's flowers ; The magical May-dew is weeping Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs ; Its pearls are more precious than those they find In jewell'd India's sea ; For the dew-drops, love, might serve to bind Thy heart, for ever, to me ! Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking A spell in the young year's flowers ; The magical May-dew is weeping Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs. 2 SONGS OF THE Haste, or the spell will be missing, We seek in the May-dew now • For soon the warm sun will be kissing The bright drops from blossom and bough : And the charm is so tender the May-dew sheds O'er the wild flowers' delicate dyes, That e'en at the touch of the sunbeam, 'tis said, The mystical influence flies. Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking A spell in the young year's flowers ; The magical May-dew is weeping Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs. SUPERSTITIONS Jfl (ELAND. THE RING AND THE WINDING-SHEET. Why sought you not the silent bower, The bower, nor hawthorn tree ; Why came you not at evening hour, Why came you not to me ? Say, does thy heart beat colder now, Oh ! tell me, truly tell, Than when you kiss'd my burning brow, When last you said " Farewell ?" As late my taper I illumed, To sigh and watch for thee, It soon the mystic form* assumed Which lovers smile to see ; But fondly while I gazed upon And trimm'd the flame with care, The pledge of plighted love was gone, The sign of deathf was there ! * A small exfoliation of wax from the candle, called, by the superstitious, " a ring," and considered indicative of marriage. t When this waxen symbol, instead of being circular, becomes length- ened and pendulous, it is then called " a winding-sheet," and forebodes death SONGS OF THE Oh say, was this foreboding truth ? And wilt thou break thy vow ? And wilt thou blight my op'ning youth ? And must I — must I now Meet death's embrace for that chaste kiss, That holy kiss you vow'd ? And must I, for my bridal dress, Be mantled in the shroud ! SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. RORY O'MORE, OR, GOOD OMENS. Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn, He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn ; He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, And he thought the best way to do that was to teaze. " Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry, Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye, " With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, what I'm about, Faith you've teazed till I've put on my cloak inside out." "Oh! jewel," says Rory, " that same is the way You've thrated my heart for this many a day, And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. II. " Indeed, then," says Kathleen, " don't think of the like, For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike ; The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound:" " Faith !" says Rory, " I'd rather love you than the ground." SONGS OF THE " Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go : Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so !" " Oh !" says Rory, " that same I'm delighted to hear, For dhrames always go by contlirairies, my dear. Oh ! jewel, keep dhraming that same till you die, A nd bright morning will give dirty night the black lie ! And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. in. " Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teazed me enough, Sure I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste, So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest."* Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck, And he look'd in her eyes that were beaming with light, And he kiss'd her sweet lips — don't you think he was right ? " Now, Rory, leave off, sir — you'll hug me no more, That's eight times to-day you have kiss'd me before." " Then here goes another," says he, " to make sure, For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. * Paddy's mode of asking a girl to name the day SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, when a child smiles in its sleep, it is " talking with angels." A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild raging sea ; And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, " Dermot darling, oh come back to me !** Her beads while she number'd, The baby still slumber'd, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee ; " O blest be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." " And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father ! For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.' 1 SONGS OF THE The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; And closely caressing Her child, with a blessing, Said, " I knew that the angels were whispering with thee." SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. THE MORNING DREAM. The superstitious believe the dream of the night to be false, and that of the morning true. The eye of weeping Had closed in sleeping, And I dreamt a bright dream of night ; And that sweet dreaming Had all the seeming Of truth in a softer light. I saw thee, smiling, And light beguiling Beam'd soft from that eye of thine ; As in a bower, You own'd love's power, And fondly vow'd thou wouldst be mine. The dream deceived me, — For I believed thee, In sleep, as in waking hours ; But even slumber Few joys could number, While resting in dreamy bowers: SONGS OF THE For soon, my waking The soft spell breaking, I found fancy false as you ; 'Twas darkness round me — The night-dream bound me — And I knew the dream was then untrue. Again I slumber'd, And woes unnumber'd Weigh'd on my aching heart ; Thy smile had vanish'd, And I was banish'd ! — For ever doom'd to part. From sleep I started, All broken-hearted ; The morn shone as bright as you ! The lark's sweet singing . My heart's knell ringing,— For I knew the morning dream was true. SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND 11 THE FAIRY TEMPTER. They