m n 4 j- m am THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Ddtlh; James Duffy 15 V/ellincton Quay IS3S PR nnzb &9 A/c it -9* CONTENTS, — * — ■ PAOB The Fate of Cathleen ■ 1 The Bridal of Malahide - - 17 Shanid Castle -.-.-• - 23 Orange and Green ■ - 47 The Traveller and the Moon - 53 Anna Blake ■ - 55 LYRICAL POEMS. My Spirit is Gay ... The Tie is Broke, my Irish Girl - When Love in a Young Heart Sleep, that like the Couched Dove The Sally-coop, where once I Strayed The Mie-na-mallah now is Past - The Wanderer's Return - Old Times ! Old Times ! - A Place in thy Memory, Dearest My Mary of the Curling Hair Gilli-ma-chree ... For I am Desolate The Bridal Wake - Once I had a True Love - 62 63 65 65 67 67 69 70 72 73 75 78 79 80 VI CONTENTS. Hark ! Hark ! the soft Bugle Farewell ! - The Mother's Lament To a Lady .... Let Others Breathe in Glowing Words You Never Bade me Hope, 'tis True A Soldier, a Soldier, to-night is our Guest Duet (from the Duke of Monmouth) Though lonely here by Avon's Tide Monmouth's Address Like the Oak by the Fountain - Falta Volla I Falta Volla ! Cead Millia Falta ! Elim ! The Isle of Saints - No ! Not for the Glories of Days that are Flown Come to Glengariff ! Come ! The Phantom City While the Stars of Heaven are Shining War ! War ! Horrid War ! War Song of O'Driscol Fare thee well ! my Native Dell - Aileen Aroon Gone ! Gone ! for ever Gone ! Ancient Lullaby - Know ye not that Lovely River ? I Love my Love in the Morning - Merrily Whistles the Wind on the Shore When Filled with Thoughts of Life's Young Day Hark, Erin ! the Blast is Blown - The Merriest Bird on Bush or Tree 'Tis, it is the Shannon's Stream - I am Alone ! I am Alone ! CONTENTS. vii SONNETS. PAGE To Friends in America - .. 127 To his Native Glens . - 128 To a Friend - - 129 The Future - - 130, A Fragment - - 131 To his Sister - - 131 Benevolence - - 133 Friendship - - 133 Fame - - 134 Mitchelstown Caverns - - 134 Written in Adare, in 1820 - 133 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. On Remembering an Inadvertent Jest on Lord Byron's Poetry - - - - - - - 135 Lines to a Departed Friend - - - - 133 Sweet Taunton Dene - - - - -141 Adieu to London - - - - - - 142 My Spirit is of Pensive Mould • - - - 144 Lines on a Lady's Seal Box - - - - 14ti A Portrait - - - - - - 148 Lines addressed to a Young Lady, on reading a Poem of hers, addressed to Death - - - -151 Inscription on a Cup formed of a Cocoa-nut - - 152 Impromptu (on seeing an Iris formed by the Spray of the Ocean, at Miltown-Malbay) - - - 153 The Wake without a Corpse - - - -153 To a Young Friend on his Birth-day - - - 154 To a Friend - - ... 153 Vlll OOXTEXTS. PAGE On Pulling some Campanulas in a Lady's Garden 159 They Speak of Scotland's Heroes Old 16i Brazil, the Isle of the Blest iea To a Seagull, seen off the Cliffs of Moher in the Count} of Clare - 164 Past Times 165 The Wreck of the Comet - ■ 167 The Sister of Charity ■ 169 Nano Naglo ■ 171 To Memory • 174 rp Q Hi * * * m IT'. The Nightwalker - ■ 178 The Danish Invasion 189 The Joy of Honour 190 Would you Choose a Friend . 193 When some Unblest and Lightless Eye 194 The Song of the Old Mendicant - • 196 Marydedjone Lyrics 197 Mr. Graham to Miss Dawson in the Clouds 197 To Claude Seurat, on Leaving London - 200 When Dulness, Friend of Peers and Kings . -2":; Matt Hyland GissippjS, a Play in Five Acts 292 %\t |ate of Ca%te. A W1CKLOW STORT. Ik Luggelaw's deep-wooded vale The summer eve was dying ; On lake, and cliff, and rock, and dale A lolling calm was lying ; And virgin saints and holy men The vesper song were singing, And sweetly down the rocky glen The vesper bell was ringing. n. Soft gloom fell from the mountain's breaA Upon the lake declining ; And half in gentle shade was drest, And half like silver shining — And by that shore young Kevin stands, Els heart with anguish laden ; Ajjd timid there, with wreathed kinds, A fair and gentle maiden. m. And " Oh," she said, " I've left for tkoo Sly own beloved bowers, ITie Wilks I trod in infancy, My father's ancient towers; IYa left for thee my natal hall, Where late I lived in splendour, And iome, and friends, and fame, EULcl ill I jSg&od not to 3urreu<]«r " B THE FATK OF CATULttS rv. Awuy I" he muttered low ; " 01 ) oulh A vow to heaven I've spoken, And I will keep my boyish truth To ago and death unbroken. Oh, woulds't thou bribe my heart to eb Against that high endeavour, \nd cast those tempting eye? between That heaven and me for ever f v. The maid looked up in still surprise, Her checks with tear-drops streaming ■, A guileless light was in her eyes, Like childhood's sorrow gleaming. Jh, had I hero a heaven to give, Thou should'st be blest this hour ; Then how should / thine hope bereave Of that eternal dower ? VI. Ah, no — Cathlceu will ask no more, For homo and friends forsaken, Than here, upon his peaceful shor* she sighed, and bowed her head, " I fear he told me truly, That sin is in the sunshine bred, And roses springing newly ; For dreary looks this bower to me, Even while those roses wreathe it ; And even that sunshine beaming free Hides something dark beneath it. XXXVIII. ;< That dew" — she paused! What foot h&s Ixwa. Upon its early brightness ? And left a track of deepening green Across its silver whiteness ? She traced it by the ravell'd brake, And by the silent fountain, And o'er that lawn, and by that lake, And up that hoary mountain. 12 THE FAVE OK CATHLEfcN. XXXIX. But tboro the thirsty morning sun Had dcwless left tho heather ; Her eye, o'er all tho desert dun No single- trace can gather. Yet on she went, for in her breast Deep passion fierce was binning — Passion, that brooks not pause nor reel. And sickens at returning. XL. And far away — and far away — O'er heath and hill she speeds her, Whilo Hope lights up that desert gray, And love untiring leads her. And far away — and far — and far From lake and convent tower, Till div'd in gloom day's golden car, And night was on the bower. ZLL Now thridding louo the rugged Scalp, With wounded feet and weary : Now toiling o'er each mimic Alp Of Wicklow's desert dreary. Oh, lonely Bray, thy basin'd tide She passed at sunset mellow, And Ouler's lake, where far and wide Its haunted flame shone yellow. XLII. llight fell — day rose — night fell &£&&, And 1 lie dim day-dawn found her On Glendalough's deep bosomed plain, With lake and cliff around her THE FATE OF CATHLEEX. l£ There, tired with travel long and vain, She sinks beside that water ; For toil, and woe, and wasting pain Have worn the Chieftain's daughter. xlhi. Tall, darkening o'er her high, Lugduff Gathered his lordly forehead, And shcath'd his breast in granite rough, Rent crag and splinter horrid. His helm oi' rock beat back the breeze, Without a leaf to wreathe it, The vassal waves rolled in to kiss His mailed foot beneath it. xuv. Sudden, with joyous yelp and bound, A dog comes swiftly by her ; 6b o knows — she knows that aged hound, And he she loves is nigh her 1 The warden flies — she follows swift— Tbo dangerous footway keeping, Till, deep within the jagged clift, She found her Kevin sleeping. XLV. With hair tossed out and hands clench'd tfgbij The rugged granite hugging, Like those who with the Hag of Nigh*. Fur voice and breath are tugging For, oh, he had a horrid dream, And every nerve has felt it ; And ruin was the gloomy theme, \n& Cathleen's hand had dealt It 14 run KATK OF cathli:>:n. XLVI. lie dreamed that at the golden gate Of heaven, flung wide and gleaming, Ho heard soft music as ho sate, And saw bright pinions beaming; Millions of sainted shapes lie saw, In light and fragrance ranging, And calm delight, and holy awe, In speaking looks exchanging. XLVU. He strove to join that angol band ; But, in the porch before him, With mocking eye and warning hand. Cathleen stood glooming o'er him , She thrust him from the sainted crowJ, Tho gates rang elanging after, And on his ear came, long and loin A peal of fearful laughter. XL VIII. Again it opes, again he tries To join that glorious vision ; Again, with lifted hands and eyes, Deep fixed in keen derision, That minion of the burning deep Stands wrapt in gloom before him — Up springs ho from his broken ?leep, And sees her trembling o'er him I XLIX. Vengeanco 1" he yelled, and backward toss'd His arms, and muttered wildl f : The flighted maid her forehead crossed, And dropped beforo him mildly. 1S2 KATE OF CAT11LEEN. 15 Oh, slay me not — Oh, Kevin, spare The life tk) Lord has given I" Be paused, and fixed his barren stoo Upcu the brightening heaven. Oathleen," he sighed, " that timely 'word Has left my hands unbloody ; But see, the early morning bird Sings in the sunshine ruddy ; Before that matin strain be o'er Fly far, and hate and fear me ; tor Death is on this gloomy shoru, And madness haunting near me." u. 'vV-ith clenched teeth, and painful smile (Love's last despairing token), She flung her arms around him, while Her heart beat thick and broken. She clasp'd him as she would have grown Into his breast for ever : Then fixed her gaze upon his own, And sternly whispered — " Never !" LLL Again, again! those madding dreams Upon his soul awaken, The fiend athwart his eye-ball swims— Those golden gates are shaken 1 Again he hears that ringing mock The vision'd stillness breaking, iuid hurls the maiden from the rock Into the black lake, shrieking. "UE FATE 01' OAVUUXl.