They are gone, but around them a light is still burning,

Like a sentinel star o'er young Liberty's sleep, And when from their tombs the bold peasant's returning,

His vows rise for freedom, low, noiseless, but deep!

II.

In vain did the cold-hearted Saxon endeavour
To darken those deeds on our history's page,
For ages of bondage and suffering shall never
Erase one lov'd name from that chivalrous

age.

No; as well might they stem the pure feeling still gushing

O'er hearts and o'er harp-strings, by mountain and

sea,

As restrain that high patriot -spirit that's rushing
In might over millions resolved to be free.

III.

They failed where great Washington purchased his glory,

But their motives, their feelings, their lives were

the same,

And though they have fallen, in Erin's proud

story,

Free Liberty's light shall emblazon each name!

Long, long shall we chant, to the wild strain undying,
The deeds of the dauntless, the bold, and the free,
Who, on to the last the fell Saxon defying,
Were true on the scaffold, dear Erin, to thee!

No. 4.

BY SLANEY'S BANKS.

I.

By Slaney's banks I love to roam
When moonbeams calmly sleep,
And every star in heaven above
Is mirrored in the deep:
I love to view by that soft light
Glen, cliff, and winding strand,
The keep where first a foreign knight
Insulted our bright land.

II.

There lone, and dark, and silently

It frowns above the waves,
The tomb of our lost liberty,

Where freemen knelt as slaves.
There stands the record of our shame,
Our country's first disgrace,

A blot upon her ancient name,

Which time can ne'er efface.

III.

Though Erin never more may see
Her sunburst proudly borne,
With banners of her tanistry,

Upon the breeze of morn ;
And though that age has passed away,
Its spirit still remains,
And pours its bright, refulgent ray
O'er Erin's lovely plains.

IV.

Then let her sons once more unite,
And catch the sacred flame,
Till with a nation's power and might

She wins a nation's name!

Thus like the solar beams which blend

All colours into one

Shall Irishmen unite as friends,

And then-their work is done !

No. 5.

SING ME THAT LITTLE SONG AGAIN.

I.

SING me that little song again

You used to sing to me
At home in holy Ireland,

Beneath our spreading tree;

The lonely stream, the hazel dells,
The children all at play,

Rise up before me when you sing

The same as on that day.

II.

Oh! how I wish once more to roam
Beside the old spring well,
Where last I met the neighbours all,
To say my last farewell;

But this, alas! can never be,

Except when mem❜ry strays

Like day-dreams to those happy times, The scenes of former days.

No. 6.

THE WISH.

I.

THOUGH poor, I ask not riches now,

Nor ought that wealth bestows; A nobler thought is on my brow, And in my bosom glows.

II.

I ask not throne or diadem,
Supported by the slave;

A brighter, richer, purer gem,

Is in the boon I crave.

III.

I seek not Love's soft scenes of bliss,

Nor beauty's brilliant smile:
A scene more exquisite than this
Must this fond heart beguile.

IV.

I care not for the conqueror's fame,
When prostrate nations kneel;
A far more strong and holier flame
Excites my warmest zeal.

V.

The voice that cheers the child of song,
Though sweet its praise may be,

Still, still a wish, more sweet, more strong,
More exquisite for me.

VI.

Of all the magic gifts that make

A fairy's treasury,

Oh! give me that which quickest brake

Our chains, and set us free!