say Mortals have sometimes been carried away to Fairy-land. A fair girl was sitting in the green-wood shade, List'ning to the music the spring birds made, When, sweeter by far than the birds on the tree, A voice murmur'd near her, " Oh come, love, with me. In earth or air, A thing so fair I have not seen as thee ! Then come, love, with me." " With a Star for thy home, in a palace of light, Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night ; Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold, — I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold. And pearly caves, Beneath the waves, All these, all these are thine, If thou wilt be mine." 12 SONGS OF THE Thus whisper'd a Fairy to tempt the fair girl, But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl ; For she said, " Tho' thy gifts to a poor girl were dear, My Father, my Mother, my Sisters are here. Oh ! what would be Thy gifts to me Of Earth, and Sea, and Air, If my heart were not there ?" SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 13 THE NEW MOON. When our attention is directed to the New Moon by one of the opposite sex, it is consi dered lucky. Oh, don't you remember the lucky new moon, Which I show'd you as soon as it peep'd forth at eve ? When I spoke of omens, and you spoke of love, And in both, the fond heart will for ever believe ! And while you whisper'd soul-melting words in my ear, I trembled — for love is related to fear ; And before that same moon had declined in its wane, I held you my own, in a mystical chain ; Oh, bright was the omen, for love follow'd soon, And I bless'd as I gazed on the lovely new Moon. And don't you remember those two trembling stars ? That rose up, like gems, from the depths of the sea ! Or like two young lovers, who stole forth at eve To meet one another, like you, love, and me. And we thought them a type of our meeting on earth, Which show'd that our love had in heaven its birth. The Moon's waning crescent soon faded away, But the love she gave birth to, will never decay ! Oh, bright was the omen, for love follow'd soon, And I bless when I gaze on the lovely new Moon. H SONGS OF THE THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK. A four-leaved Shamrock is of such rarity that it is supposed to endue the finder with magic power. I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells! I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold, For treasure tires the weary sense, — such triumph is but cold; But I would play th' enchanter's part, in casting bliss around,-— Oh ! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found. To worth 1 would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears, And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years, And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold, Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old ! Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found ! The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of love, Should see them all returning, — like Noah's faithful dove, And Hopeshould launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's dark'ning sea, And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from sinking be j Oh! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found ! SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 15 THE CHARM, They say that a flower may be found in a valley opening to the West, which bestows on the finder the power of winning the affection of the person to whom it is presented. Hence, it is supposed, has originated the custom of presenting a bouquet. They say there's a secret charm which lies In some wild flow'ret's bell, That grows in a vale where the West wind sighs, And where secrets best might dwell ; And they who can find the fairy flower, A treasure possess that might grace a throne, For oh ! they can rule with the softest power, The heart they would make their own. The Indian has toil'd in the dusky mine For the gold that has made him a slave ; Or, plucking the pearl from the sea-god's shrine, Has tempted the wrath of the wave ; But ne'er has he sought, with a love like mine, The flower that holds the heart in thrall ; Oh ! rather I'd win that charm divine, Than their gold and their pearl and all ! SONGS OF THE I've sought it by day, from morn till eve, I've won it — in dreams at night; And then how I grieve, my couch to leave, And sigh at the morning's light. Yet sometimes I think, in a hopeful hour, The blissful moment I yet may see, To win the fair flower from the fairy's bower, And give it, love — to thee. SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 17 THE FALLING STAR. It is believed that a wish expressed while we see a Star falling Is fulfilled I saw a star that was falling, I wish'd the wish of my soul, My heart on its influence calling To shed all its gentle control. Hope whisper'd my wish would be granted, And Fancy soon waved her bright wand, My heart in sweet ecstasy panted, At the visions were smiling beyond. Oh ! like the meteors, — sweeping, Thro' darkness their luminous way, Are the pleasures too worthless for keeping, As dazzling, but fleeting as they. I saw a star that was beaming, Steady and stilly and bright, Unwearied its sweet watch 'twas seeming To keep through the darkness of night : !S SONGS OF THE Like those two stars in the heaven, Are the joys that are false and are true, I felt as a lesson 'twas given, And thought, my own true Love, of you. When I saw the star that was beaming, Steady and stilly and bright, Unwearied its sweet watch 'twas seeming To keep through the darkness of night. SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. 