%. Llll. Down gazed he, frenzied, on tlic title — Cathleen 1 How comes ho lonely r Why has she left her Kevin's side That lived for Kevin only? What mean those circles in the lake When not a wind is breathing? What bubbles on tho surface break ? What horrid foam is wreathing? liv. Oh, never more— oh, never more, By lake or convent tower, Shall poor Cathleen come, timid, o'er To haunt his evening bower ; Oh, never more shall that young eye Bt»am on his prayer and break it, And never shall that fond heart's sigh Thrill to his own and wake it. LV. The fiend that mocks at human woe) Frowned at that maniac minute, For well the battled demon knows The hand cf heaven was in it. Oh, tempted at that saintly height, If they to earth suuk lowly, She ne'er had been an angel bright, N ir ho a victor holy 1 LVT. Ay, they aro in their bowers of rest, With light immortal round them ; Yot pensive heaves tho pitying breast To think how soon it fo:md tL&x VEK B1UDAL OF MALAJUDU, J JT The lark ne'er wakes the ruddy mora « • Above that gloomy water, Where sudden died, and passion lorn, Cathleen, the Chieftain's daughter. €\t §rM jof $H(a|ik AM IRISH LEGEND. The joy-bells are ringing In gay Malahide, The fresh -wind is singing Along the sea-side ; The maids are assembling With garlands of flowers, And the harpstrings are treuablicg In all the glad bowers. ii. Swell, swell the gay measure! Roll trumpet and drum J 'Mid greetings of pleasure In splendour they come 3 The chancel is ready, The portal stands wide For tho lord and the lady, The b:ilegroom and brid«. G 18 TIIK UKIDAI. 01 UAI-VMIXS HI. What years, ore the latter, Of earthly delight The. future shall scatter O'er them in its flight! "What blissful cares Shall Fortune bestow, Ere those dark-flowing tresses Fall white as the snow I IV. Before tho high altar Young Maud stands an With accents that falter Her promise is made— Prom father and mother For ever to part, For him and no other To treasure her heart v. Tho words are repeated, The bridal is done, The rite is completed — The two, they arc one Tho vow, it is spoken All pure from the heart, That must not be broken Till life shall depart VL Hark I "mid the gay clangour That compaes'd their oar, Loac accents, in aug»v, Come mingling uiar 1 TUIi BWrUL OF 1IAL/JIIDE. The foe's on the border. His weapons resound Where the lines in disorder Unguarded are found. vu. Kb wakes the good shepherd, The watchful and bold, When th* ounce or the leopard Is seen in the fold ; So rises already The chief in his mail, While the new-married lady Looks Linting and pale. VIII "Son, hnsband, and brother, Arise to the strife, For sister and mother, For children and wife ! O'er hill and o'er hollow, O'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow 1 — Let dastards remain I* IX. Farrah 1 to the battle 1 They form into line — The shields, how they rattle The spears how they shine Soon, soon shall the foemin His treachery me — On, burgher and yeoman, To d'ej or to do 1 19 gj TMB BRll>AI, OF 1IALjvKID& Yho ovo is declini:.g In lono Ma'kahide, The maidens are twining Gay wreaths fur the bride : Sho marks them unheeding — Her heart is afar, VTLcro the clansmen aro Ueed(ll(* For her in (he wr.r. • U.. E'ark ! lond from the mountain, Tis Victory's cry I O'er woodland and fountain It rings to the sky ! The foe lias retreated ! He flics to the shore ; The spoiler's defeated — The combat is o'er ! XII. With foreheads anruflled The conquerors come- But why have they nmlilcd The lance and the druu What form do they carry Aloft on his shield ? s.nd where does be tarry alio lord of the field ? X1I1. Y*e BL>r him at morning. How gallant and gay In bridal adorning, The at*-- of t. v -o day : Tin' BRIDAL 01' MAl.AHiny. 21 Now U'oep for the lover — KU triumph is sped, ilis hope it is over ! The chieftain is dead '. But, ob, for the maiden Who mourns for that ohi^ With heart overladen And rending •with grief I She sinks on the meadow— In one morning-tide, A wife and a widow, A maid and a bride 1 XY. l"e maidens attending, Forbear to condole 1 Your comfort is rending The depths of her souL True — true, 'twas a story For ages of pride ; He died in his glory — But, oh, he has died I XVL The war cloak she raises All mournfully now, And steadfastly gazes Upon the cold brow. That glance may for ever Unalter'd remain, But the bridegroom will novK' Return it again. 22 I in: BRIDAL Off M .: XVII. The dead bells are toll [a sad Mj! dude, Tho death-wail is rolling Ak>ng tho sea-side ; The crowds, heavy ho.'.; ted, Withdraw frorj tho ereen, For the sun has deserted That brightenM [ho scece I XVIII. Ev'a yet in that valley, Though years have roli'd by When through tho wild sally The sea breezes sigh, The peasant, with sanAjw, Beholds in the .-had', The tomb where the morroir Saw Hussy convey'd. How maut was the warning, Hot/ briefly reveal'd, Before on that morning Death's chalice was fill'd '. The hero who drunk it 1'lc;"C moulders in gloom, And tho fo.Tn of Maud Plnnket Wcopa over hi? tomb. The otruiger who wanders A'.oug the '.one vale, Still .'ighs while he noudew Cm that lit- .ivy die : S.TUNID CASTLtU 23 11 Thus passes each pleasure That earth can supply — Thus joy has its measure— We live but to die 1" Sjjanfo Castle. i. On Shannon side the day is closing fan, The kern sits musing by his shieling* low, And marks, beyond the lonely hills of Clare, Blue, rimm'd with gold, the clouds of sunset glow. Hush in that sun the wide spread waters flow, Returning warm the day's departing smile ; Along the sunny highland pacing slow, The keyriaghtf lingers with his herd the while, And bells are tolling faint from far Saint Sinon'a isle4 • Hut t The Keyriaght in ancient Ireland was a kind of wandering shep- herd, or herdsman. It would appear, from their being prohibited by tho Kilkenny General Assembly of Confederate Catholics, that the Dumber of persons who pursued this roving, pastoral life, must havS been at one time considerable. J Few landscapes, on a calm and sunny evening, present a scene at sweet and solemn beauty exceeding that of the little island of Scattery, Jr Iniscatha, near the mouth of the Shannon, with its lofty round tower, and the ruins of its numerous churches, said to have been founded by St. Sinon or Senanus, one of the brightest ornaments o*. the ancient Irish church. The peasantry still point out tbe tomb of the saint, about the centre of the islet, and, as may be judged, tht- ■place is not without its share of legendary fmecdot^- 24. SEAK1D CJkSTVUJ. u. OL, loved shore ! with Boftesi memories twined Svroet fall the summer on thy margin fair I And peace come whispering, like a morning wind Dear thoughts of love to every bosom there I The horrid wreck and driving storm forbear Thy ismiling strand — nor oft the accents swell Along thy hills of grief or heart-wrong care ; Bill beuv'n look down upon each lowly dell, And blees thee for the joys I yet remember well I in. Upon, that spot where Corgrig's* lofty tower A iengthen'd shadow casts along the green, 'Lne lord of Shanid summons all his power ; And knight and galloglas and kern are seen, Marking the targe with arrow barbed keen, And javelin light, and musket ringing loud. Wide flies each shot, and still, throughout the same, Low smother'd laughter shakes tho merry crowd, And on tho chieftain's brow dark looms tho angry doud rv. Apart from these, upon a rising hill, Where yellow furze and hazel scent the bream*, An aged woman sat in posture still, With tragic forehead bending to her kneoa. • The Castle of Corgrig, one of the many fortresaea ulou*, ujj Shannon side, dopendant on the Earls of Desmond, was Uken Lq (Jto treopa of the Lord President Carew, in the reign of Elixabetli, aflai a eiege of two days. The fragments of the wall, still visible, ahor.- It t© have been once ft place of considerable itrengtft SHANID CASTLE, 25 She joins not in the laughter when she sees Bv some new hand the harmless musket plied ; " Or when some eye imskill'd the arrow frees, Or whirling sling its burthen scatters wide ; * Alas 1 the times are changed in Desmond nowl" she sigh'i. 44 It was not thus in Desmond's happier day, When young Fitz-Gerald held these princely bow*ra. Alas, that I should live to weep and say A low-bom vassal rules my chieftain's towrs. Oh, come again, ye well-remember'd hours, When he, loved relic of a kingly line, Eeview'd on yonder plain his glittering pow'rs, And many a loving glance was bent on thine ; knight without reproach 1 stainless Geraldine 1"* • Master Stanihurst, one of the quaintest and most loquacious aa thorities in Holingshed, favours us with the following account of the remarkable family of the Geraldines or Fitz-Geralds, in his "Descrip- tion of Ireland." " This house was of the nobilitie of Florence, came from thence into Normandie, and so with the ancient Earle Strongbow, his kinsman, whose arms he giveth, into Wales, neare of bloud to Eice ap Griffin, prince of Wales, by Nesta, the mother of Maurice Fitz-Gerald and Robert Fitz-Stephans, with the said Earle Maurice Fitz-Gerald re- moved into Ireland in the yeare 1169. The corrupt orthographie that .iiyerse use in writing this name, doth incorporate it to houses thereto linked in no kinred, and consequentlie blemisheth worthie exploits atchieved aa well in England and Ireland, as in forren countries and dominions. Some write Gerold, sundry Gerald, diverse verie corraptlie Gerrat, others Gerald. But the true orthographic is Girald, as maie appear both by Giraldus Cambrensis, and the Italian authors that make mention of the familie. As for Gerrot, it differeth flat from Girald : jet there be some in Ireland that name, and write themselves Gerrots, notwithstanding they be Giraldins, whereof iiverse gentlemen are in Meeth. But there is a sept of the Gerrotd in Ireland, and they eeeme, forsooth, by threatening kindnease and kindred of the true Giraldins, to fetch their petit degrees from thai* 26 sua An.l is not bo our lonl who stands below?" A fair-liairM Btripli 'd, with accent iv.il "Son of my heart," the matron answerM, " No I Shame on the churl ! a wretched harper's chhV Oh ! never joy on alter'd Desmond smiled, Since he by treason did these towers obtain ; And though they bend before that breast defiled, A spectral loyalty what heart can chain 'i Their love is yet with Desmond far beyond the niaiu. e vn. " How lost the Geraldine his tow'rs and lands ?" " Long time the leagner closed his castle walls; U length, with proll'er'd peace, a knightly band At morning sought him in his lordly halls. ' Desmond, the queen her menaced wrath recalls, Receive her grace and yield.' With lofty brow, 1 Within these tow'rs the Desmond stands or fall*. A boy,' he said, 'may trust a woman's vow; But I am old in war — my lip is bearded now.' ancestors, hut they are so neere of blood the other, that two bushels of bcanes would scantliecoun grees. An> >ther reason jvhy diverse strange houses have been shuffled in among this fnmilie, was, for that snndrie gentlemen at i of tli.