THE MEETING OF THE WATERS

Vale of Avoca

From a photograph

Sweet Vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best;

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

-Thomas Moore.

"Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold

As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm;
For though they love woman and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honor and virtue more!

On she went, and her maiden smile.

In safety lighted her round the Green Isle;
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honor and Erin's pride.

SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.1

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her sighing;

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying!

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking:

Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!

He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.

O, make her a grave where the sunbeams rest
When they promise a glorious morrow;

They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow!

were inspired with such a spirit of honor, virtue, and religion by the great example of Brian, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and a costly dress, undertook a journey alone, from one end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws and government of this monarch made on the minds of all the people that no attempt was made upon her honor, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels."- Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i. book x.

1 This poem refers to the betrothed of Robert Emmet. She afterward became the wife of an officer, who took her to Sicily, in the hope that travel would restore her spirits, but her grief for Emmet was so great that she died of a broken heart.

THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.

Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose,
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.
When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Sleep, with wings in darkness furled?
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?

Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love?
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?

WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.1

When he who adores thee has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,

O, say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resigned!

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;

For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine:

In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above
Thy name shall be mingled with mine!

O, blest are the lovers and friends who shall live

The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

1 This, doubtless, refers to Robert Emmet, who addresses Erin, his loved but unhappy country.