HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED.

SHERIDAN. Air, "Molly Astore."

After the foregoing song and commentary, Sheridan's song naturally takes its place

here.

HAD I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you,

For, tho' your tongue no promise claim'd,
Your charms would make me true;

Then, lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

But when they find that you have bless'd
Another with your heart,

They'll bid aspiring passion rest,

And act a brother's part.

Then, lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And brothers in the young.

In speaking of the lyrics in the Opera of "The Duenna," Mocre says "By far the greater number of the songs are full of beauty, and some of them may rank among the best models of lyric writing. The verses 'Had I a heart for falsehood framed,' notwithstanding the stiffness of this word 'framed,' and one or two slight blemishes, are not unworthy of living in recollection with the matchless air to which they are adapted." -Moore's Life of Sheridan, vol. i. p. 174 (8vo. 2nd Ed.).

BRIDGET CRUISE.

CAROLAN. Translated by THOMAS FURLONG.

OH! turn thee to me, my only love,
Let not despair confound me ;
Turn, and may blessings from above
In life and death surround thee.
This fond heart throbs for thee alone-
Oh! leave me not to languish,

Look on these eyes, whence sleep hath flown,
Bethink thee of my anguish :

My hopes, my thoughts, my destiny-
All dwell, all rest, sweet girl, on thee.

Young bud of beauty, for ever bright,
The proudest must bow before thee;
Source of my sorrow and my delight—
Oh! must I in vain adore thee?

Where, where, through earth's extended round,
Where may such loveliness be found?

Talk not of fair ones known of yore;
Speak not of Deirdre the renowned-

She whose gay glance each minstrel hail'd;
Nor she whom the daring Dardan bore
From her fond husband's longing arms;
Name not the dame whose fatal charms,

When weighed against a world, prevail'd ;
To each might blooming beauty fall,
Lovely, thrice lovely, might they be;
But the gifts and graces of each and all
Are mingled, sweet maid, in thee!
How the entranc'd ear fondly lingers
On the turns of thy thrilling song;
How brightens each eye as thy fair white fingers
O'er the chords fly gently along;

The noble, the learn'd, the ag'd, the vain,
Gaze on the songstress, and bless the strain.
How winning, dear girl, is thine air,

How glossy thy golden hair!

Oh! loved one, come back again,

With thy train of adorers about thee

Oh! come, for in grief and in gloom we remain-
Life is not life without thee.

My memory wanders-my thoughts have stray'd-
My gathering sorrows oppress me—

Oh! look on thy victim, bright peerless maid,
Say one kind word to bless me.

Why, why on thy beauty must I dwell

When each tortured heart knows its power too well?

Or why need I say that favour'd and bless'd

Must be the proud land that bore thee?

Oh! dull is the eye and cold the breast

That remains unmov'd before thee.

The venerable Charles O'Connor records the effects produced by the performance of this ode, by the bard in the presence of the object of its inspiration. But "the course of true love" ran no smoother in Carolan's days than in the time of Shakespeare; there were family objections to the union, though it is surmised the lady herself was not insensible to the lyre, for

"Woman's heart was made
For minstrels' hand alone-
By other fingers play'd
It yields not half the tone."

But in this instance, the minstrel was obliged to "keep his hands off;" there was a father in the way.

"Fathers have flinty hearts!"

says Jaffier, while Don Jerome cries,

"Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!"

but Bridget Cruise was not obstinate; and it is believed that the lines which follow are a translation from some stanzas of her own, in which, while she confesses her love, she bids her lover a hopeless farewell.

BRIDGET CRUISE TO CAROLAN.

From the Irish.

OH! tempt not my feet from the straight path of duty,
Love lights a meteor but to betray!

And soon would'st thou tire of the odourless beauty,
If grew not esteem upon passion's decay.

Then cease thee-ah, cease thee to urge and to 'plain!
I may not, I cannot-thy suit is in vain ;

For filial affections a daughter restrain,

And worthless were she who had slighted their sway.

Oh, how could'st thou trust for connubial affection
The bosom untrue to its earliest ties?

Or where were thy bliss, when, on sad recollection,
I'd sink, self-condemn'd, self-abash'd from thine eyes?
Then cease thee-ah, cease thee !-'tis fated we part!
Yet, if sympathy soften the pang of thy heart,
I will own to this bosom far dearer thou art

Than all that earth's treasure, earth's pleasure supplies.

But where am I urged by impetuous feeling?
Thy tears win the secret long hid in my breast.
Farewell! and may time fling the balsam of healing
O'er wounds that have rankled, and robbed thee of rest.
Yet lose not-ah! lose not, each lingering thought
Of her who in early affection you sought,

And whose bosom to cheer thee would sacrifice aught
But love to a parent, the kindest and best.

But the love of Carolan for Bridget Cruise had sunk too deeply in his heart to be ever banished from it. Twenty years afterwards, when on a pilgrimage at Loch Derg, the blind bard recognized the object of his youthful affection by the touch of her hand, in assisting her out of the ferry boat. The incident, with some slight variation of the circumstances, more conducive to poetic effect, I have recorded in a ballad of my own, which being so apposite to the subject I venture to insert.

"It is related of Carolan, the Irish bard, that when deprived of sight, and after the lapse of twenty years, he recognised his first love by the touch of her hand. The lady's name was Bridget Cruise, and though not a pretty name, it deserves to be recorded, as belonging to the woman who could inspire such a passion."-Songs and Ballads.

"TRUE love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,-
My darling one!"

Thus sung a minstrel gray
His sweet impassion'd lay,
Down by the ocean's spray

At set of sun;

But wither'd was the minstrel's sight,
Morn to him was dark as night;

Yet his heart was full of light

As he his lay begun.

"True love can ne'er forget;

Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,-
My darling one!

D

Long years are past and o'er,
Since from this fatal shore,
Cold hearts and cold winds bore
My love from me."
Scarcely the minstrel spoke,
When quick, with flashing stroke,
A boat's light oar the silence broke
Over the sea;

Soon upon her native strand

Doth a lovely lady land,

While the minstrel's love-taught hand
Did o'er his wild harp run-

"True love can ne'er forget;

Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!"

Where the minstrel sat alone,
There, that lady fair hath gone,
Within his hand she placed her own,
The bard dropp'd on his knee ;
From his lips soft blessings came,
He kiss'd her hand with truest flame,
In trembling tones he named-her name,
Though her he could not see.

But oh!--the touch the bard could tell
Of that dear hand, remember'd well,—
Ah! by many a secret spell

Can true love find his own!
For true love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when they met,
He loved his lady yet,—
His darling one!

CUSHLA MA CHREE.*

From the Irish.

BEFORE the sun rose at yester-dawn,
I met a fair maid adown the lawn :
The berry and snow

To her cheek gave its glow,

And her bosom was fair as the sailing swan-— Then, pulse of my heart! what gloom is thine?

* Vein, or pulse, of my heart.