19 ? THE FAIRY BOY When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believes the healthy infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place. A mothee came, when stars were paling, Wailing round a lonely spring, Thus she cried while tears were falling, Calling on the Fairy King : " Why, with spells my child caressing, Courting him with fairy joy, Why destroy a mother's blessing, Whez*efore steal my baby boy ? " O'er the mountain, thro' the wild wood, Where his childhood loved to play, Where the flow'rs are freshly springing, There I wander, day by day ; There I wander, growing fonder Of the child that made my joy, On the echoes wildly calling To restore my fairy boy. 20 SONGS OF THE " But in vain my plaintive calling. Tears are falling all in vain, He now sports with fairy pleasure, He's the treasure of their train ! Fare thee well ! my child, for ever, In this world I've lost my joy, But in the next we ne'er shall sever, There I'll find my angel boy." SUPERSTITIONS OF IRELAND. i\ THE LETTER, A small spark, attached to the wick of a candle, is considered to indicate the arrival of a letter to the one before whom it burns. Fare thee well, Love, now thou art going ■ Over the wild and trackless sea ; Smooth be its waves, and fair the wind blowing Tho' 'tis to bear thee far from me. But when on the waste of ocean, Some happy home-bound bark you see, Swear by the truth of thy heart's devotion, To send a letter back to me. Think of the shore thou'st left behind thee, Even when reaching a brighter strand ; Let not the golden glories blind thee Of that gorgeous Indian land ; Send me not its diamond treasures, Nor pearls from the depth of its sunny sea, But tell me of all thy woes and pleasures, In a long letter back to me. °3 SONGS &.c. And while dwelling in lands of pleasure, Think, as you bask in their bright sunshine, That while the ling'ring time I measure, Sad and wintry hours are mine ; Lonely by my taper weeping, And watching, the spark of promise to see ; All for that bright spark, my night watch keeping, For oh ! 'tis a letter, Love, from thee ! To say that soon thy sail will be flowing, Homeward to bear thee over the sea ; Calm be the waves and swift the wind blowing, For oh ! thou art coming back to me ! Xegatbarg Ballobs MISCELLANEOUS SONGS LEGENDARY BALLADS. TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET. It is related of Carolan, the Irish bard, that when deprived of sight, and after the lapse of twenty years, he recognized his first love by the touch of her hand. The lady's name Was Bridget Cruise ; and though not a pretty name, it deserves to be recorded, as belong- ing to the woman who could inspire such a passion. " True love can ne'er forget : Fondly as when we met, Dearest, I love thee yet, My darling one !" Thus sung a minstrel grey His sweet impassion'd lay, Down by the ocean's spray, At set of sun. But wither'd was the minstrel's sight, Morn to him was dark as night, Yet his heart was full of light, As he this lay begun ; " True love can ne'er forget, Fondly as when we met, Dearest, I love thee yet, My darling one ! 3 SAi-jz 26 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND " Long years are past and o'er. Since from this fatal shore, Cold hearts and cold winds bore My love from me." Scarcely the minstrel spoke, When quick, with flashing stroke, A boat's light oar the silence broke Over the sea ; Soon upon her native strand Doth a lovely lady land, While the minstrel's love-taught hand Did o'er his wild harp run ; " True love can ne'er forget, Fondly as when we met, Dearest, I love thee yet, My darling one ! " Where the minstrel sat alone, There, that lady fair hath gone, Within his hand she placed her own, The bard dropp'd on his knee ; From his lip soft blessings came, He kiss'd her hand with truest flame, In trembling tones he named — her name, Though her he could not see ; But oh ! — the touch the bard could tell Of that dear hand, remember'd well, Ah ! — by many a secret spell Can true love find his own ! For true love can ne'er forget, Fondly as when they met; He loved his lady yet, His darling one. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 37 THE BLARNEY There is a certain coign-stone on the summit of Blarney Castle, in the county of Cork, the kissing of which is said to impart the gift of persuasion. Hence the phrase, applied to those who make a flattering speech, — " you've kissed the Blarney Stone." Oh ! did you ne'er hear of " the Blarney" That's found near the banks of Killarney ? Believe it from me, No girl's heart is free, Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney. For the Blarney's so great a deceiver, That a girl thinks you're there, though you leave her j And never finds out All the tricks you're about, Till she's quite gone herself, — with your Blarney. Oh ! say, would you find this same " Blarney ?" There's a castle, not far from Killarney, On the top of its wall — (But take care you don't fall), There's a stone that contains all this Blarney. Like a magnet, its influence such is, That attraction it gives all it touches ; If you kiss it, they say, From that blessed day You may kiss whom you please with your Blarney •z8 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND THE HAUNTED SPRING. It is said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes, for the purpose of luring mor tals into Fairy-land. Hunters seem to have been particularly the objects of the lady fai ries' fancies. Gaily through the mountain glen The hunter's horn did ring, As the milk-white doe Escaped his bow, Down by the haunted spring ; In vain his silver horn he wound, — 'Twas echo answer'd back ; For neither groom nor baying hound Were on the hunter's track ; In vain he sought the milk-white doe That made him stray, and 'scaped his bow, For, save himself, no living thing Was by the silent haunted spring. The purple heath-bells, blooming fair, Their fragrance round did fling, As the hunter lay, At close of day, Down by the haunted spring. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 29 A lady fair, in robe of white, To greet the hunter came ; She kiss'd a cup with jewels bright, And pledged him by his name ; " Oh Lady fair," the hunter cried, " Be thou my love, my blooming bride, A bride that well might grace a king ! Fair lady of the haunted spring." In the fountain clear, she stoop'd, And forth she drew a ring ; And that bold knight His faith did plight, Down by the haunted spring. But since the clay his chase did stray, The hunter ne'er was seen; And legends tell, he now doth dwell Within the hills so green.