-ir children would have them named Qiralda, ami y< t their aornamea ware "f other houses: and if, after it bappem d that OL mas, J a, Robert, or such lik>-, they would then hear, the nam.- of Qiralii, aa Thomaa Fita-Girald, and thus, taking i of their i for their Bnrname, within two t jour horssemen promised me a choice horase if I snip one hair from your beard.' 'Well,' quoth the Kail, ' 1 agree thereto; but if thou plack anie more than one, I promise thee to bring my fist from thine eare.' " The branch of this good nature hath been derived fr.'ni him to an earle <>f his posteritie, who, being in ■ chafe, for tho wrong saucing <>f a partridge, arose suddenly from the table, meaning to have reasonc 1 the matter with his cooke. Having entered the kitchen, drowning in Oblivion his challenge, he began to commend the building of th roonie, wherein he was at no time before, an I mg the cooks uncontrolled, he returned to his guests ruerrilie. . . . " In his warres, he (the former Kildare) used for polioie u ivtchlessc kind of diligence or a hcadie car ->e, to the end Ins souli should not faint in their attempts, were th so great power, lieing generall in the field of Knooktow, one of the earle hi» oapteinR presented him a band of kerna even as they were ready to 'oiae battele, and withal demanded of the earle in what service he would have them imploied : Qaotfa he, ' Li I them stand l ■>- and give is the g«ze.' Sucli was his courage that, notwithstanding hil enemies ^••re two to one, yet would lie s. I a face on the matter, :ib hi; i>ouldi<»rs ahould not once suspe.v. that he either needed or langcd fcC siie farttMS holpe." Jtf^NlD CASTLE. 8$ XXIV. Onward the nero drove — crash targe and helm ; Crash shield and mail beneath his action fell ; Each blow a subject gained to death's black realm ; Each hollow-sounding stroke a hero's knell ; Each glimmer of the blade a soul's farewell. Right on his goiy pathway still he hew'd ; Ah, ruthless War, thy woes what tongue 6haD tail 3 Three paces from the rampart yet he stood, A.nd those three paces cost a lake of Christian blood. XXV. Unwearied yet, he sees th' assailants yield — The rampart's gained. High on the wall he standi, A. moment gazed npon the distant field, Where safety seem'd to smile with beck'ning hands Beneath him still he views the struggling bands, Where death that night a plenteous harvest reap'd, With desperate shout, amid the clattering brands, Harsh echoing shields and carnage spoil high heap'd — lie w&ved his gory blade, and from the rampart leap'd. xxvi. As when from wave-wom cliff of far Kilkee. Time-loosen'd from its immemorial hold, Some ponderous fragment seeks the booming sea, Down the black steep with thundering impulse roll'd, So stern descending came the Desmond bold, 3o shrunk afOUnd, aghast, th' affrighted foes, 80 fierce recoil'd when from the gory mould, Beneath his burthen bow'd, the chieftain rosa, So roaring vengeance wild in mortal combat close. D 84 S1IANIO CASTLK. XXVII. So from thy .ofty wall, sea-girt Tyre! In mailed panoply descending bright, Like launched bolt of heaven's electric fire, The son of Ammon left that dizzy height, Scattering around dismay and palo affright, Strong in the might of his heroic mind. For glory he, and pow'r ; but for the right, And dear connubial love, did Desmond wind His way that night 'mid many a biting point unkind, nevm. Still dark upon hifl path the foemen swarm, With rising anger fierce and wrathful brow, He stirs his giant strength with combat warm, And shakes his crest — and, 'ware the Desmond now I As parts the surge before some warrior prow, When windward bound 'gainst wave and storm she steer&f Or stubborn bawn before the rending plough : So yield beneath his sway the crashing spears, And down the bill he drove 'mid yells and fruitless Umws. TTTT. Who now shall cross the Desmond ? Calm no more The- war-soil stream'd beneath his matted hair : Sullied with clotted dust and mingled gore, Foams the dragg'd lip — the starting eye-balls gla;u. Like maniac roused, he drives the withering share With desperate fury wild — around — beneath, Nor measured ire nor govern'd heat was there — At every blow a heart's blood stain'd the heath ; The very wind they cast seemed rife with pain and death. S1IAN1D CASTLB. 35 XXX. Iftght ! Desmond, fight ! he pants — each quiv'ring limb Instinct with rage high wrought, and breathing (loom, Like mower toiling in midsummer beam, Or smith at anvil bow'd with brow of gloom Out burst at once, as from volcanic womb, The pent up fury stir/d by contest dire, So chafes the downward flood with whitening spumy. So drives o'er autumn heath the scorching ire, Wind-borne resistless on, of fast consuming fire. XXXI. Right on the hero drove like northern storm, And pass'd the bridge and gain'd the moonlit plain, Still clasp'd with instinct dear that precious form ; But vain his valorous toil, his fondness vain. Thick round his pathway huri'd, as winter rain, Bow, sling, and gnu, their murderous death-show'r sped— That shriek 1 ah, who shall fell the Desmond's pain ? It is, it is her life-stream bubbling red ; And " husband, lay me down," the wounded lady said. XXXTL Soul-piercing sight I with anguishM heart aghast, Upon a bank beside the lonely wave, Gently he staunch'd the hoards blood, issuing fast, And prayM high heav*n her gentle soul to save. Sigh after sigh the wounded Countess gave, A year of life with every parting breath, Stretch'd in the nerveless posture of the grave ; Silent she lies upon the gory heath, And set5 in those sweet eyes the whitening glare of deat^ 36 SHANID CASrUi. • Will. ith grief impatient, on the darkling lea, The wretched chieftain cast his useless blade. k Ye woman-slaying hinds, why spared yo me ? And why is Desmond here, unhurt?" he said. " My life I my love 1 see I Desmond guards thy heoll Look up and live 1" he sigh'd in accents mild. Sileut she hears — speech, sense, and motion fled. He raised his clenched hands with action wild, And lifted up his voice, and wept like infant child. xxxiv. Yes, Desmond wept, lie who alone had gazed That night unmoved on all that hostile band ; Stirr'd by th' unwonted sound, the Countess raised Her dying frame, and pressed his succouring hand: And " Comfort thee," she sigh'd iu whisper bland ; M Comfort thee, Desmond I all that valour could To-night thine arm hath wrought for tow*r and land- He who for us hath shed his saving blood, Felt, too, the bitter pangs of man's ingratitude.* XXXV. " Curst be the traitor !" — "Hold, my husband, hold} Nor let the last — last words my soul shall hear From those kind lipe before its senso is cold, With vengeful meaning fright my dying car. Farewell 1 thou hast to me been true and tl.'ar, 8o so to heav'n u heu I am lowly laid ; Let mo not need the Christian's wonted bier, Nor narrow tomb within tho hallow'd shad', And bo above my er;ive the reqaiem duly said." 1 S11AMD CASTU1 XXXV! She said, and folded her sweet hands in prayer, Wliile reverent sate apart the sorrowing chief, To resignation changed his heart's despair, Close pent within his breast the stifling grief. Slow came and leaden-paced Death's cold relief ; Faint in her bosom ebbs the wasting tide. " Receive my stained soul 1" she murmured brief, a Thou who for sinful man in torment died ;" And forth with that last pray'r her gentle soul she sigh'd, XXXVII. With rending heart the chieftain saw her die — Awhile he knelt beside the lifeless clay ; Theu with the silver wave, that murmur'd by, He washed with care that goiy soil away, That dark upon the paly features lay, And rais'd his mournful burthen frorn the ground, And up the stream pursued his weary way, Where, buried deep in listening woods profound, Yon aged abbey casts its sacred shade around, XXXVIII. Sad burthen boAv'd the chief ! — less ponderous far Her living weight, or that which once of yore From the last scene of Ilium's mighty war, The pious prince with filial anguish bore. Far distant, on some safe sequester'd shore, He yet might watch beside his rescued sire; But she shall grace the Desmond's board iio raonj; No more shall cheer his lonely eveniug fire, Nor, with persuasion soft, dL:::nu his household ire. 38 SHAJOC CAULK. XXXIX. Slant on bis path the westward moonbeam shone, TSTlun, still beneath his dismal burthen bow'd, He