FLOURISH OF TRUMPETS. Hark, 'tis the sound that charms Round her boy-soldier when that call she hears; Is proud to feel his young pulse bound With valour's fever at the sound. See, from his native hills afar Yes, Music, here, even here, Amid this thoughtless, vague career, Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous pow'r - Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks, Whose every note hath power to thrill his mind With tend'rest thoughts; to bring around his knees rosy children whom he left behind, The And fill each little angel eye With speaking tears, that ask him why He wander'd from his hut for scenes like these. Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar ; Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears; And the stern eyes, that look'd for blood before, Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears. But, wake the trumpet's blast again, And rouse the ranks of warrior-men! Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs, And Freedom's spirit guides the labouring storm, 'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallow'd form, And, like Heaven's light'ning, sacredly destroys. Nor, Music, through thy breathing sphere, Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear Of Him who made all harmony, Than the bless'd sound of fetters breaking, And the first hymn that man, awaking From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty. SPANISH CHORUS. Hark! from Spain, indignant Spain, Like morning's music on the air; By brave Gerona's deathful story, That, while one Spaniard's life-blood beats, That blood shall stain the conqu'ror's glory. SPANISH AIR. - YA DESPERTO." But ah! if vain the patriot's zeal, If neither valour's force nor wisdom's light Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal, Which shuts so close the book of Europe's right — What song shall then in sadness tell Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, Of buried hopes, remember'd well, Of ardour quench'd, and honour faded? What muse shall mourn the breathless brave, In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine ? What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave? Oh Erin, Thine! "The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun. "Thou has set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter." - Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17. THOU art, O GOD, the life and light When Day, with farewell beam, delays Among the op'ning clouds of Even, Through golden vistas into Heaven 'I have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. It is sung to the beautiful old words, "I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair." R |