* But still the milk-white doe appears, And wakes the peasant's evening fears, While distant bugles faintly ring Around the lonely haunted spring. * Fays and fairies are supposed to have their dwelling-pla ?es within old green hills. LUUElMDAK* BALLADS AND NED OF THE HILL. Many legends are extant of this romantic minstrel freebooter, whose predatory achieve* ments sometimes extended to the hearts of the gentle sex. Dark is the evening and silent the hour : Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tow'r ? His harp all so tenderly touching with skill, Oh, who should it be but Ned of the Hill ! Who, sings " Lady love, come to me now, .Come and live merrily under the bough, And I'll pillow thy head, Where the fairies tread, If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill !" Ned of the Hill has no castle nor hall, Nor spearmen nor bowmen to come at his call j But one little archer, of exquisite skill, Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill, Who sings, " Lady love, come to me now, Come and live merrily under the bough, And I'll pillow thy head, Where the fairies tread, If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill." MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 31 'Tis hard to escape from that fair lady's bower. For high is the window, and guarded the tower, " But there's always a way where there is a will" So Ellen is off with Ned of the Hill ! Who sings, " Lady love, thou art mine now ! We will live merrily under the Lough, And I'll pillow thy head, Where the fairies tread, For Ellen is bride to Ned of the Hill !" 32 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND THE TRYSTING TREE. Now the golden sun has set, And I am at the trysting tree, Dearest, you will not forget That here to meet you promised me. Now is ev'ry flower closing, Falling is the ev'ning dew, Birds are with their mates reposing ; Where, my true Love, where are you ? Darkness is around descending : See the lovely ev'ning star, Like a brilliant page, attending On the young moon's silver car! While together thus they wander Through the silent summer sky ; So on earth, less bright, but fonder, Dearest, so will you and I. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 33 MEMORY AND HOPE. Oft have I mark'd, as o'er the sea We've swept before the wind, That those whose hearts were on the shore Cast longing looks behind ; While they, whose hopes have elsewhere been, Have watch 'd with anxious eyes, To see the hills that lay before, Faint o'er the waters rise. 'Tis thus, as o'er the sea of life Our onward course we track, That anxious sadness looks before, The happy still look back ; Still smiling on the course they've pass'd, As earnest of the rest, — 'Tis Hope's the charm of wretchedness, While Mem'ry wooes the blest. 3* 3% LEGENDARY BALLADS AND CAN'T YOU GUESS? Can't you guess why your friends all accuse you Of moping, and pleasing the less 1 And why nothing in life can amuse you ? Can't you guess ? can't you guess ? can't you guess ? And why now your slumbers are broken, By dreams that your fancy possess, In which a sweet name is oft spoken, Can't you guess ? Can't you guess why you always are singing The songs that we heard the last spring ? Do you think of their musical ringing, Or how sweetly the Captain can sing ? With him you were always duetting, And your solos were singing the less ; Now which is the best for coquetting ? Can't you guess ? MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. . 39 Oh gentle child, in thy infant play, An emblem of life hast thou seen ; For joys are like sunbeams, — more fleeting than they, And sorrows cast shadows between ; And friends that in moments of brightness are won, Like gossamer, only are seen — in the sun. Oh ! many a lesson of sadness may Be learn'd, from a joyous child at play. to LEGENDARY BALLADS AND THE FOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWER. A gentle flow'r of pallid hue, Beside a sportive fountain grew, And as the streamlet murmur 'd by, Methought the flow'ret seem'd to sigh, " Yes, you may speed, in sparkling track, Your onward course, nor e'er come back, And murmur still your flattering song, To ev'ry flower you glide along," And Fancy said, in tender dream, " The flow'r is Woman, Man the stream." And Fancy still, in fev'rish dream, Pursued the course of that wild stream, O'er rocks and falls all heedless cast, And in the ocean lost at last : " Glide on," methought the flow'ret cried, " Bright streamlet, in thy sparkling pride ; And when thro' deserts far you roam, Perchance you'll sigh for early home, And, sorrowing, think of that pale flow'r, You hurried by at morning hour." MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 41 LISTEN. How sweet 'tis to listen when some one may tell Of the friend that we love and remember so well, While, 'midst the soft pleasure, we wonder if thus The friend so beloved ever thinks upon us ; While the eye with the dew of affection may glisten, How sweet to the praise of the loved one to listen ! Sweet, sweet 'tis to listen! How sweet 'tis to listen when soft music floats O'er the calm lake below, in some favorite notes,- Whose intervals sweet waken slumbering thought, And we listen — altho' not quite sure that we ought j While the soul-melting moonlight o'er calm waters glisten, How sweet, but how fatal it may be to listen ! Sweet, sweet 'tis to listen ! How sweet 'tis to listen, with too willing ear, To words that we wish for yet tremble to hear, To which " No" would be cruel, and " Yes" would be weak, And an answer is not on the lip, but the cheek ; While in eloquent pauses the eyes brightly glisten, — Take care what you say, and take care how you listen. Take care, how you listen — take care ! 