reach' d the abbey, screen'd in woodland 'lone Of pines and waving yew, a sombre shroud. " Open your gates !" the midnight summons loud Rang mournful through the cloisters' echoing halls. " The harbour to the harbourless allow'd. Your houseless ruler seeks within your walla ; Opeu your holy gates! — 'tis Desmond's lord that XL. Wide gaped the convent door, revolving slow : The abbot knows those noble accents well. What words can paint the old man's speechless woe, When on that group his wildering glances fell. " Father 1 behold the wreck unspeakable Of what was late my bosom's earthly pearl ! The poorest monk, within his couvent cell, Who shuns the rage of life's tempestuous whirl, Holds more of wealth to-night than Desmond's mighty earl." XI.I Slow rosi [uiem from the midnight choir; By haste compcll'd, the friendly brethren lav, Ere kindled from yon hills the eastern fire, Jn its low house, that piece of lifeless clay. I'he widow'd chieftain mark'd the opening day, And tnrn'd him from the holy solitude. Westward again he held his venturous way, By '.den ontrod, and swamp, and darkling wood, ■nquor'd at the heart — in spirit unsubdued. SEANID CASTLii. {#) XLII. Twelve years have passed since then, nor if he dwell* In life or death his sorrowing vassals know ; They paid the traitor with his tow*r8 and dells, But love nor right with strong possession go— Their hearts are still with Desmond in his woe, Unchanged as when they saw their chieftain stand On yonder shore, at moonlight, lingering slow. " Farewell I" he cried, and wrung each eager hand, "Farewell, my faithful friends 1 farewell, my native land!" XLm. Twelve years have pass'd — and tyranny since then With iron hand upon the vale hath press'd ; The roofless cot within the fertile glen, The blacken'd scar upon the mountain's breast, The usurper's conscience-haunted reign attest EVn now, secure amid his archer train, His eye betrays his bosom's deep unrest ; With doubtful scowl he views that peopled plain, And fears a secret foe in every injured swain. XLIV. See I southward borne along the shining tide, Finned with lithe ash, a nimble curragh flew 5 Tis but a stranger come from Thomond side To see the southern archers strain the yew ; And near that throng, with careless piece, he drew. While loud appalling thunders shook the air — For now the chieftain's son, with action true And steady gaze, has aim'd the arrow faix, And sent it to the mark, and left it quivering there- / 4 J '.TUKTD CASTLE. X'.V. " What fairer shot," a flattering vassal cries, u Bath ever eye behold on Desmond's plai. u Sooth, that have mino," the stranger's voice replied "When old Fitz-Gerald beM these fair domains ; And though my hair he grizzled, and my veins With lessening current beat, and action tamo, Enough, even yet, of force and skill remains To bear my answer out, or I would shame To tread the Desmond's soil, and name the Desmond's name." SLVL He said, and far beyond the target set, Deep in the turf, a carrowo's* ashen spear ; ITien backward through the silent circle paced Full half three hundred paces, meted clear. Fixed is each eye, attent is every ear ; The bolt is drawn — the parting impulse given — Sharp rang the string, like harp at evening cheer ; Swift sped the bolt — the ashen shaft is riv*n, And lduder thunders rise and rend the echoing beav*n, • The Carrowe was the ancient Irish horseman. — " These," Bays a* uld writer, "when they have no staie of their own, gad and range from house to house, like Arrant Knights of the Round-table, and they never dismount till they ride into the hall and as farre as the sable. There is among them a brotherhode of Carrowts that proffer to plaie at cards all the year long, and make it their only ocoupatioi*. They plaie away, manful an 1 all to the bare skin, and trnsso themselvea la straw or leaves; then wxit for passengers on the highwaie, and asu n« more than companions to make tbft*"-i ?nort." SHAKID CASTLE. 41 XL VII. Laughing, the stranger sought the neighbVing ?aoro, "Where the spent waves on quarried granite beat .; A fragment slowly up the slope "he bore, Massy and huge, for Druid altar meet. Erect he stands before the chieftain's seat— ' l Since years have yet not quench'd the generous rago Of manhood in these limbs, and. youthful heat, With all thy band a merry war I wage, In feat of strength or skill, and thereto cast my g:"4J6. n iCLvm. He. said, and on the sw?i"d his burden threw, Like meteoric rock it pierced the green ; With wondering eyes the silent circle view The stranger's ponderous bulk and lofty mien. Such forms, in radiant majesty serene, Once on the heathen artist's slumber shone — When, biirning with high thoughts and genius iceai. He caught the fleeting vision's heavily tone, And woke to hew a god from out the Parian stone sxrx. Stalwart he stood amid the mountain &ei aq ; Calm gleam his eyes in dignity severe ; His shoulders huge, like his the Argive stern, Who, one long day, upheld the heavenly sphere. Sallow his hue as tanned hide of steer, Nor mark he bore of woman's gentle mould ; His frame was knit by many a toilsome year— His noble hair, in jetty ringlet3 roll'd, Hung curling down hi*5 neck, like British seamyn bold 42 SB AMD CA81LE. L. But who the stranger's ofler'd gage shall raise ? Some shun abash'd that glanco of piercing g.*ay ; Some view the mass inert, with curious gaze, Deep-fix'd within the yawning soil that lay ; Some leut their mightiest force with vain essar, 'Mid many a stifled laugh and whisper'd jest, To lift the fragment from its bed of clay. Forth came, with conscious smile, the stranger gcjafy And to the giant task his iron strength address'd. LL With vigorous ease he raised the rocky weight, And, wheeling round, upon his centre came, With well-timed action, forceful, yet sedate, Gathering the sum of motion in his frame, And hurl'd the mass aloft with giant aim, And all his strength into the impulse threw : Like fragment heaved from Etna's throat of fl&aey 0? launch'd from ancient catapult, it flew And emote the echoing strund, and dash'd the brine to dew. LII. 4 And who and what art thou ?" the chieftain cries, " With more than human skill and vigour bleat V " One of your blood," the stranger calm replies, "Though long an exile in the sunny west — A landless, noteless man, my noblest cres* Is now that oft with Gcralcliue I bled, Unmark'd I roam, the lowly shiolding'e guest— lily mightiest boast, that I am island bred ; My highest praise to say, I love the land I trau\. q SUAMD CASTLE. 43 uu. Uow sinks the eun behind the hills of Clare, The keme are scatter'd to their mountain fires And wake -with many a wond'rous legend there, The memory of their old heroic sires — The weary herdsman to his shed retires. And all is lull'd in midnight stillness soon, Save where the convent hymn to heaven aspires, Or patient fisher lifts his merry tune, And plies his weary trade beneath the smiling moos. LIV. Within a grove, by Shanid's lofty hill, A hermit held his penitential cell, Wild herbs his food, his drink the lucid rill, That bubbled sweetly from a neighbouring well — He in the busy world had ceased to dwell ; A passion-wasted heart — a bruised reed ; His science, suffering, and the art to quell Each earthly wish, in hope of heavenly meed, By following to the life the perfect Christian creed. LV. And heav'n received his penitence sincere ; For when the stroke of Death had closed his ruco. They said a lustre play'd around his bier, And precious fragrance fill'd the lonely place. The earth upon his tomb had healing grace, And sickness of the mind or frame removed : There oft the pious pilgrim came to trace Where heav'n with many a holy sign approved, The holocaust of praise and purity it loved. 44 S&JlKIL jASTLii. i n. Bcarce in the east the ruddy daylight breaka, When down the secret pathway, pacing blo.r, The aged nurse her tottering journey takes, Where by the hill the lucid waters flow, Faint down the vale the early sunbeams glow ; When by the crystal fount the matron stands, With wooden cup and pitcher, bending low, She fills the sparkling lymph with trembling hands, And sighs break forth between, and tears bedew the suuds. L/1I. Sudden a rustling in the shrubs she hoars, That round the well their graceful foliage wove ; That stranger's form upon the brink appears, Half hid by leaves and clustering boughs above ; And tears of gentlest tenderness and love On that stern cheek their softening influence shed ; His quiv'ring lips with sweet affections move ; Low o'er the bank he bow'd his noble head, And "Dost thou know me, nurse?" in Avhisper soft, be sail. LVIII. Like one whose quickon'd fancy hoars at night Strange spootral voices in the rushmg wind. The startled matron clears her inward sigh*- And seeks the lost idea in her mind. Beside hor now, iu broader light defined, He gazed into her soul, and sweetly smiled llcr heart awakened at the greeting kind, Hint from her bosom broke the accents wild, As on his oecV she fell " It is — it is my child I" SHAMD CASTLE. 