Wert thou all that I wish thee. great, glorious, and free, No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, WAR SONG. REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE BRAVE REMEMBER the glories of Brien the brave, Tho' lost to Mononia, and cold in the grave, That star of the field, which so often hath pour'd But enough of its glory remains on each sword, Mononia! when Nature embellish'd the tint Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair, No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, That 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, Forget not our wounded companions, who stood In the day of distress by our side; While the moss of the valley grew red with their blond That sun which now blesses our arms with his light, Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain; Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene "Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near, Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. WHILE History's Muse the memorial was keeping For her's was the story that blotted the leaves. With a pencil of light That illum'd the whole volume. her Wellington's name. "Hail, Star of my Isle!" said the Spirit, all sparkling With beams, such as break from her own dewy skies"Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, "I've watched for some glory like thine to arise. "For, though Heroes I've number'd, unblest was their lot, "And unhallow'd they sleep in the crossways of Fame;"But oh! there is not "One dishonouring blot "On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's name. "Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, "Of her tears and her blood, "Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name!" THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET. THOUGH humble the banquet to which I invite thee, And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from the dwelling Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling, 'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion. Can turn from the path a pure conscience approves; Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion, 'Tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat, And, with this, though of all other treasures bereav'd, The breeze of his garden to him is more sweet Than the costliest incense that Pomp e'er receiv'd. Then, come, if a board so untempting hath power To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine; And there's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower, Who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome with me. DESMOND'S SONG. By the Feal's wave benighted, As the threshold I crost, Love came, and brought sorrow I would drain it with pleasure, You, who call it dishonour If you've eyes, look but on her, Hath the violet less brightness No-Man for his glory But Woman's bright story Is told in her eyes. While the Monarch but traces Through mortals his line, Beauty, born of the Graces, Ranks next to Divine! WREATHE THE BOWL WREATHE the bowl With flowers of soul, Tow'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us. Should Love amid The wreaths be hid, That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us, No danger fear, While wine is near, We'll drown him if he stings us; Then, wreathe the bowl With flowers of soul, The brightest Wit can find us; Tow'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us. 'Twas nectar fed Of old, 'tis said, Their Junos, Joves, Apollos; And man may brew His nectar too, The rich receipt's as follows: Take wine like this, Let looks of bliss |