OH! weep for the hour, When to Eveleen's bower The Lord of the Valley with false vows came; The moon hid her light From the heavens that night, And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame. The clouds pass'd soon From the chaste cold moon, And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; When the clouds shall pass away, Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. The white snow lay On the narrow path-way, When the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor; On the white snow's tint Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. The next sun's ray Soon melted away Every trace on the path where the false Lord came; Which alone can remove That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.4 SILENT, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water, Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping, Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED. IT is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 'Tis the tear, thro' many a long day wept, 'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded; 'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, When all lighter griefs have faded. Thus his memory, like some holy light, Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom COME O'ER THE SEA. COME o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not. Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Was not the sea Made for the Free, Land for courts and chains alone? But, on the waves, Love and Liberty's all our own. No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, Maiden with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 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, SHE.—But they say, the bee's a rover, Who will fly, when sweets are gone; HE-Nay, if flowers will lose their looks, 'Tis but right, that bees and brooks Should sip and kiss them while they may. THE PARALLEL. 5 YES, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart— Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken, Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken," Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the morrow, When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over And, a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover, |