AVENGING AND BRIGHT. AVENGING and bright fall the swift sword of Erin' By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,' When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in gore By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore We swear to revenge them!-no joy shall be tasted, Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head. Yes, monarch! tho' sweet are our home recollections, Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections, Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET. He.-WHAT the bee is to the flow'ret, When he looks for honey-dew, Through the leaves that close embower it, She. What the bank, with verdure glowing, Is to waves that wander near Whisp'ring kisses, while they're going, That I'll be to you, my dear. She. But they say, the bee's a rover, Who will fly, when sweets are gone; 1 The words of this song were suggested by the very ancient Irish story called "Deirdri, or the Lamentable Fate of the Sons of Usnach," which has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by Mr. O'Flanagan, (see vol. i. of Transactions of the Garlic Society of Dublin,) and upon which it appears that the "Darthula of Macpherson" is founded. The treachery of Conor, King of Ulster, in putting to death the three sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against Ulster, which terminated in the destruction of Eman. "This story (says Mr. O'Flanagan) has been, from time immemorial, held in high repute as one of the three tragic stories of the Irish. These are, 'The death of the children of Touran ;' "The death of the children of Lear,' (both regarding Tuatha de Danans,) and this, 'The death of the children of Usnach,' which is a Milesian story." It will be recollected, that, in the Second Number of these Melodies, there is a ballad upon the story of the children of Lear or Lir; "Silent, oh Moyle!" &c. Whatever may be thought of those sanguine claims to antiquity, which Mr. O'Flanagan and others advance for the literature of Ireland, it would be a lasting reproach upon our nationality, if the Gaelic researches of this gentleman did not meet with all the liberal encouragement they so well merit. 2 "Oh Nasi! view that cloud that I here see in the sky! I see over Eman-green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red "Deirdri's Song. 3 Ulster. Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed, The goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. But pledge me the cup-if existence would cloy, With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, And the light, brilliant Folly that flashes and dies. When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, Through fields full of light, and with heart full of play, Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount, And neglected his task for the flowers on the way.1 Thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted, And left their light urns all as empty as mine. But pledge me the goblet ;-while Idleness weaves These flow'rets together, should Wisdom but see One bright drop or two that has fall'n on the leaves, From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me. AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the re gions of air, To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky. to that species of trefoil called in Ireland by the name of the Shamrock; and hence, perhaps, the Island of Saints adopted this plant as her national emblem. Hope, among the ancients, was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing up on tiptoes, and a trefoil of three-colored grass in her hand. Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear! When our voices commingling, breathed, like one, on the ear; And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,' Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. ONE BUMPER AT PARTING ONE bumper at parting!-though many Have circled the board since we met, The fullest, the saddest of any, Remains to be crown'd by us. yet. The sweetness that pleasure hath in it, Is always so slow to come forth, That seldom, alas, till the minute It dies, do we know half its worth. But come,-may our life's happy measure Be all of such moments made up; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die 'midst the tears of the cup. As onward we journey, how pleasant Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours Ah, never doth Time travel faster, Than when his way lies among flowers. But come,-may our life's happy measure Be all of such moments made up; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die 'midst the tears of the cup. We saw how the sun look'd in sinking, The waters beneath him how bright; And now, let our farewell of drinking Resemble that farewell of light. You saw how he finish'd, by darting His beam o'er a deep billow's brimSo, fill up, let's shine at our parting, In full liquid glory, like him. "There are countries," says Montaigne, "where they believe the souls of the happy live in all manner of liberty, in delightful fields; and that it is those souls, repeating the words we utter, which we call Echo." "Steals silently to Morna's grove."-See, in Mr. Bunting's she adored. Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns." The monarch Roderick espoused the cause of O'Ruark, while Mac Murchad fled to England, and obtained the as sistance of Henry II. 1 These stanzas are founded upon an event of most mel-nity of conveying her from a husband she detested to a lover ancholy importance to Ireland; if, as we are told by our Irish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing us. The following are the circumstances as related by O'Halloran :-"The king of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter to the king of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to O'Ruark, prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. They carried on a private correspondence, and she informed him that O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage, (an act of piety frequent in those days,, and conjured him to embrace that opportu "Such," adds Giraldus Cambrensis, (as I find him in an old translation,) "is the variable and fickle nature of wo man, by whom all mischief in the world (for the most part) do happen and come, as may appear by Marcus Antonius, and by the destruction of Troy." Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, That the night only draws A thin veil o'er the day; Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, You may break, you inay shatter the vase, if you There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. We should love, as they loved in the first golden |