SHE SUNG OF LOVE.

SHE sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,
As if to feed with their soft fire

The soul within that trembling shell. The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, And played around those lips that sung And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak,

If Love could lend their leaves a tongue.

But soon the West no longer burned, Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew; And, when to gaze again I turned,

The minstrel's form seemed fading too. As if her light and heaven's were one, The glory all had left that frame; And from her glimmering lips the tone, As from a parting spirit, came.1

Who ever loved, but had the thought

That he and all he loved must part? Filled with this fear, I flew and caught

The fading image to my heart And cried, "Oh Love! is this thy doom? "Oh light of youth's resplendent day! "Must ye then lose your golden bloom, "And thus, like sunshine, die away?" SING-SING-MUSIC WAS GIVEN. sing - Music was given,

SING

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;

Souls here, like planets in Heaven,

By harmony's laws alone are kept

moving.

dark ages, attracted the notice of all Christendom, and was the resort of penitents and pilgrims from almost every country in Europe."

"It was, as the same writer tells us, one of the most dismal and dreary spots in the North, almost inaccessible, through deep glens and rugged mountains, frightful with impending rocks, and the hollow murmurs of the western winds in dark caverns, peopled only with such fantastic beings as the mind, however gay, is, from strange association, wont to appropriate to such gloomy Strictures on the Ecclesiastical and Literary History of Ireland."

scenes."

THE WANDERING BARD.

WHAT life like that of the bard can be, The wandering bard, who roams as free As the mountain lark that o'er him sings, And, like that lark, a music brings Within him, where'er he comes or goes,A fount that for ever flows!

The world's to him like some playground,

Where fairies dance their moonlight round;

If dimmed the turf where late they trod,
The elves but seek some greener sod;
So, when less bright his scene of glee,
To another away flies he!

Oh, what would have been young
Beauty's doom,

Without a bard to fix her bloom?
They tell us, in the moon's bright round,
Things lost in this dark world are found;
So charms, on earth long past and gone,
In the poet's lay live on.

Would ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim?

You 've only to give them all to him, Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand, Can lend them life, this life beyond, And fix them high, in Poesy's sky, Young stars that never die!

Then, welcome the bard where'er he