James B. Angell INDEX. 6-19-51824 IRISH MELODIES. And doth not a meeting like this As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow As vanquish'd Erin wept beside At the mid hour of night - Avenging and bright falls the swift sword of Erin Believe me, if all those endearing young charms 126 22 92 129 65 60 By that lake, whose gloomy shore By the Feal's wave benighted By the hope within us springing 35 56 131 42 Down in the valley come meet me to-night 111 Drink of this cup 109 Drink to her, who long 37 Erin! the tear and the smile in thine eye Eveleen's Bower Fill the bumper fair Faintly as tolls the evening chime Fairest! put on a while Farewell-but whenever you welcome the hour Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour Forget not the field where they perish'd 105 124 73 88 18 101 In yonder valley there dwelt alone 128 I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining 87 Nay, tell me not dear! that the goblet drowns Night clos'd around the conqueror's way Of all the fair months that round the sun Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers Oh, blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers Oh, for the swords of former times 59 106 43 80 113 115 38 16 74 104 Oh, had we some bright little isle of our own Oh, the days are gone, when beauty bright Oh, the sigh entrancing Oh, think not my spirits are always as light Oh, weep for the hour Oh, where's the slave, so lowly 119 19 44 30 85 Remember thee! yes, while there's life in this heart Remember the glories of Brien the brave She sung of love-while o'er her lyre Silent, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 23 The young May moon is beaming, love This life is all checker'd with pleasures and woes Though dark are our sorrows Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see 68 62 51 20 Through Erin's isle Through grief and through danger "Tis believed that this harp "Tis gone, and for ever "Tis the last rose of summer To ladies' eyes around, boy 45 48 86 67 100 122 'Twas one of those dreams Weep on, weep on, your hour is past We may roam through this world What the bee is to the floweret When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast lov'd When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow |