But there's a light above, That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD. LET Erin remember the days of old, Ere her faithless sons betray'd her; On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, 205 THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.4 SILENT, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water, This brought on an encounter between Malachi (the monarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the Danes, in which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he encountered successively hand to hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the other, as trophies of his victory.'-Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i. book 9. Military orders of knights were very early established in Ireland; long before the birth of Christ, we find an hereditary order of chivalry in Ulster, called Curaidhe na Craoibhe ruadh, or the Knights of the Red Branch, from their chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulster kings, called Teagh na Craoibhe ruadh, or the Academy of the Red Branch: and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bron-bhearg, or the House of the Sor. owful Soldier.'-O'Halloran's Introduction, &c., part i. chap. 5. 3 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sudden overflowing the Country was inundated, and a whole region. like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says To make this story intelligible in a song When shall the swan, her death-note singing, COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. COME, send round the wine, and leave points of belief, This moment's a flower too fair and brief, To be wither'd and stained by the dust of the school Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, But, while they are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool, that would quarrel for difference of hue, Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? 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? SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. SUBLIME was the warning that Liberty spoke, Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west; While you add to your garland the Olive of Spain ! If the fame of our fathers, bequeathed with their rights, For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd God prosper the cause!-oh, it cannot but thrive, Its devotion to feel and its rights to maintain. BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, ERIN, O ERIN! LIKE the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane,1 The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at mulieres ignem, suppetente materia, fovent et Kildare, which Giraldus mentions:- Apud Kil- nutriunt ut a tempore virginis per tot annorum dariam occurrit Iguis Sanctæ Brigidæ, quem in-curricula semper mansit inextinctus.'—Girald, extinguibilem vocant; non quod extingui non Camb. de Mirabil, Hibern, dist ii c,.84. possit sed quod tam solicite moniales et sanctæ Erin, O Erin! thus bright through the tears The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, Thy sun is but rising, when others are set; Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. Unchill'd by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.1 And the hope that lived through it shall b'ossom at last. DRINK to her who long DRINK TO HER. Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. Oh! woman's heart was made For minstrel hands alone; By other fingers p ay'd, It yields not half the tone. Then here's to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. At Beauty's door of glass When Wealth and Wit once stood, They ask'd her, which might pass?' She answer'd, he who could.' With golden key Wealth thought To pass-but 'twould not do: While Wit a diamond brought, Hath waked the poet's sigh, That dwells in dark gold mines. Can boast a brighter sphere; Though woman keeps it here. OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD. Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lity, has applied this image to a still more important subject. 2 We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by one of those wandering bards whom Spenser so severely, and perhaps truly, describes in his State of Ireland, and whose poems, he tells us, Were sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with good usage, would serve to ador and beautify virtue.' The string that now languishes loose o'er the lyre, For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend. Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not their sires; He should try to forget what he never can heal; Oh! give but a hope-let a vista but gleam Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll feel ! That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down; It is conjectured by Wormi us, that the name of Ireland is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, In the use of which weapon the Irish were once very expert. This derivation is certainly more creditable to us than the following:-'So that Ireland (called the land of Ire, for the constant broils therein for 400 years) was now become the land of concord.'-Lloyd's State Worthies, art. the Lord Grandison. See the Hymn, attributed to Alcæus, Ev upro κλάδι το ξίφος φορηρω—I will carry my sword, hidden in myrtles, like Harmodius and Aristogiton,' &c. 3 Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the sun excepted, the single moon, as despicable as it is in comparison to most of the others, is much more beneficial than they all put together.' Whiston's Theory, &c. In the Entretiens d'Ariste, among other ingenious emblems, we find a starry sky without a moon, with the vords, 'Non mille quod absens. |