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WHEN twilight dews are falling fast
Upon the rosy lea,

I watch that star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee.
And thou, too, on that orb so dear,
Ah! dost thou gaze at even,
And think, though lost forever here,
Thou'll yet be mine in heaven!
And thou, too, on that, &c.
There's not a garden walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see,

But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy I've lost with thee:
And still I wish that hour was near,
When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills, we've wept through

May turn to smiles in heaven.
And still I wish, &c


MARCH to the battle field,

The foe is now before us;
Each heart is freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us

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The woes and pains,
The galling chains,
That keep our spirits under,
In proud disdain,
We've broken again,
And tore each link asunder.
March to the, &c.

Who, for his country brave,

Would fly from her invader?
Who, his base life to save,
Would, traitor-like, degrade her
Our hallow'd cause,
Our home and laws,
'Gianst tyrant power sustaining,
We'll gain a crown
Of bright renown,
Or die our rights maintaining
March to the, &c


THE minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him:
His father's sword he has girded on,

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 alone,
And then I will tell you a tale,
Must be told by the moonlight alone,
In the grove at the end of the

You must promise to come-for I said I would show the night flowers their queen

Nay, turn not away thy sweet head;
Tis the loveliest ever was seen
Oh meet me by moonlight alone.

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

AIR.-Open the door

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.


'MID pleasure and palaces though we

may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;

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