THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART.

THEY know not my heart, who believe there can be
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour,
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flow'r,
I could harm what I love, as the sun's wanton ray
But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away.

No-beaming with light as those young features are,
There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far:
It is not that cheek-'tis the soul dawning clear
Thro' its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear;
As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair,
Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies there.

TO-MORROW, Comrade, we

On the battle-plain must be,

There to conquer, or both lie low!

The morning star is up,

But there's wine still in the cup,

And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go;

We'll take another quaff, ere we go.

'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.

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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 firesides 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!

WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD.

WE may roam through this world, like a child at a feast,
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest;
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,
We may order our wings, and be off to the west;

But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,
Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies,

We never need leave our own green isle,

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes.
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept

By a dragon of prudery placed within call;
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,

That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all.
Oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence,
Which round the flowers of Erin dwells;

Which warns the touch, while winning the sense,
Nor charms us least when it most repels.

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Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,
On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try,
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye.
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy,

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar,

Through billows of woe, and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore.

Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

Он, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live, Why leave you thus your graves,

In far off fields and waves,

Where the worm and the sea-bird only know your bed,
To haunt this spot where all

Those eyes that wept your fall,

And the hearts that wail'd you, like your own, lie dead?

It is true, it is true, we are shadows cold and wan;
And the fair and the brave whom we lov'd on earth are gone;
But still thus ev'n in death,

So sweet the living breath

Of the fields and the flow'rs in our youth we wander'd o'er
That ere, condemn'd, we go

To freeze 'mid Hecla's snow,

We would taste it awhile, and think we live once more!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star,

More glorious far,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,

Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.

FORGET NOT THE FIELD.

FORGET not the field where they perish'd,
The truest, the last of the brave,

All gone-and the bright hope we cherish'd
Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!

Oh! could we from death but recover

Those hearts as they bounded before, In the face of high heav'n to fight over That combat for freedom once more;

Could the chain for an instant be riven
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!

But 'tis past-and, tho' blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,

Accurst is the march of that glory

Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.

Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by one patriot name,

Than the trophies of all, who have risen
On Liberty's ruins to fame.

THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE.

THE dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.

When friends are met, and goblets crown'd,
And smiles are near, that once enchanted,
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,

My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.

Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken

For thee, thee, only thee.

Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To th' ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.

I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.

Like spells, that nought on earth can break,
Till lips that know the charm have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.

REMEMBER thee? yes, while there's life in this heart,
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art;
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.