How sweet the answer Echo makes To music at night, When, roused by lute or horn, she… And far away, o’er lawns and lakes… Goes answering light.

Sing —sing —Music was given To brighten the gay, and kindle th… Souls here, like planets in heaven… By harmony’s laws alone are kept m… Beauty may boast of her eyes and h…

In yonder valley there dwelt, alon… A youth, whose moments had calmly… 'Till spells came o’er him, and, d… He was haunted and watch’d by a M… As once, by moonlight, he wander’d…

Go then, if she, whose shade thou… No more will let thee soothe my pa… Yet, tell her, it has cost this he… Some pangs, to give thee back agai… Tell her, the smile was not so dea…

The wine—cup is circling in Almhi… And its Chief, 'mid his heroes re… Looks up, with a sigh to the troph… Where his sword hangs idly shining… When, hark, that shout

Forget not the field where they pe… The truest, the last of the brave, All gone —and the bright hope we c… Gone with them, and quench’d in th… Oh! could we from death but recove…

Said Cotton to Corn, t’other day, As they met and exchang’d salute— (Squire Corn in his carriage so g… Poor Cotton, half famish’d on foo… “Great Squire, if it isn’t uncivi…

As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look’d… To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love,

Sublime was the warning that liber… And grand was the moment when Spa… Into life and revenge from the con… Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit… Till it move, like a breeze, o’er…

Drink to her who long Hath waked the poet’s sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. Oh! woman’s heart was made

I wish I was by that dim Lake, Where sinful souls their farewell… Of this vain world, and half—way l… In death’s cold shadow, ere they d… There, there, far from thee,

While History’s Muse the memorial… Of all that the dark hand of Dest… Beside her the Genius of Erin sto… For hers was the story that blotte… But oh! how the tear in her eyelid…

Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me Some song of ancient days, Whose sounds, in this sad memory, Long—buried dreams shall raise; — Some lay that tells of vanish’d fa…

Alas! my dear friend, what a state… How unjustly we both are despoil’d… Not a pound of black flesh shall… Nor must you any more work to deat… Both forced to submit to that gene…

“How sweetly,” said the trembling… Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that tranquil flood— “How sweetly does the moon—beam sm…