But that false fortune, Which is still uncertain, Has caused this parting between him and me; His name I'll advance In Spain and in France, And seek out my blackbird wherever he be. The birds of the forest they all meet together, The turtle was chosen to dwell with the dove, But I am resolved in fair or foul weather, To seek out until I find my true love; He is all my heart's treasure, My joy and my pleasure, And justly, my love, my heart will follow thee, Who is constant and kind, And courageous in mind. All bliss to my blackbird wherever he be. In England my blackbird and I were together, Where he was noble and generous of heart; And woe to the time that he first went thither; Alas! he was forced from thence to depart ; In Scotland he is deemed, And highly esteemed; In England he seemed a stranger to be; Yet his name I'll advance In Spain and in France, All bliss to my blackbird, wherever he be OLD IRELAND I ADORE. WILLIAM CARLETON. OH! Erin's Isle, my heart's delight, This heart beats warm for thee. Oh! gramachree, I weep for thee, Your scenes surpasses all on earth, Oh, gramachree, I weep for thee, Oh, hard must be the tyrant's heart, And yet your sons have took his part Oh, gramachree, I weep for thee, I'd like to know what you have done, That struggled hard for thee; He was known from shore to shore ; Oh, gramachree, he'd have set thee free; But, alas! he is no more. If we were free, as once we were, No foreign landlord then would dare We'd have our homes, and bread to eat Oh, gramachree, may we live to see Old Ireland free once more. HAVE KATE OF GARNAVILLA. you been at Garnavilla? To thy lay, nigh weeping willow ; As a noble ship I've seen Have you been, etc. If poets' prayers can banish cares, A SONG FOR THE POPE. BY REV. P. MURRAY, D. D., OF MAYNOOTH COL A SONG for the Pope, for the royal Pope, Who rules from sea to sea, Whose kingdom or sceptre never can fail; What a grand old king is he ! No warrior hordes has he with their swords His rock-built throne to guard; For against it the gates of hell shall war In vain, as they ever have warred. O never did mightiest monarch yet, In terror and death is the conqueror's march, As the steel tides rise and roll; But the bonds he binds with are faith and love, Clasping the heart and the soul. Great dynasties die, like flowers of the field, Great empires wither and fall; |