V.

Mark how the cheek of the warrior flushes,
As the battle drum beats and the war torches glare;
Like a blast of the north to the onset he rushes,
And his wide-waving falchion gleams brightly in air.
Around him the death-shot of foemen are flying,
At his feet friends and comrades are yielding their
breath;

He strikes to the groans of the wounded and dying,
But the war cry he strikes with is, 'conquest or death!'

VI.

Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens,

Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock, When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given, Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock. Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow, Let him stride the rough mountain, ortoss on the foam, He will strike fast and well on the field or the billow, In triumph and glory, for God and his home!

SONG.

Он!
OH! go to sleep, my baby dear,
And I will hold thee on my knee;
Thy mother's in her winding sheet,
And thou art all that's left to me.
My hairs are white with grief and age,
I've borne the weight of
every ill,
And I would lay me with my child,

But thou art left to love me still.

Should thy false father see thy face, The tears would fill his cruel 'ee, But he has scorned thy mother's woe,

And he shall never look on thee:

But I will rear thee up alone,

And with me thou shalt aye

remain ;

For thou wilt have thy mother's smile,

And I shall see my child again.

SONG.

OH the tear is in my eye, and my heart it is breaking, Thou hast fled from me, Connor, and left me forsa

ken;

Bright and warm was our morning, but soon has it faded,

For I

gave thee a true heart, and thou hast betrayed it.

Thy footsteps I followed in darkness and danger, From the home of my love to the land of the strang

er;

Thou wert mine through the tempest, the blight, and the burning;

Could I think thou wouldst change when the morn was returning.

Yet peace to thy heart, though from mine it must

sever,

May she love thee as I loved, alone and for ever;
I may weep for thy loss, but my faith is unshaken,
And the heart thou hast widowed will bless thee

in breaking.

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.

GRANT me, I cried, some spell of art,
To turn with all a lover's care,
That spotless page, my Eva's heart,
And write my burning wishes there.

But Love by faithless Laia taught,

How frail is woman's holiest vow,

Look'd down, while grace attempered thought Sate serious on his baby brow.

"Go! blot her album," cried the sage,

"There none but bards a place may claim;

But woman's heart a worthless page,
Where every fool may write his name."

Until by time or fate decayed,

That line and leaf shall never part; Ah! who can tell how soon shall fade

The lines of love from woman's heart.

LINES

To a Lady on hearing her sing "Cushlamachree."

YES! heaven protect thee, thou gem of the ocean; Dear land of my sires, though distant thy shores;

Ere

my heart cease to love thee, its latest emotion, The last dying throbs of its pulse must be o’er.

And dark were the bosom, and cold and unfeeling, Who tamely, could listen unmoved at the call, When woman, the warm soul of melody stealing, Laments for her country and sighs o'er its fall.

Sing on, gentle warbler, the tear-drop appearing Shall fall for the woes of the queen of the sea; And the spirit that breathes in the harp of green Erin,

Descending shall hail thee her " Cushlamachree.”