42 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND UNDER THE ROSE. If a secret you'd keep there is one I could tell, Though I think, from my eyes, you might guess it as well, But as it might ruffle another's repose, Like a thorn let it be ; — that is — under the rose. As Love, in the garden of Venus, one day, Was sporting where he was forbidden to play, He feared that some Sylph might his mischief disclose, So he slily concealed himself— under a rose. Where the likeness is found to thy breath and thy lips, Where honey the sweetest the summer bee sips, Where Love, timid Love, found the safest repose, There our secret we'll keep, dearest, — under the rose. The maid of the East a fresh garland may wreathe, To tell of the passion she dares not to breathe : Thus, in many bright flowers she her flame may disclose, But in one she finds secresy ; — under the rose. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 43 MY DARK-HAIR'D GIRL. My dark-hair'd girl, thy ringlets deck, In silken curl, thy graceful neck ; Thy neck is like the swan, and fair as the pearl, And light as air the step is of my dark-hair'd girl ! My dark-hair'd girl, upon thy lip, The dainty bee might wish to sip, For thy lip it is the rose, and thy teeth they are pearl, And diamond is the eye of my dark-hair'd girl ! My dark-hair'd girl, I've promised thee, And thou thy faith hast given to me, And oh ! I would not change for the crown of an earl, The pride of being loved by my dark-haired girl ! 44 LEGENDARY BALLADS AJND 1 THINK OF THEE. I love to roam at night By the deep sea, When the pale moon is bright, And think of thee: And as the beacon's light Gleams o'er the sea, Shedding its guardian light, I think of thee. When o'er some flow'ry ground Night winds breathe free, Wafting fresh fragrance round, I think of thee ! Then, if some trembling star Beaming I see, Brighter than others far I — I think of thee. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 43 Though, love, by fate forbid Thou art to me, Yet, like a treasure hid, I think of thee ; And though thy plighted kiss Mine ne'er can be, Next is the secret bliss To think of thee ! 46 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND DIVIDED LOVE. When Love o'er the warm heart is stealing His mystic, his magical chain, How wild is the transport of feeling, We scarce can call pleasure or pain ! Till 'midst the bright joys that surround us, Our bondage we tremble to see ; — But so closely his fetters have bound us, We struggle in vain to be free ! As vain is the hope of retreating From peril that lurks in the eyes, When glances too frequent are meeting, And sighs are re-echoed by sighs ; When thus, with two hearts that are tender, The folly so equal hath been, 'Tis meet that they loth should surrender, And share the soft bondage between. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 47 YES AND NO. There are two little words that we use, Without thinking from whence they both came, But if you will list to my muse, The birth-place of each I will name: The one came from Heaven, to bless, The other was sent from below : What a sweet little angel is " Yes !" What a demon-like dwarf is that " No !" And " No" has a friend he can bid To aid all his doings as well, In the delicate arch it lies hid That adorns the bright eye of the belle ; Beware of the shadowy Frown Which darkens her bright brow of snow, As, bent like a bow to strike down, Her lip gives you death with a " No." 48 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND But " Yes" has a twin-sister sprite, — 'Tis a Smile you will easily guess, — That sheds a more heavenly light On the doings oTdear little " Yes ;" Increasing the charm of the lip That is going some lover to Mess, Oh sweet is the exquisite smile That dimples and plays around " Yes." MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 49 I LEAVE YOU TO GUESS.* There's a lad that I know ; and I know that he Speaks softly to me The cuslila-ma-chree. He's the pride of my heart, and he loves me well, But who the lad is, — I'm not going to tell. He's as straight as a rush, and as bright as the stream That around it doth gleam, Oh ! of him how I dream ; . I'm as high as his shoulder — the way that I know Is, he caught me one day, just my measure to show. He whisper'd a question one day in my ear ; When he breathed it, — oh dear! How I ti*embled with fear ! What the question he ask'd was, I need not confess, But the answer I gave to the question was — "Yes." * From the novel of Rory O'More. 4 50 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND His eyes they are bright, and they looked so kind When I was inclined To speak my mind. And his breath is so sweet — oh, the rose's is less, And how I found it out, — why, I leave you to guess. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 71 THE ARAB, The interesting fact on which this ballad is founded, occurred to Mr. Davidson, the telebrated traveller, between Mount Sinai and Suez, on his overland return from India in 1829. He related the story to me shortly before his leaving England on his last fatal journey to Timbnctoo. The noontide blaze on the desert fell, As the traveller reached the wished-for well ; But vain was the hope that had cheered him on, His hope in the desert — the waters — were gone. Fainting, he called on the Holy Name, And swift o'er the desert an Arab came, And with him he brought of the blessed thing, That failed the poor traveller at the spring. " Drink !" said the Arab—" tho' I must fast, For half of my journey is not yet past, 'Tis long ere my home and my children I see, But the crystal treasure I'll share with thee." " Nay," said the weary one ; — " let me die, — For thou hast, even more need than I ; And children hast thou that are watching for thee, And I am a lone one — none watch for me." 72 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND "Drink !" said the Arab. — -" My children shall see Their father returning ; — fear not for me : — For He who hath sent me to thee this day- Will watch over me on my desert way !" MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 73 THE SUNSHINE OF THE HEART, The sunshine of the heart be mine That beams a charm around ; Where'er it sheds its ray divine, Is all enchanted ground ! No fiend of care May enter there, Tho' Fate employ her art : — Her darkest powers all bow to thine, Bright sunshine of the heart ! Beneath the splendor of thy ray How lovely all is made ! Bright fountains in the desert play, And palm trees cast their shade ; Thy morning light Is rosy bright, And when thy beams depart, Still glows with charms thy latest ray, Sweet sunshine of the heart ! •»4 • LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 'TIS SWEET TO REMEMBER. Oh ! 