46 LIX. 11 Yes, Desmond treads again his natal land, To find again his castle, or a grave ; Four weeks have pass'd since on the western strand I came, a home-sick wanderer of the wave ; Me, Longhill's kerns a joyous welcome gave— But, ah, my heart is rack'd, where'er it turns, To hear the blood-hounj(s of the tyrant rave, To see the shieling wreck'd — the roof that burns, Where many an orphan'd child and houseless widow mourns. IX. " To-night, in Shanagolden's lovely vale, Two thousand kems at midnight wait my call ; Such force as may with sure success assail The traitor in our own nsurped hail : Yet loth I were that child of Desmond fall By kindred weapon struck, in dire array ; More meet it were to gain the lofty wall By secret skill, than battle's loud essay, And with his own dark art that traitor slave repay. LKL •' Where rests the harper ?" " In the eastern keep, " Oh, nurse, to-night, at that unguarded hour, When kern and galloglach are lulled in sleep, Be thou our friend within the embattled tow'r ; ^"hen dull of sense, from wine's oppressive p>W:\ That drunken harper seeks our fair alcove, Be thou before rum in the window'd bow'r, And place a lamp upon the sill above, Aai sco no other hand than his the light remou.'.' 46 S1IANTD CASTLli lx.ii. They part — 'tis night — within that Lofty hold Loud rung tho merry sounds of fesf d cheer; Slow up tho east, on golden axis rollM, Tho peaceful moon reveal'd her smiling sphere ; Close hid, with eye intent and watchful ear, Tho Desmond stands beside that narrow stream • Oft gazed he on the caafle, frowning near, If haply he may see the tiny beam Of that small lamp from out the chieftain's window gleam. LX1II. It shines at length. His practised hands alert Poise the long musket on the ashen rest, Tho burning match within tho lock insert, And all tho horrid art of death address'd. Yet not revenge nor hatred fired his breast, But patriot zeal, and firmest sense of right, And pity for his people long oppress'd, And land betrayed for gold. Ha ! see ! — the light 1 It stirs — he lires — and all is dark as death and night- LTIV. Awake 1 arise ! What, ho 1 'tis Desmond calls ; Sound the loud trumpet down the echoing vale 1 See — fluttering from high Shanid's towering walla— Our ancient banner meets tho western gale 1" That well-known cry prolong'd from dale to dale, fioused answering wood and shore and peopled bill : " Desmond is come again 1" tho rapturous talc Woke in each listener's heart the welcome thrill Of ecstasy rcturn'd and old dovoted xeal. ORANGE AND GREEN. LXV. *f 3hanid-a-bo ! the Desmond's in his hall ! Vale answers vale along th' awaken'd shore ', With tears of love the joyous clansmen fall Around his feet, and press the marble floor, And bless the hour that did their lord restore To his old home and plundered rights again. But carrion birds the traitor's carcase tore, While smiling Peace return'd o'er hill and plain. And Desmond in the Keep resumed his ancient naigu. tonge wto dta. Krin, thy silent tear never shall cease — Srin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase Till, like the rainbow's light, Thy various tints unite, And form in heaven's sight (>ue arch of peace I Thomas Mooes. The night was falling dreary In merry Bandon town, When in his cottage, weary, An Orangeman lay down. The summer sun in splendour Had set upon the vale, And shouts of " No surrender P Arose upon the gale. 48 ORANUfc. AM) QIUXX, ir. Be/ido the waters, lavi The feet of aged tri The Orange banners waving, Flew boldly in the bre< zo In mighty chorus meeting, A hundred voices join, And fife and drum were 1 eating Tho Bat lie of the Boi/ue. in. Ha ! tow'rd his cottage lii> iug, What fonn is speedy n< From yonder thicket flyi With blood upon his brow ? "Hide — hide me, worthy strange: ' Though green my colour ba, And in the day of danger May heaven rememhe: tbc rv. " In yonder vale contending, Alone against that crew, My lite and limbs defending, An Orangeman I slew. Hark ! hear that fearful warning, There's death in every tone — Oh, save my life till morning, And heavn prolong yonr ovm v. The Orange heart was meltec, In pity to the green ; He heard the tale, and felt fcj His vary soul within. CHANGE and green. ■« Dread not that angry warning, Though death be in its tone — HI save your life till morning. Or I will lose my own/ VI. Now, round his lowly dwelling The angry torrent press'd, A hundred voices swelling, The Orangeman address'd — « Arise, arise, and follow The chase along the plain ! In yonder stony hollow Your only son is slain !" vn. With rising shouts they gather Upon the track amain, And leave the childless father Aghast with sudden pain. He seeks the righted stranger In covert where he lay — " Arise 1" he said, " all danger Is gone and past away 1 VIII. " I had a son — one only, One loved as my life, Thy hand has left me lonely In that accursed strife. I pledged my word to save thee, Until the storm should cease ; I keep the pledge I gave thee— Ariae, and go in peace 2" 50 UUANQ3 AND OKUKL; IX The stronger soou departed From that unhappy vale ; The father, brokci-noarted, Lay brooding o'er that tale. Full twenty summers after To silver turned his beard ; And yet the sound of laughter From him waa never heard. x. The night was falling dreary, In incrry Wexford town, When in his cabin, weary, A peasant laid him down. And many a voice was singing Along the summer vale, And Wexford town was ringing With shouts of " Granua Uile XI. Beaide the waters laving The feet of aged trees, The green flag, gaily waving, Was spread against the breeze ; In mighty chorus meeting, Loud voices filled the town, And fife and drum were beating, w Down> Orangemen, lie Doick f" XII. Hark I 'mid the stirring clangour, That woke the echoes there, Loud voices, high in anger, Rise on the evening sir. OilANGE AND GKEEtf. >J\ Like billows' of the oceaii, Ho sees them hurry on — And, 'mid the wild commotion, An Orangeman alone. XIII. u My hah*," he said, " is hoary, And feeble is my hand, And I could tell a stoiy Would shame your cruel band. Full twenty years and over Have changed my heart and brow, And I am grown a lover Of peace and concord now. xiv. " It yrm not thus I greeted Your brother of the Green, When, fainting and defeated, I freely took him in. I pledged my word to save him From vengeance rushing on ; I kept the pledge I gave him, Though he had kill'd my son." xv. That aged peasant heard him, And knew him as he stood ; Remembrance kindly stirr'd him, And tender gratitude. With gushing tears of pleasure He pierced the listening train — " Fm here to pay the measure Of kindness back affain 1" »6« Iy2 OKANGB A^'D UiltfE:;. XVI. Upon bis bosom falling, That old man's tears came dew; Deep memory recalling That cot and fatal town. « The hand that would offend thoe My being first shall end — I'm living to defend thee, ify saviour and my friend J'* xvn. E.0 said, and, slowly turning, Address'd the wondering crowd, With fervent spirit burning, lie told the talo aloud. Now prossod the warm beholders, Their aged foe to greet ; They raised him on their shoulders, And ohair'd him through the siiVGd xviii. As he hiui saved that stranger From peril scowling dim, So in his day of danger Did Ileav'n remember him. By joyous crowds attending, The worthy pair were seen, Asfl their flags that day were bie^Ls; Of Orangs and of Greta. THE TRAVELLER AND THE LIOON. ■ 33 ft-fce %uklkx uh % Ufow. M'KCrnQi TOR A BIRTHDAT PRESENT TO A YOUNG FI^EJflJ. Tku glorious sun yet burned on high, Eia light embracing earth and sky, When, like a spcctro seen at noon, On GJenvill rose the early moon. "' Glory to thee, all bounteous sun 1" (A traveller thus his theme begun, Who by Liscanor's sounding bay To Callan took his lonely way.) u Thou stirrest the heart to love and mirth, Thou gladdenest heaven and quickenest earth } Thou callest to being, ripe and warm, The thousand charms of hue and form. All nature feels thy genial dower, From lordly man to lowly flower. How faint to thine, great lord of day, Yon feeble moon's reflected ray ! To her we owe no fruitful plains, But swelling seas and frantic brains." o Ho said, and onward gaily pressed, Till darkness crept o'er all the west, And he o'er moor and- mountain gray, Benighted, sought his trackless v< r ay. G& TKi: ; AND THE MOOM. Fa:- o'er the loud Atlantic's wave Be hears the coming tempests rave. The clouds have left their ocean bed — II i I ' ! tlic blue night-lH.lt o'er bis head ; Chorussed by winds and hissing fire, The tempest tunes his demon lyre. Now chilled by. wind, and drenched with rain, Our wanderer groped o'er hill and plain ; No cottage light, nor human voice, To bid his sinking heart rejoice. When, bursting through the stoiTivy rack, The midnight moon illum'd the track. From heaven's high arch, in state screno, PourM light and beauty o'er the scene ; To silver turned the flying cloud, Hushed in the sides the quarrel loud, And spread afar her radiance mild, Till even the check of darkness smiled. Thus, while prosperity is ours, And pleasure strews our way with flowers, Rejoicing in the glorious day, We 3Com Religion's humble ray. 