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THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF

ERIN.

THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,

Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me:

In exile, thy bosom shall still be my home,

And thine eyes be my climate, wherever

we roam.

To the gloom of some desert, or cold, rocky shore,

Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,

I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind

Less rude than the foes we left frowning behind.

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair, as graceful it wreathes,

And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes;

Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear

One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.

THE HUNTSMAN'S CHORUS.

WHAT equals on earth the delight of the huntsman ?

For whom does life's cup more enchantingly flow?

To follow the stag through the forests and meadows,

When brightly the beams of the morning first glow

Oh, this is pleasure that's worthy of princes,

And health in its wanderings can ever be found;

When echoing caverns and forests surround us,

More blithely the pledge of the goblet will sound.

Hark, follow, &c.

The light of Diana illumines our forests, The shades where in summer we often retreat;

Nor is then the fell wolf in its covert

securest,

The boar from his lair is laid at our

feet.

Oh, this is pleasure, &c.

DASHING WHITE SERGEANT

IF I had a beau
For a soldier who'd go,
Do you think I'd say no?
No, no, not I:

When his red coat I saw,
Not a sigh would it draw,
But I'd give him eclat
For his bravery.

If an army of dragoons e'er came in play,

As a dashing white sergeant I'd march

away.

When my soldier was gone,
Do you think I'd take on
Sit moping, forlorn?
No, no, not I;

His fame my concern
How my bosom would burn,
When I saw him return,

Crowned with victory.

If an army of Amazons e'er came in

play

As a dashing white sergeant I'd march

away.

ALL'S WELL.

DESERTED by the waning moon, When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,

On tower, or fort, or tented ground, The sentry walks his lonely round; And should a footstep haply stray, Where caution marks the guarded

way

Who goes there? stranger, quickly tell; A friend! the word? good night! all's

well!

Or sailing on the midnight deep,
While weary messmates soundly sleep,
The careful watch patroles the deck,
To guard the ship from foes or wreck
And while the thoughts oft homeward

veer

Some well-known voice salutes his

ear

What cheer? ho, brother, quickly tell Above! below! good night! all's well

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HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR.

AIR-The twisting of the rope.

How dear to me the hour when day. light dies,

And sunbeams melt along the silent

sea:

For then sweet dreams of other days arise, And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.

And as I watch the line of light that plays

Along the smooth wave toward the burning west,

I long to tread that golden path of rays, And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest.

As love's young dream!

THEY DON'T PROPOSE.

Ir's really very singular-
I can not make it out;
I've many beaux, yet none propose,
What! what! are they about?

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