'tis sweet to remember how brightly The days o'er us swiftly have flown, When the hearts that we prize beat as lightly, And fed upon hopes like our own ; When with grief we were scarcely acquainted, While joy was our own bosom friend ; Oh ! days — wing'd too swiftly with pleasure, Ye are past — and our dream's at an end : Yet 'tis sweet to remember ! The walks, where we've roam'd without tiring ; The songs — that together we've sung ; The jest — to whose merry inspiring Our mingling of laughter hath rung. Oh ! trifles like these become precious Embalm'd in the mem'ry of years ! The smiles of the past — so remember'd How often they waken our tears! Yet 'tis sweet to remember ' MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 15 THE SLAVE TRADE. Written at the period of the " Abolition'' question. When Venus first rose from the wave, Where of sea-foam they gracefully made her, Three cheers for the goddess they gave As she launch'd, in her shell, the fair trader ; But she, — an insurgent by birth, Unfetter'd by legal or grave trade, And defying our laws on the earth, So boldly embark'd in the Slave Trade. O'er the world, from that hour of her birth, She carried her Slave Trade victorious ; And then, to her daughters of earth Entrusted the privilege glorious : " Unfetter'd," she cried, " never leave One slave to object to your brave trade, While you stand to your colors, believe You may always insist on your Slave Trade !" LEGENDARY BALLADS AND " Oh ! 'tis glorious a heart to subdue, By the conquering light of your glances : By the smile that endangers a few, And the sigh that whole dozens entrances. Unbind not a link of the chain, Stand by me each merry and grave maid ; Let senators thunder in vain — The ladies will still have their Slave Trade !" MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 77 BRING ME THAT ANCIENT BOWL. Bring me that ancient bowl of wine, Bright as the ruby's blaze, Around its brim methinks still shine The smiles of former days ! And thus, while to my lip it bears The treasures of the vine, Deeply my soul the transport shares From this old bowl of mine ! Bring me the harp, for mem'ry's sake : That harp of silent string — I long its slumbering chords to wake * In strains I used to sing : And as I dream of that fair form, In youth adored — oh then, Once more I feel my heart grow warm, And sing of love again ! 78 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND WHEN AND WHERE Written to a popular organ tune. " Oh tell me when and tell me where Am I to meet with thee, my fair ?" " I'll meet thee in the secret night, When stars are beaming gentle light, • Enough for love, but not too bright To tell who blushes there." " You've told me when, now tell me where, Am I to meet with thee, my fair ?" " I'll meet thee in that lovely place, Where flow'rets dwell in sweet embrace, And zephyr comes to steal a grace To shed on the midnight air." " You've told me when, and told me where, But tell me how I'll know thou'rt there V* " Thou'lt know it when I sing the lay That wandering boys on organs play, No lover, sure, can miss his way, When led by this signal air." MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 79 SOFT ON THE EAR Soft on the ear falls the serenade, When the calm evening is closing ; Sweet are the echoes by music made, When the lake is in moonlight reposing : Hark, how the sound Circles around, — As if each note of the measure Was caught, as it fell, In some water-sprite's shell, Who floated away with the treasure. Soft on the ear, &c. Soft on the ear falls the serenade When we guess who the soft strain is breathing ; The spirit of song is more melting made, With the spirit of tenderness wreathing. Oh, such the delight, In the calm summer's night, When thro' casements, half open, is stealing The soft serenade To the half-waking maid, Who sighs at each tender appealing. Soft on the ear, &c. 80 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND TWAS LOVING THEE TOO WELL, Oh, frown not, lady, frown not so, On one whose heart is thine ; Let one kind word before I go, Let one kind look be mine ! An aching heart, while e'er I live, My fault shall deeply tell ; But oh ! — 'twas one thou might'st forgive — 'Twas loving thee too well. Oh ! if that smile had been less sweet, That cheek less blooming been ; Those eyes less bright I used to meet, Or were those charms less seen ; Or if this heart had been too cold To feel thy beauty's spell, — Thou ne'er hadst call'd thy slave too bold, For loving thee too well ! MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 81 WHEN GENTLE MUSIC. When gentle music's sounding — Such as this ; 'Tis sweet when friends surrounding Share our bliss : But love them as we may, We love them less, when near, Than when, through mem'ry's tear We view them — far away. When over deserts burning, Far we roam, 'Tis sweet, at last, returning To our home : Be't happy as it may, That home no bliss bestows So fairy-bright, as those We fancied when away. 5* 82 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND And when fond hearts are meeting, Beating high ; How sweet the brilliant greeting Of the eye ! But tho' so bright its ray. To lovers far more dear Is the sad, the secret tear Shed for one — who's far away. