He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded
In hearts, which have suffer'd too much to forget;
And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment rewarded,
And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet.

The gem may be broke

By many a stroke,

But nothing can cloud its native ray;
Each fragment will cast

A light, to the last,

And thus, Erin, my country, tho' broken thou art, There's a lustre within thee, that ne'er will decay; A spirit, which beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at all pain on the Prince's Day.

THE NIGHT DANCE.

STRIKE the gay harp! see the moon is on high,
And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean,
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye
Obey the mute call, and heave into motion.

Then, sound notes-the gayest, the lightest,

That ever took wing, when heav'n look'd brightest!
Again! Again!

Oh! could such heart-stirring music be heard

In that City of Statues described by romancers, So wak'ning its spell, even stone would be stirr'd, And statues themselves all start into dancers!

Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears,

And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us,— While stars overhead leave the song of their spheres, And list'ning to ours, hang wondering o'er us? Again, that strain!-to hear it thus sounding Might set even Death's cold pulses boundingAgain! Again!

Oh, what delight when the youthful and gay,

Each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a feather, Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May. And mingle sweet song and sunshine together!

LOVE AND THE NOVICE.

"HERE we dwell, in holiest bowers,

'Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend; "Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers "To heaven in mingled odour ascend.

"Do not disturb our calm, oh Love!

"So like is thy form to the cherubs above, "It well might deceive such hearts as ours."

"

Love stood near the Novice and listen'd,

And Love is no novice in taking a hint;
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glisten'd;
His rosy wing turn'd to heaven's own tint.

"Who would have thought," the urchin cries,
"That Love could so well, so gravely disguise
His wandering wings and wounding eyes?"

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping,
Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise.
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping,
He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs.
Love is the Saint enshrin'd in thy breast,

And angels themselves would admit such a guest, If he came to them cloth'd in Piety's vest.

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

WHEN cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast lov'd,

Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be remov'd,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
And oh if 'tis pain to remember how far

From the pathways of life he was tempted to roam,
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star
That arose on his darkness, and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings, that taught him true love to adore,
To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame
From the idols he blindly had knelt to before.
O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild,
Thou cam'st, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea;
And if happiness purely and glowingly smil'd

On his ev'ning horizon, the light was from thee.

And though, sometimes, the shades of past folly might rise,
And though falsehood again would allure him to stray,
He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish'd away.
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim,
At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair,

So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there.

"TIS SWEET TO THINK.

'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove,
We are sure to find something blissful and dear,
And that, when we're far from the lips we love,
We've but to make love to the lips we are near.
The heart, like a tendril, accustom'd to cling,

Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone,
But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing,
It can twine with itself, and make closely its own.
Then oh what pleasure, where'er we rove,

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear,
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
We've but to make love to the lips we are near.

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise,

To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there; And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, "Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair.

Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike,

They are both of them bright, but they're changeable ton, And, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike,

It will tincture Love's plume with a different hue. Then oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove,

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, And to know, when far from the lips we love, We've but to make love to the lips we are near.

ILL OMENS.

WHEN daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
And stars in the heavens still lingering shone,
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,
The last time she e'er was to press it alone.

For the youth whom she treasur'd her heart and her soul it
Had promised to link the last tie before noon;
And, when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen,
The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses,
Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,

A butterfly, fresh from the night-flower's kisses,
Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.
Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces,

She brush'd him-he fell, alas! never to rise:

"Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces, "For which the soul's innocence too often dies."

While she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease was growing

She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night-fall'n dew;

And a rose, farther on, look'd so tempting and glowing,
That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too!

But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning,

Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was lost:

"Ah! this means," said the girl (and she sigh'd at its meaning), "That love is scare worth the repose it will cost!"

I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME

I SAW thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of Time,
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Yet still thy features wore that light,
Which fleets not with the breath;
And life ne'er look'd more truly bright
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden mines,
Yet humbly, calmly glide,

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide, Mary!

So veil'd beneath the simplest guise,
Thy radiant genius shone,

And that, which charm'd all other eyes,
Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere;
Or could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,
To live with them is far less sweet,

Than to remember thee, Mary!