'Tis only when tho night draws on, And all our worldly light is gone, When black misfortune's clouds arise, And vex with storms life's evening skies, When darkling, lost, and tempest driven, She cheers our path with light from hear-a \ We blush to own tho thankless slight, And feel her power, and bless her might itXXA BLAIOS. tJO ^nna §lalu. A FEAOMENT. ELakk 1 heard ye not that stifled gro&a A wretched woman's piercing wail ; It echoes through those rains lone, It died upon the meadow gale ! n. See, see amid the ivied screen, That veils the cloister's column'd aisLa, What wasted form is dimly seen, "With rapid beck and frantic smile. in. Some creature of abortive brain, Or victim of impassioned breast- Some wreck of bliss, as bright as vain, Or fiend, deluded and possessed. IV. Perchance — for see her garb is dark, And hooded is her cm-ling hair, And girded is her waist — and mark The Rosary descending there. Some lea&on-blasted child of wrath! Some Dathan of the virgin choir, Who trod uncalled the holy path, And tampered with celostial fire. 56 ziKHA 1JLAKK. \l. A. suiheam strikes that frenziec Oi"0W Through yonder oriel glancing do - vu. Alas ! AJas I I know her ruw 1 — 'Tis Anna Blake of Galway town 1 vn. Bee, see, with spectral hasto sho glides Through broken light and rayless glooci, To where the funeral yew tree hides The wild Biscaycn'6 early tomb I vm. Poor Anna I once unknown to woe I A gayer heart, ^ happier mind NVer lent to worth their social glow, In frame of fairer mould enshrined. EC Mark, as the quivering sunbeams fall, She turns to shade that hooded brow, Where moping Phrensy in the hall Of banishod Reason riots now. x. Now swift sho starts with warning sign ; And now with keen heart-straining ga^e, Beside the iry-mantled shrine, The wretched maiden kneels and p.'aju n. Oft has she roamed in happier hours The walks whero now she loiters wikd, When, blest within her natal towers, Her father aatsvd his flaxling ohiU. a^'A BLAKU. 57 XII. While yet their ancient dwelling stood, By Corrib's wild and gusty lake ; And many a western chieftain wooed The heiress of tho high-born Blake. XIII. And Mary made the moments light, "With friendship's soft and tranquil joy ; Aud Eman held her promised plight, The Mayor of Galway's gallant boy. XIV. An autumn's sun had shown the tower, Deep imaged in the waveless lake, When sadly, in then* secret bower, Young Mary questioned Anna Blake. XV. " The mora," she said, " is rosy bright — Ah ! why art thou so pale and chiH ? The flowers look up to meet the light, Ah, why is Anna drooping still ? XVL " Is this my brother's beauteous bride, That ere the bridal sinks forlorn 1 Is Mary falser than the tide ? Is Emau colder than the morn ?" XVII. B Cold 1" said the maiden, as she raised Hor moistened eyes and sadly smiled : ** Not cold — though coldness might be praisod Belbre a love so weak and wild. 58 ••"'•*■ ULAKX. xvm. "Mary, forgive! — I know thou a:t Ilia softer self from infancy ; Yet Nature's boDil within my heart. Is loss a bond than Love's in me. XIX. " My sister and my friend sincere, Ah, blame not one coufiding sigh 5 1 breathe my griefs in Mary's ear, As if the wind alone Avcrc nigh. XX. " No, thongh from youth the fire divine, Unfading burns in either breast I feel a warning sense in mine, That tells me it shall ne'er be blest. XXI. " To stranger heart, to friend less dear, I would not own one thought of pain; Not Eman's self should know the fear That makes this bridal splendour vain. XXII. " Oan I not sing a mirtliful song, Or dance, or laugh by summer stream, But 1 must hold some thought of wrong, Some secret slight at heart to him V XXIII. M Oh, never may our Mary prove The jealous glance — tho doubt unjust — 'l^e thousand pains that wait on Love "When watched by bectle-brow'd distrust ! AKNA BLAK2. &J XXIV. * The veiled blame, the tone that stirs Even love's own sweetness into gall ; Bnt, ah ! the thought that he who errs, Is still the best beloved of all 1 i XXV. The eye, whose unconfiding beam Ne'er meets thine own with meaning free' — The temper like a maniac's dream ; The secret step that — hush 1 'tis he I" XXVI. A shadow falls across the leaves, That cluster round the arched bower, Where close the sivabright jasmine weaves IC3 shoots through Bruge's lingering flowec. xx vn. "Ks Eman's step — 'tis Emau's form, In nuptial splendour all arrayed ; Yet hi his greeting, fond and warm. There liugered still an anxious shjule. xxvirj. " What means that quick, distrustful hush, When Eman's form the maidens sec ? Why rises Anna's conscious blush ? They have been whimpering here of uie i" xxrx. But soon the unworthy darkness passed, At Anna's smile, from that high brow, A3 hills by transient gloom o'ercast, In lifjht 03 transient brighten now. 60 ANNA BLABS, XXX. to Joy to my Anna ! — it is come I The morn of long-expected bliss, And Doubt is fled — and Fear is dumb, And hours are rising bright with peace. XXXI. " And wilt thou now forgive the pain That Eman's anxious thoughts have gvvca P That never can return again, Till life's new gilded links are riven I xxxi I. " Oh, wordless joy ! — the morn-beams break, For which my lonely heart has sighed— Since first by Corrib's mighty lake I saw my young and gifted bride." XTTITI- u Oh, joy of joys ! the blushing ray That smiling brings the bridal dawn I The sweetly- wakening waves that play, All bright against the sunny lawn. XXXIV. " Tho fostering light — the genial air, That breathe in nature's morning bower?, Brings less of rapturous promiso there Than this arising day of ours I" xxrv. Evan while ho spoke, and Anna smiled, There fell a darkness on the bower, Ai whon on Bnrrin's mountain wild Tfcf west-winds drive tho sudden showea ANNA BLAKE XXXVI. Tue rising breeze unglassed the lake, The far bine hills grew dark and near, As in the autumnal blasts that break The beauty of the closing year. xxxvn. The vapoury pile, arising dun, Slow up the altering east is driven ; A veil obscures the distant sun, And darkness chills the face of heavei. xxxvrn. High in his airy field remote The skylark ends his beauteous strain, And, with a long and warning note, Drops sudden on the darkening plain. xxxrx. The peasant rests his weary spade, And backward views the threatening mozx '-, The pedlar marks the deepening shade Upon his mountain track forlorn. XL. The boatman spreads his stinted sail, Safe moored beside the windward cliff, Already hears the rushing gale, And closer winds the prudent reef. SLL Along the shore, with rapid stroke, The fisher plies the bending ash ; Beneath the broad and darkening oak The billows break their noisier plash. XLII. The curlew seeks the inland moor, (K 62 LVKTCAL Pt Spirit is ( jiv spirit is gay as tho breaking of dawn, As the broozo that sports over the sim-lightcd lawn, As the song of you lurk from bis kingdom of light, Or the harp-string that rings in the chambers at night', For the world and its vapours, though darkly they fold, 1 have light that can turn them to purple and gold, Till they brighten the landscape they came to deface, 'Vnd deformity changes to beauty and grace. II. Yet say not to selfish delights I mnst turn, From tho grief-laden bosoms around me that mourag For 'tis pleasure to share in each sorrow I sec, And sweet sympathy's tear is enjoyment to me. Oh 1 blest is the heart, when misfortunes assail, That is armed in content as a garment of mail, For tho grief of another that treasures its zeal, And remembers no woe but tho woo. ; t can beak in. When tho storm gathers dark o'er the Bummer's young bloom, And each ray of the noontide is sheathed in gloom, I would bo the rainbow, high arching in air, Liko a gleaming of hope on the brow of despair. When the burst of its fury is spent on the bow'r, And the buds are yet bow'd with the weight of the show*r, 1 would be the beam that comes wanning and bright, ^.nd that bids them burst m»en to fragrance and light. LYRICAL POE.MS. tf3 IV. I vrould be the smile that comes breaking tereae O'er the features where lately affliction I as been, Or the heart-speaking scroll, after years of alloy, That brings home to the desolate tidings of joy ; Or the life-giving rose odour borne by the breeze To the sense rising keen from the couch of disease, Or the whisper of charity, tender and kind, Or the dawning of hope on the penitent's mind. v. Then broathe ye, sweet roses, your fragrance around, And waken ye, wild birds, the grove with your sound ; When the soul is unstained and the heart is at ease, There's a rapture in pleasures so simple as these. I rejoice in each sunbeam that gladdens the vale, I rejoice in each odour that sweetens the gal?. ; In the bloom of the spring, in the summePa gay voise, With a spirit as gay, I rejoice 1 1 rejoice I The tie is broke, my Irish girl, That bound thee here to me ; My heart has lost its single pearl, And thine at last is free- Dead as the earth that wraps thy clay, Dead as the stone above thee— Jold a3 this heart, that breaks to say I*, never more can love thee. LYHICAL I'OEirs II. I press tnee to my Bebai No blush comes o'er thy brow — Those gentle arms that once caress'u Fall round me deadly now ; The smiles of love no longer part Those dead, blue lips of thine I lay my hand upon thy heart, Tis cold at last to mine. in. Were we beneath our native heaven, Within our nativo land, A fairer gravo to thee were given Than this wild bed of Baud — But thou wert single in thy faith, And single in thy worth, And thou should'st die a lonely dei&. And he in lonely earth. IV. Tuen lay theo down, and take thy root 1 lly last, last look is given — The earth is smooth above thy Urdu?:, And mine is yet unriven ! No mass — no parting Rosary — Mv perished love can have; But a husband's sighs embalm ho? c<}rae, A husband^ tears her grav<\ LYRICAL POEMS" 65 j gjote in a IJountj Jtaxt When love in a young heart his dwelling has takeu, And pines on the white cheek, and burns in the veius, Say, how can the reign of the tyrant be shaken — By absence ? by poverty ? sickness ? or chains ? n. No 1 — these have been tried, and the tempter hats coae Unmoved through the changes of grief and distress Bat if yon would send him at once to the tomb, You must poison his hope with a dose of — success £!