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 83 HOW SWEET 'TIS TO RETURN, How sweet, how sweet 'tis to return Where once we've happy been, Tho' paler now life's lamp may burn, And years have roll'd between ; And if the eyes beam welcome yet That wept our parting then, Oh ! in the smiles of friends thus met We live whole years again ! They tell us of a fount that flow'd In happier days of yore, Whose waters bright fresh youth bestow'd j Alas ! the fount's no more. But smiling Memory still appears, Presents her cup, and when We sip the sweets of vanish'd years, We live those years again. 84 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND ONG OF THE SPANISH PEASANT How oft have we met Where the gay castanet In the sprightly fandango was sounding ; Where no form seem'd so light, Nor no eye beam'd so bright As thine, my Lorenca, to me ; Though many surrounding, Were lovely as maidens might be, In form and in face, — Oh ! they wanted the grace That ever is playing round thee. My pretty brunette, Canst thou ever forget, How I trembled, lest hope should deceive me ? When under the shade By the orange grove made, I whisper'd my passion to thee. And oh Love ! believe me, Like that ever-blossoming tree,* Thro' sunshine and shade, In this heart, dearest maid, Is love ever blooming for thee. • The orange-tree blossoms through the whole year. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 85 THE HAPPIEST TIME IS NOW. Talk not to me of future bliss ! Talk not to me of joys gone by ! For us, the happiest hour is this, When love bids time to fly. The future — doubt may overcast, To shadow hope's young brow ; Oblivion's veil may shroud the past, The happiest time is now ! Tho' flowers, in spicy vases thrown, Some odor yet exhale ; Their fragrance, ere the bloom was flown, Breathed sweeter on the gale ; Like faded flowers, each parted bliss Let memory keep — but how Can joy that's past, be like to this ? The happiest time is now ! 86 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND Unmark'd our course before us lies O'er time's eternal tide ; And soon the sparkling ripple dies We raise, as on we glide ; Our barks the brightest bubbles fling For ever from their prow ; — Then let us gaily sail and sing, " The happiest time is now !" MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 87 THE SILENT FAREWELL. In silence we parted, for neither could speak ; But the tremulous lip and the fast-fading cheek To both were betraying what neither could tell — How deep was the pang of that silent farewell. There are signs — ah ! the slightest, that love understands, In the meeting of eyes — in the parting of hands; In the quick-breathing sighs that of deep passion tell — Oh ! such were the signs of our silent farewell ! There's a language more glowing, love teaches the tongue, Than poet e'er dreamed, or than minstrel e'er sung j But oh ! far beyond all such language could tell, The love that was told in that silent farewell ! 89 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND 'TIS TIME TO FLY. Beware the chain love's wreathing, When some sweet voice you hear Whose gentlest, simplest breathing Is music to thine ear ; And when, in glances fleeting, Some deep and speaking eye With thine is often meeting, Oh then — 'tis time to fly ! If there be form of lightness To which thine eyes oft stray, Or neck of snowy brightness — Remember'd — when away ; These symptoms love resemble, And when some hand is nigh, Whose touch doth make thee tremble, Oh ! then — 'tis time to fly ! MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 69 But if that voice of sweetness, Like echo, still return ; And if that eye of brightness With fascination burn ; To 'scape thou art not able, No effort vainly try, For, like the bird in fable, Alas ! thou canst not fly ! LEGENDARY BALLADS AND MOLLY CAREW. Och hone ! and what will I do ? Sure my love is all crost Like a bud in the frost ; And there's no use at all in my going to bed, For 'tis dhrames and not sleep that comes into my head, And 'tis all about you, My sweet Molly Carew — And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame ! You're complater than Nature In every feature, The snow can't compare With your forehead so fair, And I rather would see just one blink of your eye Than the prettiest star that shines out of the sky, And by this and by that, For the matter o' that, You're more distant by far than that same ! Och hone ! weirasthru ! I'm alone in this world without you. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 91 Och hone ! but why should I spake Of your forehead and eyes, When your nose it defies Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in rhyme, Tho' there's one Burke, he says, that would call it snublime,- And then, for your cheek ! Troth, 'twould take him a week Its beauties to tell, as he'd rather. Then your lips ! oh, machree ! In their beautiful glow, % They a pattern might be For the cherries to grow. 'Tvvas an apple that tempted our mother, we know, For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago, But at this time o' day, 'Pon my conscience I'll say, Such cherries might tempt a man's father ! Och hone ! weirasthru ! I'm alone in this world without you. Ocii hone ! by the man in the mocn, l r ou taze me all ways That a woman can plaze, For you dance twice as high with that thief, Pat Magee, As when you take share of a jig, dear, with me, Tho' the piper I bate, For fear the owld chate Wouldn't play you your favorite tune. And when you're at mass, My devotion you crass, For 'tis thinking of you, I am, Molly Carew, While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep, That I can't at your sweet purty face get a peep, 92 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND Oh lave off that bonnet, Or else I'll lave on it, The loss of my vvandherin' sowl ! Och hone ! weirasthru ! Och hone ! like an owl, Day is night, dear, to me, without you ! Och hone ! don't provoke me to do it ; For there's girls by the score That loves me — and more, And