But stand to your glasses steady,
And soon shall our pulses rise;
A cup to the dead already—

Hurrah for the next that dies!

Not a sigh for the lot that darkles,
Not a tear for the friends that sink;
We 'll fall, 'midst the wine-cup's sparkles,
As mute as the wine we drink.
So stand to your glasses steady,
'T is in this that our respite lies;

One cup to the dead already

Hurrah for the next that dies!

Time was when we frowned at others,
We thought we were wiser then;
Ha ha! let those think of their mothers,
Who hope to see them again.
No! stand to your glasses steady,

The thoughtless are here the wise;

A cup to the dead already—

Hurrah for the next that dies!

There 's many a hand that 's shaking,
There's many a cheek that 's sunk;
But soon, though our hearts are breaking,
They 'll burn with the wine we 've drunk.
So stand to your glasses steady,

"T is here the revival lies;

A cup to the dead already—

Hurrah for the next that dies!

There's a mist on the glass congealing,
'T is the hurricane's fiery breath;
And thus does the warmth of feeling
Turn ice in the grasp of death.
Ho! stand to your glasses steady;
For a moment the vapor flies;

A cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

Who dreads to the dust returning?
Who shrinks from the sable shore,
Where the high and haughty yearning
Of the soul shall sing no more?
Ho! stand to your glasses steady;
This world is a world of lies;
A cup to the dead already—

Hurrah for the next that dies!

Cut off from the land that bore us,
Betrayed by the land we find,
Where the brightest have gone before us,
And the dullest remain behind-
Stand, stand to your glasses steady!
'T is all we have left to prize;

A cup to the dead already

And hurrah for the next that dies!

BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING.

The Rising of the Moon.

"O, THEN tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall,
Tell me why you hurry so."
"Hush, ma bouchal, hush and listen,”-
And his cheeks were all aglow.
"I bear ordhers from the captain,

Get you ready quick and soon,
For the pikes must be together
At the risin' of the moon."

"O, then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Where the gatherin' is to be."

"In the ould spot by the river,

Right well known to you and me.

One word more—for signal token
Whistle up the marchin' tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder,
By the risin' of the moon."

Out from many a mud-wall cabin

Eyes were watching through that night;
Many a manly chest was throbbing
For the blessed warning light.
Murmurs passed along the valleys,
Like the banshee's lonely croon,
And a thousand blades were flashing,
At the rising of the moon.

There beside the singing river

That dark mass of men was seen;
Far above the shining weapons
Hung their own beloved green.
"Death to every foe and traitor!

Forward! strike the marchin' tune, And hurrah, my boys, for freedom!-'T is the risin' of the moon."

Well they fought for poor old Ireland,
And full bitter was their fate.
O, what glorious pride and sorrow
Fill the name of Ninety-Eight!
Yet, thank God! e'en still are beating
Hearts in manhood's burning noon,

Who would follow in their footsteps
At the risin' of the moon.

JOHN K. CASEY.

My Maryland.

THE despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland!

His torch is at thy temple door,

Maryland!

Avenge the patriotic gore

That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland, My Maryland!

Hark to a wandering son's appeal,
Maryland!

My mother state, to thee I kneel,

Maryland!

For life and death, for woe and weal,

Thy peerless chivalry reveal,

And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, My Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland!

Thy beaming sword shall never rust,

Maryland!

Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, My Maryland.

Come, 't is the red dawn of the day,

Maryland!

Come with thy panoplied array,

Maryland!

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland, My Maryland.

Dear mother, burst the tyrant's chain,

Maryland!

Virginia should not call in vain,

Maryland!

She meets her sisters on the plain;

"Sic semper!" 't is the proud refrain,

That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland, My Maryland!

Come, for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland!

Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland!

Come to thine own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new key to thy song,
Maryland, My Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek,

Maryland!

But thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland!

But lo! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek;
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,

Maryland, My Maryland!

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,

Maryland!

Thou wilt not crook to his control,

Better the fire

Maryland!

upon thee roll,

Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,

Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland, My Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum,

Maryland!

The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,

Maryland!

She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb—

Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum;

She breathes, she burns--she 'll come! she 'll come!

Maryland, My Maryland!

JAMES R. RANDALL.