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HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED.

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at

home.

How oft has the Benshee cried,
How oft has death untied
Bright links that Glory wove,

Sweet bonds entwin’d by Love!
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth;
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth;

Long may the fair and brave
Sigh o'er the hero's grave.

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept

By a dragon of prudery placed within call; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,

That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all. Oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence,

Which round the flowers of Erin dwells;
Which warns the touch, while winning the sense,

Nor charms us least when it most repels.
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,
Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward

you roam,
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

We're fall’n upon gloomy days!!
Star after star decays,
Every bright name, that shed

Light o'er the land, is fled.
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth ;

But brightly flows the tear,
Wept o'er a hero's bier.

Quench'd are our beacon lights-
Thou, of the Hundred Fights! 2
Thou, on whose burning tongue

Truth, peace, and freedom hung!3
Both mute, – but long as valour shineth,
Or mercy's soul at war repineth,

So long shall Erin's pride
Tell how they liv'd and died.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye.
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy,

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar,
Through billows of woe, and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore.
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,
Thro’ this world, whether eastward or westward

you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS

WORLD.

EVELEEN'S BOWER.

We may roam through this world, like a child at On! weep for the hour, a feast,

When to Eveleen's bower Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the The 'Lord of the Valley with false vows came; rest;

The moon hid her light
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, From the heavens that night,

We may order our wings, and be off to the west ; And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame.
But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,
Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies,

The clouds pass'd soon We never need leave our own green isle,

From the chaste cold moon, For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes.

And heaven smil'd again with her vestal flame; Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,

But none will see the day, Thro’ this world, whether eastward or westward

When the clouds shall pass away, you roam,

Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.

! I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish cha. racter, which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality, by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men, at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity.

2 This designation, which has been before applied to Lord

Nelson, is the title given to a celebrated Irish Hero, in a Poem by O'Guive, the bard of O'Niel, which is quoted in the “ Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland," page 433. “ Con, of the Hundred Fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories."

3 Fox, “Romanorum ultimus."

N

The white snow lay
On the narrow path-way,

THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.4
When the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor;
And many a deep print

SILENT, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
On the white snow's tint

Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely

daughter
The next sun's ray

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.
Soon melted away

When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Every trace on the path where the false Lord came; Sleep, with wings in darkness furl'd ?
But there's a light above,

When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Which alone can remove

Call my spirit from this stormy world ?
That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame.

Sadly, oh 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?
LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF

When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
OLD.

Call my spirit to the fields above ?
LET Erin remember the days of old,

Ere her faithless sons betray'd her; When Malachi wore the collar of gold, 1

Which he won from her proud invader, When her kings, with standard of green unfurld, COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger?;Ere the emerald gem of the western world COME, send round the wine, and leave points of Was set in the crown of a stranger.

belief

To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, This moment's a flower too fair and brief, When the clear cold eve's declining,

To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the He sees the round towers of other days

schools. In the wave beneath him shining;

Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, But, while they are fill’d from the same bright Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;

bowl, Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time The fool, who would quarrel for diff'rence of hue,

For the long faded glories they cover. 3 Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side While, far from the footstep of coward or slave,

1 “ This brought on an encounter between Malachi (the like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says that the fish. Monarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the Danes, in ermen, in clear weather, used to point out to strangers the tall which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he en. ecclesiastical towers under the water. Piscatores aqua illius countered successively, hand to hand, taking a collar of gold turres ecclesiasticas, quæ more patriæ arctæ sunt et aliæ, from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the other, necnon et rotunda, sub undis manifeste sereno tempore conas trophies of his victory.” – Warner's History of Ireland, spiciunt, et extraneis transeuntibus, reique causas admi. vol. i. book ix.

rantibus, frequenter ostendunt. — Topogr. Hib. dist. 2. c. 9. 2 “ Military orders of knights were very early established 4 To make this story intelligible in a song would require a in Ireland ; long before the birth of Christ we find an here- much greater number of verses than any one is authorised to ditary order of Chivalry in Ulster, called Curaidhe na Craiobhe inflict upon an audience at once: the reader must therefore be ruadh, or the Knights of the Red Branch, from their chief seat content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the daughter of in Emania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulster kings, called Lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformed into a Teagh na Craiobhe ruadh, or the Academy of the Red Branch; swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, over and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of Chrissick knights and soldiers, called Bronbhearg, or the House of tinnity, when the first sound of the mass-bell was to be the the Sorrowful Soldier." - O'Halloran's Introduction, &c., signal of her release.--I found this fanciful fiction among part i. chap. 5.

some manuscript translations from the Irish, which were begun 3 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that under the direction of that enlightened friend of Ireland, the Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sudden late Countess of Moira. overflowing the country was inundated, and a whole region,

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried,

grave If he kneel not before the same altar with me? Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain! From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly,

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? No: perish the hearts, and the laws that try

Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!

BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEAR

ING YOUNG CHARMS.

west

SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, SUBLIME was the warning that Liberty spoke, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit have rest,

art, Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, Would entwine itself verdantly still. Nor, oh, be the shamrock of Erin forgot While you add to your garland the Olive of It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, Spain!

And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear

That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their To which time will but make thee more dear; rights,

No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, But as truly loves on to the close,

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same! The same look which she turn'd when he rose. And oh! may his tomb want a tier and a name, Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath,

For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain!

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd

ERIN, OH ERIN. The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find

LIKE the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for fane, in vain,

And burn'd thro’long ages of darkness and storm, Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain, light,

Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm. May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as bright, Erin, oh Erin, thus bright thro' the tears And forgive even Albion while blushing she draws, Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears. Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain! The nations have fallen, and thou still art young,

Thy sun is but rising, when others are set; God prosper the cause! -oh, it cannot but thrive, And tho’slavery’s cloud o'er thy morning hath hung While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive,

The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain; yet. Then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will die! Erin, oh Erin, tho’ long in the shade, The finger of glory shall point where they lie; Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade.

! The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare, mulieres ignem, suppetente materia, fovent et nutriunt, ut a which Giraldus mentions:-“ Apud Kildariam occurrit ignis tempore virginis per tot annorum curricula semper mansit in. Sancta Brigidæ, quem inextinguibilem vocant ; non quod ex- extinctus." --Girald. Camb. de Mirabil. Hibern, dist. 2. c. 34. tingui non possit, sed quod tam solicite moniales et sanctæ

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| Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the Lily, has

3 It is conjectured by Wormius, that the name of Ireland a We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by weapon the Irish were once very expert. This derivaciones

is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, in the use of which one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser se severely, ana, certainly more creditable to us than the

following is the perhaps, truly, describes in his State of Ireland, and whose poems, he tells us, “ were sprinkled with some pretty flowers

Ireland, called the land of Ire, from the constant broils therein of their natural device, which have good grace and comeliness

for 400 years, was now become the land of concord."-Lloyd's unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the

State Worthies, art. The Lord Grandison.

* See the Hymn, attributed to Alcæus, E, uupres ziad sa would serve to adorn and beautify virtue." gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with good usage, 2005 pogren-" I will carry my sword, hidden in myrtles,

like Harmodius, and Aristogiton," &c.

1

But tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope fade away, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,

Thy name, lov'd Erin, shall live in his songs; The last time she e'er was to press it alone.
Not ev'n in the hour, when his heart is most gay, For the youth whom she treasur'd her heart and
Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy her soul in,
wrongs.

Had promised to link the last tie before noon ; The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains; And, when once the young heart of a maiden is

The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep, stolen, Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, The maiden herself will steal after it soon. Shall pause at the song of their captive, and weep.

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er

misses, Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,

A butterfly 3, fresh from the night-flower's kisses, WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT. Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.

Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces, WHILE gazing on the moon's light,

She brush'd him — he fell, alas! never to rise: A moment from her smile I turn’d,

“ Ah! such," said the girl, " is the pride of our To look at orbs, that, more bright,

faces, In lone and distant glory burn'd.

“ For which the soul's innocence too often dies." But too far Each proud star,

While she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease For me to feel its warming flame;

was growing, Much more dear

She cull’d some, and kiss'd off its night-fall’n dew; That mild sphere,

And a rose, farther on, look'd so tempting and Which near our planet smiling came ;

glowing, Thus, Mary, be but thou my own;

That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too : While brighter eyes unheeded play,

But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning, I'll love those moonlight looks alone,

Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was That bless my home and guide my way.

“ Ah! this means," said the girl (and she sigh'd The day had sunk in dim showers,

at its meaning), But midnight now, with lustre meet,

“ That love is scarce worth the repose it will Mlumin'd all the pale flowers,

cost!” Like hope upon a mourner's cheek.

I said (while

The moon's smile Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) “ The moon looks

BEFORE THE BATTLE. “ On many brooks

By the hope within us springing, “ The brook can see no moon but this ;” 2

Herald of to-morrow's strife; And thus, I thought, our fortunes run,

By that sun, whose light is bringing For many a lover looks to thee,

Chains or freedom, death or lifeWhile oh! I feel there is but one,

Oh! remember life can be One Mary in the world for me.

No charm for him, who lives not free!

Like the day-star in the wave,

Sinks a hero in his grave,

Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears.
ILL OMENS.

Happy is he o'er whose decline
WHEN daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, The smiles of home may soothing shine,

And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, And light him down the steep of years:

lost :

1 * Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the sun excepted, we find a starry sky without a moon, with these words, Non the single moon, as despicable as it is in comparison to most mille , quod absens. of the others, is much more beneficial than they all put to- ? This image was suggested by the following thought, gether." - Whiston's Theory, &c.

which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's works: "The In the Entretiens d'Ariste, among other ingenious emblems, moon looks upon many night-flowers, the night-flower sees but

one moon."

3 An emblem of the soul.

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