It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note, that died here, Oh forgive, if, while list'ning to music, whose breath "Even so, tho' thy mem'ry should now die away, ""Twill be caught up again in some happier day, "And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, "Through the answering Future, thy name and thy song." AVENGING and bright fall the swift sword of Erin For every fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in, A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade. By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling, When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in goreBy 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, Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted, 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! In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour, As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere, And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and ine. COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. COME, send round the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; This moment's a flower too fair and brief, To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, But, while they are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool, who would quarrel for diff'rence of hue, Deserves not the comfort then shed o'er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this! BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.3 By that Lake, whose gloomy shore Where the cliff hangs high and steep 'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,- She had lov'd him well and long, On the bold cliff's bosom cast, But nor earth nor heaven is free Even now, while calm he sleeps, Fearless she had track'd his feet To this rocky, wild retreat; Hurls her from the beetling rock. 1 Glendalough, thy gloomy wave Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. Smiling o'er the fatal tide. OH! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang as they seem to you now; Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows! Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest, Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd. But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,- SHE SUNG OF LOVE. SHE sung of Love, while o'er her lyre The soul within that trembling shell. But soon the West no longer burn'd, Each rosy ray from heav'n withdrew; And, when to gaze again I turn'd, The minstrel's form seem'd fading too. As if her light and heav'n's were one, The glory all had left that frame; And from her glimmering lips the tone, As from a parting spirit, came. Who ever lov'd, but had the thought 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? |