Hapless Nation! hapless Land! God of mercy! God of peace! Monstrous and unhappy sight! Mix, and fill the world with slaughter. Who is she with aspect wild? The widow'd mother with her child- Angel of this sacred place, Make the sentence--not the sin. Here we watch our brother's sleep : MY FATHER WHO took me from my mother's arms, And, smiling at her soft alarms, Showed me the world and Nature's charms? Who made me feel and understand The wonders of the sea and land, And mark through all the Maker's hand? Who climbed with me the mountain's height, Who from each flower and verdant stalk Not on an insect would he tread, Who fired my breast with Homer's fame, Who smiled at my supreme desire Who, with Ulysses, saw me roam, 'What made a barren rock so dear?' Who now in pale and placid light Oh teach me still thy Christian plan, Still let thy scholar's heart rejoice With charm of thy angelic voice ; For yet remains a little space Till I shall meet thee face to face, And not, as now, in vain embrace. JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN THE famous wit and orator was born at Newmarket, County Cork, July 24, 1750, and died in London on October 14, 1817. He wrote few poems, and the following sombre lament, with its cry like that of the wind in a ruined house, is by far the best of them. It was founded on a chance encounter and conversation with a deserting soldier whom he met on a journey. THE DESERTER'S MEDITATION IF sadly thinking, with spirits sinking, Could more than drinking my cares compose, To joy a stranger, a way-worn ranger, My griefs are over-my glass runs low; RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN THE great Irish wit, orator and dramatist was born in Dublin, 1751; a son of Thomas Sheridan, an actor. After a stormy life, much of which belongs to English literature and much to English history, he died in 1816, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The following graceful lyric, Dry be that Tear,' illustrates the well-known love of intricate verbal melody, and the taste for cunning devices of chiming sound which mark Gaelic poetry, and which frequently appear in Anglo-Irish verse. DRY BE THAT TEAR DRY be that tear, my gentlest love, Hushed be that sigh, be dry that tear; Cease, boding doubt; cease, anxious fear- Ask'st thou how long my love shall stay, How long? Ah! Delia, can I say, How long my life shall last? Dry be that tear, be hushed that sigh; Hushed be that sigh. And does that thought affect thee, too, SONG Dry be that tear. HAD I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne'er could injure you ; For, tho' your tongue no promise claimed, Then, lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong, For friends in all the aged you'll meet, And lovers in the young. But when they find that you have blessed They'll bid aspiring passion rest, And act a brother's part. Then, lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong, For friends in all the aged you'll meet, And brothers in the young. GEORGE NUGENT REYNOLDS BORN at Letterfyan, County Leitrim, about 1770; the son of a landowner in that county. He wrote numerous songs and poems for the Dublin magazines between 1792-95; published a musical piece called Bantry Bay' in 1797, which was performed at Covent Garden, and a poem in four cantos in 1791. The following is his best song. Several pieces have been attributed to him which he did not write. He died at Stowe, in Buckinghamshire, in 1802. KATHLEEN Ο'MORE My love, still I think that I see her once more, Her hair glossy black, her eyes were dark blue, She milked the dun cow that ne'er offered to stir ; So kind was my Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen, |