«$, tjst lilt* % €m\th goto. Sleep, that like the couched dove, Broods o'er the weary eye, Dreams that with soft heavings move The heart of memory — Labour's guerdon, golden rest, Wrap thee in its downy vest ; Fall like comfort on thy brain, And sing the hush-song to thv oaiii 1 63 LYIilCAL P0KM8. II. Far from thco bo startling fears, And (1 roams the guilty dream ; No banshee scare thy drowsy ears With her ill-omened scream. But tones of fairy minstrelsy Float like the ghosts of sound o'er thee. Soft as the chapel's distant bell, And lull thee to a sweet farewell. ni Ye, for whom the ashy hearth The fearful housewife clears — Ye, whoso tiny sounds of mirth The nightcd carman hears — Ye, whose pigmy hammers make The wonderers of the cottage wake — Noiseloss bo yonr airy flight, Silent as the still moonlight rv. Silent go and harmless come, Fairies of tho stream — Ye, who love the winter gloom, Or tho gay moonbeam — Hither bring your drowsy store, GathcrM from the bright lusmorc, Shako o'er temples — soft and deep — The comfort of the poor man b sleop. LVKICAL PGEM&. 67 Sty SaUj-ttt^, totere ma 1 Stra^. i. The sally-coop, where once I strayed, Is faded now and lonely — The echoes in the leafless glade Wake to the waters only ; My early haunts are perished all, My early friends departed — And I sit in my native hall Forlorn and broken-hearted. n. When last I lay beside that stream I dreamt of fame and splendour, And bliss was mingled with my dream — Domestic, sweet, and tender ; Now I would give that fame and all, Were this soft starlight gleamiug On my old friends, in their old hall, And I an infant dreaming. %$i Sttt-na-malJat wto is fast Am— "Oht Wirra+lhru." I. The mie-na-mallah* now is past, Oh, wirra-sthru ! oh, wirra-sthru 1 And I must leave my home at last, Ob, wirra-sthru 1 oh, wirra-sthru I £S LYUIOAL rotiis. I look iuto my father's eyes, I hear my mother's parting sighs Ah ! fool to pine for other ties — Oh, wirra-sthru ! oh, wirra-sthrul H. This evening they most sit alone, Oh, wirra-sthru ! oh, wirra-sthru I They'll talk of me when I am gone, Oh, wirra-sthrul oh, wirra-sthru I Who now will cheer my weary shv, When toil and care his heart shall tire ? My chair is empty by the fire 1 Oh, wirra-sthru 1 oh, wirra-sthru ! in. II ow sunny looks my pleasant home, Oh, wirra-sthru 1 oh, wirra-sthru ! Those flowers for me shall never Dloom— Oh, wirra-sthru ! oh, wirra-sthru ! J seek new friends, and I am told That they are rich in lands and gold — Ah I will they love me like the old ? Oh, wirra-sthru ! oh, wirra-sthru rv. Farewell, dear friends, wo meet no more— > Oh, wirra-sthru I oh, wirra-sthru 1 My husband's horse is at the door — Oh, wirra-sthru ! oh, wirra-sthrj ' Ah, love ! ah, love ! be kind to me, For by this blinking heart you see How dearly I have purchased thee ! Oh, wirra-flthru ! oh> wirra-sthra LYRICAL P0E31S. 39 I've come unto my home again, and find myself alone, The friends I left in quiet there are perished all and gone My father's house is tenantless, my early love lies low ; But one remains of all that made my youthful spirit glow— My love lies in the blushing west, drest in a robe of green, And pleasant waters sing to her, and know her for their queen : The wild winds fan her face, that o'er the distant billows come — She is my last remaining love — my own, my island home. n. I know I've not the cunning got to tell the love I feel, And few give timid truth the faith they yield to seeming zeal The friends who loved me thought me cold, and fell off one by one, And left me in my solitude to live and love alone. But each pleasant grove of thine, my love, and stream my fervour know — For there is no distrusting glance to meet and check its glow \ To every dell I freely tell my thoughts, where'er I roam, How dear thou art to this lorn heart — my own, my island home. m. And when I lift my voice, and sing unto thy silent shades, And echo wakens merrily in all thy drowsy glades, There's not a rill — a vale — a hill — a wild wood, or still grove, Bnt gives again the burning' strain, and yields me Iovfl for love. 70 LYRICAL POEMS. Oh, I Lavo seen the maiden of my bosom piue and dio~- Anal haveseeu my boaomfriend lookonmedoubtingly— And long — oh, long — have all my young affections foiuui a tomb — Vet thou art all in all to me — my own, my island home. ir. AjkI nowl bring a weary thing — a withered hcarttotbeo — To lay me down upon thy breast, and die there quietly — I've wandered o'er, oh, many a shore, to die this death at last — -»i' Gilli ma chree, Sit down by me, We now are joined, and ne'er shall sevrr This hearth's our own, Our hearts are one, And peace is ours for ever 1 n. When I was poor, Your father's door Was closed against your constant lava ; With care and pai? I tried in vain My fortunes to recover 70 UKICAL I' I said, "To other lands I'll roam, Where Kate may smile on me, Love ;" 1 said, " Farewell, my own old home 1" And I said, " Farewell to thee, love 1" Sing Gilla Jim chree, fyc. in. I might have said, My mountain maid, " Come, live with me, your own true lover ; I know a spot, A silent cot, Your friend* can ne'er discover. Where gently flows the waveless tide, By one small garden only ; Where the heron waves hio wings so wide, And the linnet sings so lonely I" Sing Gilli ma chree, Sfc. rv. I might have said, My mountain maid, '- A father's right was never given Trno hearts to curse With tyrant force That have been blest in heaven." But then, I said, " In after years, When thoughts of homo shall find her, My love may moum with secret tears Her friends thns left behind her." Sine: Gilli ma chree, SfC. LYRICAL POEMS. 77 Oh ! no, I said, My own dear maid, For me, though all forlorn, for ever That heart of thine Shall ne'er repine O'er slighted duty — never. From home and thee, though wandering fer, A dreary fate be mine, love ; Fd rather live in endless war, Than buy my peace with thine, love. Sing Gilli ma chree, Sfe. VI. Far, far away, By night and day, I toiled to win a golden treasure ; And golden gains Repaid my pains In fair and shining measure. I sought again my native land, Thy father welcomed me, love ; I poured my gold into his hand, And my guerdon found in thee, love ! Sing Gilii ma chree. Sit down by me, We now are joined, and ne'er shall sswb? } This hearth's our own, Our hearts are one, Aud. poacc is ours for ever. fb lyuicai poims for | am glcsolatc. Tkk Christinas light* is burning bright In many a villago pane, And many a cottage rings to-night With many a merry strain. Yonng boys and girls run laughing by, Then- hearts and eyes elate — I can but think on mino, and sigh, Foi I am desolate 1L There's none to watch in our old cot, Beside tho holy light, No tongue to bless the silent spot Against the parting night f I*v© closed the door, and hither come To mourn my lonely fate ; I cannot bear my own old home, It is so desolate 1 • TOie Christmas — a light blessed by the priest, and lighted at §oa- &dt, on Christmas ere, in Irish honses. It is a kind of impiety to anafiT, touch, or nse it for any profane purposes after. +■ It is the oustom, in Irish Catholic families, to sit up till midnight cd Christinas-eye, in order to join in devotion at that hour. Few ceremonies of the religion have a more splendid and imposing effect than the morning mass, which, in cities, is celebrated son.-i after the boor alluded to, and long before dav-hreak. LTRICAL F0EUS. 79 m. I gaw ray father's eyes grow dim t And clasp'd my mother's knee; I saw my mother follow him — My husband wept with me. My husband did not long remain— His child was left me yet But now my heart's last love is slain, And I am desolate ! • % gtM Wink, i. The priest stood at tho marriage board, The marriage cake was made, With meat the marriage chest was stored, Decked was the marriage bed. The old man sat beside the fire, The mother sat by him, The white bride was in gay attire ; But her dark eye was dim. Ululahl Ululah! The night fells quick — the sun is set ; Her love is on the water yet u. I saw a red cloud in the west, Against the morning light — Heaven shield the youth that she lOTOa besi From evil chance to-night. tfj LYHICAL POEMS. Tho door dings wide ! Lond moans tLe g&lej WUd fear her bosom fills — It is, it is tho Banshee's w ail 1 Over the darken'd hills. Ululahl Ululahl The day is past ! the night is dark I The waves are mounting round his bart iu. The guests sit round the bridal bed, And break the bridal cake ; But they sit bv the dead man's head, And hold his wedding wake. The bride is praying in her room, The place is silent all ! A fearf ul call 1 a sudden doom ! Bridal and funeral. Ululahl Ululahl A youth to Kilfiehcras'* ta'en That never will return again. ®iw | Jab a to fobe. Once I had a true love, I loved him well, I loved him well ; But since he's found a new love, Alone I dwell, alone I dwell. • The name of a churchyard near KJlkea. LTH1CAL FOKMS. $1 Sow oft we've wandered lonely Through yon old glen, through yon old glan, ; I was his treasure only, And true love then, and true love then ; But Mary's singing brought me To sigh all day, to sigh all day. Oh, had my mother taught me To sing and play, to sing and play. Once I had, . m. The spring ia coming early, And skies are blue, and skies are bLd, And trees are budding fairly, And corn is new, and coin is new ; What clouds the sunny morrow Of nature then, of nature then ; And turns young Hope to sorrow ? Oh, fickle men 1 Oh, fickle men ! Once 1 had a true love, 1 loved him well, I loved hiir_ n&L Dut since he's found & new love, A'one I dwell, aloae I dwelL _ 6 82 LYRICAL ^OLSLB. farlt ! fjarli ! tfee m gugle. i. Hark 1 hark 1 the soft bugle sounds over the wood. And thrills in the silence of even, nil faint, and more faint, in the far solitude, It dies on the portals of heaven ! But echo springs up, from