Our Dargle-gate, and found ourselves standing over the delightful valley of Powerscourt. It was like a transition from the enjoyments of an Ariel to those of human nature,-from the blissful abode of some sylphic genius, to the happiest habitations of mortal men,-from all the restless and visionary delights of fancy, to the calm glow of real and romantic happiness. minds that were before confused by the throng of beauties that enclosed and solicited them on every side, now expanded and reposed upon the scene before us. The sun himself seemed liberated, and rejoicing in his emancipation. The valley indeed "lay smiling before us;" the river no longer dashing over rocks and struggling with impediments, was flowing brightly and cheerfully along in the sun, bordered by meadows of the liveliest green, and now and then embowered in a cluster of trees. One little field of the freshest verdure swelled forward beyond the rest, round which the river wound, so as to give it the appearance of an island. In this we observed a mower whetting his scythe, and the sound was just sufficient to reach us faintly and at intervals. To the left was the Dargle, where all the beauties that had so much enchanted us were now one undistinguishable mass of leaves. Confronting us, stood Sugar-loaf, with his train of rough and abrupt mountains, remaining dark in the midst of sunshine, like the frowning guardians of the valley. These were contrasted with the grand flowing outline of the mountains to our right, and the exquisite refinement and variety of the light that spread itself over their gigantic sides. Far to the left, the sea was again disclosed to our view, and behind us was the Scalp, like the outlet from Paradise into the wide world of thorns and briars. * A BIRTH-DAY POEM. Oh have you not heard of the harp that lay By twilight lone up the mountain yonder? How that wild harp came there not the wisest can know, It lay silent and lone on the mountain's brow; The eagle's down on the strings that lay Proved he there had awaited the dawning ray; But no track could be seen, nor a footstep was near, Save the course of the hare o'er the strings in fear,— And ah! no minstrel is here to be seen On our mountain's brow, or our valleys green; And if there were, he had miss'd full soon The wind it rose strong, and the wind it rose fast, Then away through the strings it went singing, singing, That the eagle hung breathless upon his cloud, And away through the strings the wind it went sweeping Till the spirit awoke, that among them was sleepingIt awoke, it awoke; It spoke, it spoke "I am the spirit of Erin's might, "That brighten'd in peace, and that nerved her in fight"The spirit that lives in the blast of the mountain, "And tunes her voice to the roll of the fountain "The spirit of giddy and frantic gladness"The spirit of most heart-rending sadness "The spirit of maidens weeping on "Wildly, tenderly "The spirit of heroes thundering on "Gloriously, gloriously; "And though my voice is seldom heard, "Now another's song's preferr'd, "I tell thee, stranger, I have sung "She moves with her bounding mountain-grace, "And the light of her heart is in her face : "Tell the maid-I claim her mine "For Erin it is her's to shine; "And, that she still increase her store "Of intellect and fancy's lore, "That I demand from her a mind 66 Beyond what avarice can desire; "And she must pour a patriot's song "Her romantic hills along." The blast upon the mountain side, Nor scarcely o'er the clouds it brush'd; And now the murmuring sound is hush'd,— On the faltering spirit's tongue Speak again, the youth he cried, But no faltering sprite replied; Wild harp, wild harp, rung SONG. I. Oh my love has an eye of the softest blue, Yet it was not that that won me; But a little bright drop from her soul was there— "Tis that that has undone me. |