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TO LADIES' EYES.

AIR-" Fague a Ballagh,"

I.

To Ladies' eyes a round, boy,
We can't refuse, we can't refuse,
Though bright eyes so abound, boy,
'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose.
For thick as stars that lighten

Yon airy bow'rs, yon airy bow'rs,
The countless eyes that brighten

This earth of ours, this earth of ours; But fill the cup-where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all!

II.

Some looks there are, so holy,

They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv As splendid beacons, solely,

To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n. While some-oh ne'er believe themWith tempting ray, with tempting ray, Would lead us (God forgive them!) The other way, the other way.

But fill the cup, &c.

III.

In some, as in a mirror,

Love seems portrayed, Love seems por

trayed,

But shun the flattering error,

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade.

Himself has fix'd his dwelling

In eyes we know, in eyes we know,

And lips-but this is telling,

So here they go! so here they go!
Fill up, fill up, &c.

FORGET NOT THE FIELD.

AIR" The Lamentation of Aughrim."

I.

ORGET not the field where they perished,
The truest, the last of the brave,

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

II.

Oh! could we from death but recover
Those hearts, as they bounded before,
a the face of high heaven to fight over
That combat for freedom once more;

III.

Could the chain for an instant be riven,
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
Oh! 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!

IV.

But 'tis past-and, though 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.

V.

Far dearer the grove or the prison,

Illum'd by one patriot name,

Than the trophies of all who have risen

On Liberty's ruins to fame!

OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME.

AIR-Name unknown.

I.

OH for the swords of former time!
Oh for the men who bore them,
When, arm'd for right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them!
When pure yet, ere courts began
With honours to enslave him,

The best honours worn by man
Were those which virtue gave

him.

Oh for the swords of former time, &c.

II.

Oh for the Kings who flourished then!
Oh for the pomp that crowned them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men
Were all the ramparts round them!
When, safe built on bosoms true,

The throne was but the centre
Round which Love a circle drew,
That Treason durst not enter.

Oh for the Kings who flourished then, &c.

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