RICHES

'Tis true, in manliest eyes

A passing tear will rise,

When we think of the friends we leave lone;
But what can wailing do?

See, our goblet's weeping too!

With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy,

our own;

With its tears we'll chase away our own.

But daylight's stealing on;

The last that o'er us shone
Saw our children around us play;
The next-ah! where shall we
And those rosy urchins be?
But-no matter-grasp thy sword and away,
boy, away;

No matter-grasp thy sword and away!

Let those, who brook the chain

Of Saxon or of Dane,

Ignobly by their fire-sides stay;

One sigh to home be given,

One heartfelt prayer to heaven, Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra! hurra!

Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra!

O'Donohue's Mistress.

Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,
Sweet May, shine thou for me;

For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
Sweet May, returns to me.

Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves
Its lingering smile on golden eves,

Fair Lake, thou 'rt dearest to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim,
Thy Naiads prepare his steed for him "
Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee.

Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,
White Steed, most joy to thee;

Who still, with the first young glance of spring,
From under that glorious lake dost bring
My love, my chief, to me.