Tell not, thou star at grey daylight,
O'er Tinwald-tap sae bonny O,
My footsteps 'mang the morning dew
When coming frae my Nanie O;
My Nanie O, my Nanie O;
Nane ken o' me and Nanie O;
The stars and moon may tell 't aboon,
They winna wrang my Nanie O !
FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!
Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There's not a breath the blue wave to curl !
But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past'
Ottawa's tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon.
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers,
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past'
GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE
Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh, still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest To thine ear is sweetest,
Oh, then remember me. Other arms may press thee, Dearer friends caress thee, All the joys that bless thee Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest, And when joys are dearest, Oh, then remember me.
When at eve thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
Oh, then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning.
Oh, thus remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,
Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them, Oh, then remember me.
When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,
Oh, then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh, still remember me.
Then, should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,
Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee,-
Oh, then remember me.
THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S
THE harp that once through Tara's halls,
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells:
The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.
RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS
SHE WORE
RICH and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;
But, oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand.
'Lady, dost thou not fear to stray,
So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,
As not to be tempted by woman or gold?'
'Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm:
For, though they love women and golden store
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more.
On she went, and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the green isle;
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride.
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS
THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet,
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh ! no—it was something more exquisite still.
'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND
SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.
She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking;-
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.
He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him ;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own loved island of sorrow.
BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING
YOUNG CHARMS
BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM
Он, the days are gone, when Beauty bright
My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life from morn till night
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream;
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream.
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