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WHEN twilight dews are falling fast
I watch that star, whose beam so oft
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
May turn to smiles in heaven.
MARCH TO THE BATTLE FIELD
The foe is now before us;
The woes and pains,
Who, for his country brave,
Would fly from her invader?
THE MINSTREL BOY.
THE minstrel boy to the war is gone,
And his wild harp slung behind him. "Land of song!" said the warrior bard, "Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall
One faithful heart shall praise thee." The minstrel fell-but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder; And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They ne'er shall sound in slavery."
MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT
MEET me by moonlight alone,
You must promise to come-for I said I would show the night flowers their queen
Nay, turn not away thy sweet head;
Daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free;
But there's something about the moon's ray,
That is sweeter to you and to me. Oh! remember-be sure to be there; For though dearly a moonlight I prize,
I care not for all in the air,
If I want the sweet light of your eyes So meet me by moonlight alone
SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND
SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his
grave is lying!
She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking;
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!
He had lived for his love, for his country he died!
They were all that to life had entwined him:
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him!
Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow.
HOME, SWEET HOME
'MID pleasure and palaces though we
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;