THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
AIR-Auld Lang Syne.

WHо fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Who blushes at the name?
When cowards mock the patriots' fate,
Who hangs his head for shame ?
He's all a knave, or half a slave,
Who slights his country thus;
But a true man, like you, man,
Will fill your glass with us.

We drink the memory of the brave,
The faithful and the few---
Some lie far off beyond the wave,
Some sleep in Ireland, too;
All-all are gone--but still lives on
The fame of those who died;
All true men, like you, men,
Remember them with pride.

Some on the shores of distant lands
Their weary hearts have laid,
And by the stranger's heedless hands
Their lonely graves were made,
But, though their clay be far away
Beyond the Atlantic foam-
In true men, like you, men,
Their spirit's still at home.

The dust of some is Irish earth;
Among their own the rest;
And the same land that gave

them birth

Has caught them to her breast; And we will pray that from their clay Full many a race may start Of true men, like you, men, To act as brave a part.

They rose in dark and evil days
To right their native land;
They kindled here a living blaze
That nothing shall withstand.
Alas! that Might can vanquish Right-

They fell and passed away:

But true men, like you, men,

Are plenty here to-day.

Then here's their memory-may it be

For us a guiding light,

To cheer our strife for liberty,

And teach us to unite.

Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, Though sad as theirs, your fate

And true men be you, men,

Like those of Ninety-Eight.

AWAKE, AND LIE DREAMING
NO MORE.

By the Author of "The Deserted College."

AIR-Savourneen Deelish.

YE great of my country, how long will ye slumber?

Spell-bound far remote from her once happy shore,

Unmoved by her wrongs and her woes without number

Oh! awake then, awake, and lie dreaming no more!

Awaken to fame and poor Erin's condi

tion;

To heal all her wounds be your noblest ambition:

Oh! break off the spell of the foreign magician.

Awake, then, awake, and lie dreaming no more!

Not the want of green fields nor of count. less resources

The sons of sweet Erin have cause t deplore,

Nor the want of brave hearts for the muster of forces;

Awake, then, awake, and lie dreaming no more?

A patriot flame and endearing emotion. Are wanting to bless the sweet isle of the ocean;

Yet Erin is worthy of love and devotion. Awake, then, awake, and lie dreaming no more!

Let Fashion no more, in pursuit of vain pleasure,

To far-distant lands in her train draw you o'er ;

In your own native isle is the goodliest

treasure:

Awake, then, awake, and lie dreaming no more!

When once love and pride of your country ye cherish,

The seeds of disunion and discord shall perish,

And Erin, dear Erin, in loveliness flourish.

Awake, then, awake, and li reaming no more!

CLARE'S DRAGOONS.

WHEN, on Ramillies' bloody field,
The baffled French were forced to yield,
The victor Saxon backward reeled,
Before the charge of Clare's Dragoons.
The flags we conquered in that fray
Look lone in Ypres' choir, they say;
We'll win them company to-day,

Or bravely die like Clare's Dragoons.
Vive la for Ireland's wrongs;
Vive la for Ireland's right;
Vive la in battle's throng,

For a Spanish steel and sabre bright.

The brave old lord died near the fight;
But for each drop he lost that night
A Saxon cavalier shall bite

The dust before Lord Clare's Dragoons. For never, when our spears were set, And never, when our sabres met,

Could we the Saxon soldier get

To stand the shock of Clare's Dra

goons.

Vive la the new brigade,

Vive la the old one too;

Vive la the rose shall fade,

And the shamrock shine forever new.