you'd look very quare if some morning you'd meet My wedding all marching in pride down the street, Troth, you'd open your eyes, And you'd die with surprise To think 'twasn't you was come to it ! And faith, Katty Naile, And her cow, I go bail, Would jump if I'd say, " Katty Naile, name the day." And tho' you're fair and fresh as a morning in May. While she's short and dark like a cold winter's day Yet if you don't repent Before Easter, when Lent Is over I'll marry for spite ! Och hone ! weirasthru ! And when I die for you My ghost will haunt you every nignt ! MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 63 WOULD YOU KNOW WHO HAS MY VOW? Would you know who has my vow, She who holds my heart in keeping, Graceful as the willow-bough O'er the streamlet weeping ; With lips so bright, and teeth so white, And eyes that shame the stars at night, Oh could I tell her beauties right It would mar your sleeping ! Would you know who has my vow, She, whose voice, like echo, telling That there is an answering part Within her young heart dwelling ; The softest sound that e'er did wake The echoes of some fairy lake, Ne'er bore the breeze along the brake A sound so softly swelling ! 94 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND Could you know who has my vow, You would wonder at my daring; For, to grace so fair a brow, A crown is worth the sharing ! With step as light as mountain fawn, And blush as lovely as the dawn, No form by fancy ever drawn With her's can hold comparing ! MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 95 MY GENTLE LUTE. My gentle lute, alone with thee, I wake thy saddest tone ; It seems as if thou mourn'st with me For hours of gladness gone. If, haply, 'mongst thy wailing strings My finger lightly fall, Some vision of the past it brings — Of days we can't recall. My gentle lute, how oft have we Beneath the moonlight ray, To beauty's ear breath'd harmony In many a love-taught lay ! But she who loved — and he who sung Are changed, my lute, and thou That oft to lays of love hath rung, Mutt tell of sorrow now. 98 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND Some happier hand in future hours May wake thy liveliest string, And wreathe thee o'er, my lute, with flow'rs As I did in my spring. But yield, till then, before we part, Thy saddest tone to me, And let thy mourning master's heart An echo find in thee. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 97 THE ANGEL'S WING. There is a German superstition, that when a sudden silence takes place in a company, an angel at that moment makes a circuit among them, and the first person who breaks the silence is supposed to have been touched by the wing of the passing seraph. For the pur- poses of poetry, I thought two persons preferable to many, in illustrating this very beauti- ful sunerstition. When by the evening's- quiet light There sit two silent lovers, They say, while in such tranquil plight, An angel round them hovers ; And further still old legends tell, — The first who breaks the silent spell, To say a soft and pleasing thing, Hath felt the passing Angel's wing. Thus, a musing minstrel stray'd By the summer ocean, Gazing on a lovely maid, With a bard's devotion : — Yet this love he never spoke, Till now the silent spell he broke ; — The hidden fire to flame did spring, Fann'd by the passing Angel's wing ! 98 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND " I have loved thee well and long, With love of Heaven's own making ! — This is not a poet's song, But a true heart's speaking, — I will love thee, still, untired !" He felt — he spoke — as one inspired — The words did from Truth's fountain spring, Upwaken'd by the Angel's wing ! Silence o'er the maiden fell, Her beauty lovelier making ; — And by her blush, he knew full well The dawn of love was breaking. It came like sunshine o'er his heart ! He felt that they should never part, She spoke — and oh ! — the lovely thing Had felt the passing Angel's wing. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 99 WHO ARE YOU? " There are very impudent people in London," said a country cousin of mine in 1837 "As I walked down the Strand, a fellow stared at me and si. uted, 'Who are you V Five minutes after, another, passing me, cried, ' Flare up ;' — but e civil gentleman, close to his heels, kindly asked, ' How is your mother 1 ' " " Who are you ? — who are you ? Little boy that's running after Every one up and down, Mingling sighing with your laughter V " I am Cupid, lady Belle, I am Cupid and no other." " Little boy, then pr'ythee tell How is Venus ? — How's your Mother ? Little boy, little boy, I desire you tell me true, Cupid, oh ! you're alter'd so, No wonder I cry, Who are you ? Who are you ? — who are you 1 Little boy, where is your bow ? You had a bow, my little boy " So had you, ma'am, — long ago." 100 LEGENDARY BALLADS AND " Little boy, where is your torch ?" " Madam, I have given it up : Torches are no use at all, Hearts will never now flare up." " Naughty boy, naughty boy, Such words as these I never knew : Cupid, oh ! you're alter'd so, No wonder I say, Who are you ?" MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 101 MARCH ! The Song of the Month, from Bentiey's Miscellany for 1837 March, March ! — Why the deil don't you march Faster than other months out of your order ? You're a horrible beast, with the wind from the East, And high-hopping hail and slight sleet on your border ; Now, our umbrellas spread, nutter above our head, And will not stand to our arms in good order ; While, napping and tearing, they set a man swearing, Round the corner where blasts blow away half the border I March, March ! — I am ready to faint, That Saint Patrick had not his nativity's casting; I am sure, if he had, such a peaceable lad Would have never been born amid blowing and blasting ; But as it was his fate, Irishmen emulate Doing what Doom or St. Paddy may order; And if they're forced to fight through their wrongs for their right, Thev'll stick to their fla