Ere proud rebellion first rear'd her standard, Did from my arms the dear youth allure— To the war he bounded, and deeply wounded, He found a grave, far from winding Suir. The heath unfolding its purple blossomThe small birds hailing the dawn of morn, Can yield no joy to my troubled bosom My lover's fate I shall ever mourn : In vain my comrades attempt to cheer me➡ In floods of sorrow, I'll mourn the hero Who silent lies far from winding Suir.. Sweet spring returns with her gentle showers, And bids new foilage adorn the tree; The arm of death will at last release me- Beneath the willow I'll find a pillow THE JOYS THAT ARE NO MORE. TUNE-"Banks o' Doon." "Thou mind'st me o' departed joys, OPPREST with heart-corroding care, I wander thro' my fav'rite grove; In happier times how often here, Did I repeat the song of love! BURNS Oft near this riv❜let's flow'ry side, Which murm❜ring seeks the distant shore, Have I, in rustic numbers, tried To sing the joys that are no more! Oft in this cool, sequester'd shade, Have I beguil'd the summer day, Or when stern winter loudly rav'd, Sweet Anna! to my soul most dear! Here by thy side I've often stray'd But now, reflection draws the tear Alas! to shame thou art betray'd: The blissful hours which here we spent, All India's wealth could not restore; Why, meddling mem❜ry, dost thou paint The joys that can return no more. And here, my friend, some happy hours Thy foot has prest these fragrant flow'rs— Thy image time shall not efface, It lives within my bosom's core→→→ In ev'ry walk thy steps I trace, And mourn the joys that are no more, ELLEN'S GRAVE. TUNE-"The Miser's Daughter." WHEN sober evening sheds a dubious ray, These mouldering walls that cast a cheerless gloom, Affright me not...and should the tempest rave, For here in earth's dark womb she lies at rest, |