her home in the rock, And seizes the perishing strain ; And sends the gay challenge, with shadowy mock, From mountain to mountain again ! And again 1 tfrom mountain to mountain again. n. Oh, thus let my love, like a sound of delight, Be around thee while shines the glad day, And leave theo, unpain'd, in the silence of night, An 3 dio like sweet music away. Whili! hope, with her warm light, thy glancing eye OIL, Oh, say — u Like that echoing strain, Though the sounds of his love has died over tho hills, IS will waken in heaven again. ' And again ! It will waken in heaven a#ain. I/IKICAL rOKMy. |arctoclL ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND. 83 Faded now, and slowly chilling, Summer leaves the weeping dell While, forlorn and all unwilling, Hero I come, to say —Farewell 1 Spring was green when first I met thee.. Autumn sees our parting pain ; Never, if nay heart forget thee, Summer shine on me again ! ii. Fame invites I her summons onlj Is a magic spell to me ; For when I was sad and lonely, Fame it was that gave me thee. False she Is, her sland'rors sing me, Wreathing flowers that soonest fade ; But such gifts if Fame can bring me, Who will call the nymph a shade ? m. Hearts that feel not, hearts half broken Deem her reign no more divine , Vain to them are praises spoken, Vain the fight that fills her shrine. But in mine, those joys Elysian, Deeply sink and warmly breathe ; Fame to me has been no vision, Friendship's smile embalms tho wreathe, $4 URICAL i'OEMS. rv. Bunny hikes, and spired mountains, Where that friendship sweetly grew | RuhlS hoar, and gleaming fountains, Scenes of vanished joys, adieu ! Oli, where'er my steps may wander, While my home-sick bosom heaves, On these scenes my heart will ponder, Silent, oft, in summer eves. v. Still, when calm, the sun down-shining Turns to gold the winding tide ; Lonely on that couch reclining, Bid these scenes before thee glide ; Fair Killarney's sunset splendour, Broken crag, and mountain gray, And Glengarriff's moonlight tender, Bosomed on the heaving bay. STANZAS ADDE'O AT A LATER TERUD. VI. Oh, farewell ! these joys are ended — Oh, farewell ! that day is done ; Passed in clouds, and darkly blendod, Sluwly sinks our wasted sun. When shall we, with souls delighted, See these rosy times return ; \nd in blameless love united, View the past, yet never naast? LTRICAL FOliMd. tiO VII. 3ues of darker fate assuming, Faster change life's summer ide» ; la the future, dimly glooming, Forms of deadly promise rise. See a loved home forsaken, Sunder'd ties and tears for theti — And by thoughts of terror shaken, See an alter'd soul in me. VIII. Sung in pride and young illusion, Then forgive tho idle strain ; Now my heart, in low confusion, Owns its sanguine promise vaiu. Fool of fame 1 that earthly vision, Charms no more thy cheated yoitii ; And these boasted dreams Elysium Fly the searching dawn of trutL IX. Never in these tended bowers, Never by that reedy stream ; Lull'd on beds of tinted flowers, Young Romance again shall dreau. Now his rainbow pinions shaking — Oh, he hates tho lonesome shore : Where a funeral voice awaking, Bids us rest in joy no more fet all pleasing rise the measure, Memory soon shall hymn to tb33? Dull for me no coming pleasure, Lose no joy for thj'jght of x? &6 LYRICAL TOEMS. Oh, I would not leave thcc weeping But when falls our parting day, See thee hushed, on rosea sleoping, Sigh unheard, and steal away 1 f be plotter's f anient. i. My darliug, my darling, while silence is on tho ruooi', And lono in the sunshine, I sit by our cabin dooi' ; When evening falls quiet, and calm over land and sea, My darling, my darling, I think of past times and thee IX. Here, while on this cold shore, I wear out my lonely hours, My child in the heavens is spreading my bed with, flowws; All weary my bosom is grown of this friendless clime — 3nt I long not to leave it; for that were a shame andcrhna, in. I hey bear to the church-yard the youth in their health away — I know where a fruit hangs more ripe for tho gravo t&ji they— Jut I wish not for death, for my spirit is all resigned, And the hope that stays with me gives peace to my aa**l mind. IY. 31}' darling, my darling, God gave to my feeblo age A prop for my faint heart, a stay in my pilgrimage ; My darling, my darling, God takes back his gift again— And my heart may be broken, b'^ ne'er shall my \vQ Mraplafcx i,YBICAL POEMS. &l ftm a&tos*fo to a $ afo& A QAY, shifting eye, like the swift ray of light, The May morning shoots o'er the brow of the night, That is veiled up in mist, like that eye in its lid, Yet is loved for the promise of light that is hid. Ah, trust not that eye 1 for though gentle it seems, It is but the will that has shrouded its beams ; It has fire, it has love, it has smiles, it has tears, For the world and its passions, it sorrows and fears* ih A. voice like a sound heard in deep solitude, Like the song of the night-bird alone in the wood A melody struck by the finger of art, From the small strings that tremble round nature's own heart', But hear not that voice, for though softly it breathe, Ite tones round the trusting heart cunningly wreathe, When chain'd through its pulses, and bound for a spoil, It way throb at the cheat, but must pain in the toil. ni. A brow that is built for the throne of the mind, And curtained by dark ringlets gracefully twined, The glance of the falcon, the gaze of the dove, The smile that is blended of mirth and of love. A shape soft and gliding, like those which arise, Through the shadows of time, on the young poet's ayes, When the cloud of the future he toils to remove, Ajid fancy the maiden who shall be his love. 68 L'.aijAL, ;* )-ns. IV. Ah., tho day& of her youth aro for ever go;.;} by, Yet the spring-tide of genius is young in he.' eye; Kast over her beanties tho parting years roll, Still they bloom with the evorgrccn hue of the 60dl ; The rose leaves fall silently down from her cheek, Still ft hath tho dear meaning, time never can break And each act of her motion an impulse reveals Of a spirit that thinks and a bosom that feels. Even such was my love, and in merrier houid I filled tho bright vase with Hope's loveliest flowers $ Young Fancy flow over my bower of peace, And soared in the golden clouds, singing of bliss ; But vain was my dream ! for these hours are fled — That song it is silent, that bower is dead, The gold coloured mists of life's morning are flown, Sly vase it is broken, my flowers are gone ! VI. Yet blame me not, lady, if thus, while I dwell Una form that my memory has treasured too well ; An Idol, my faith would make all but divine, I should breathe out one heart-broken sigh at its shrina I look on thy state, and I think on mine own, And I laugh at the hope that would bid mo lovo ou — Yet my reason askj — u Why do I love thee ?" in vain, Wbiia my heart oau but echo, " I love thee" again. LYRICAL, POEMS; Qy $ct o%rs brittle in tjtotoing §Eorto* L Lsr others breathe in glowhg wjrds The secret of their bosom pain, .vnd bid the loud harp's speaking chords Tell o'er the weary tale again. From me no burning stavo shall rise — A cold heart's answering sigh to move ; But I will gaze upon those eyes, And waste away in silent love. rL I cannot find in art a strain To echo forth mine inward moan ; If sighs and looks can't tell my pain, Oh, never shall my love be known. Safe is the flame whose answering breath A tear may quench, a sigh may move ; But full of danger and of death Is the pent fire of silent love. §0tt tteber bafre me Jape, 'fa tare. L You never bade me hope, 'tis true — I asked you not to swear ; But I looked in those eyes of blue, And read a proi^dse there. 90 LYEHUI POU^Lj. II. The vow should bind with maiden sighs That maiden's lips havo spoken — Bnt that which looks from maiden's eyes Should last of all be broken 1 % Stofoitr— %, griMer ia-nigfrt is m Attest, L FaK, fan the gay hearth, and fling back tho haiVd dace Strew, strew the fresh rushes around on our floor, And blithe be the welcome in every breast — For a soldier — a soldier to-night is our guest. n. jUl honour to him who, wheu danger afar, Had lighted for rain his ominous star, Left pleasure, and country, and kindred behind, And sped to the shock on the wings of the wind. in. If you value the blessings that shine at our hearth— The wife's smiling welcome, the infant's sweet mirth.— ■ While they charm us at eve, let uc think npon those 'Alio have bought with their blood our domostic repoofc rv. Then bhare with the ioldier your health and your horn*, And warm be your greetiug whene'er he shall coma ; Let love light a welcome in every breast — Fa" a soldier — a soldier tx>-night is our guest. LYlttCUL PUJOLS. 91 l"UOM THE DUKE OF MONtfOOTR, AQUILA. Dewy dimmet !* silent hoar t Welcome to our cottage bow'r ! Bee, along tta lonely meadow, Ghost-like, falls the lengthea'd ehadcv^ While the sun, with level shine, Turns the stream to rosy wine ; And from yonder busy town Valeward hies the lazy clown. BOTH. Lovely dimmet ! pleasing hour 1 VTelcome to our lonely bowV. TAJISEN. Hark ! along the dewy ground Steals the sheep-bell's drowsy round \ While the ploughman, home returning, Sees his cheerful faggot burning, And his dame, with kindly smile, Meets him by the rustic 3tile ; While beneath the hawthorn mate Swells the peasant's merry flute. » wunineu— The narue given fo tba twiUg.V. fa psrte af tira West of Urglsr.i. 92 LYT.1CAL VOEAS. BOTH. IViiedJ dimmet ! mirthful hour ! Vc-lcomo to our cottage bow*? '. AQUILA. Lass, from market homeward speed j IVaveller, arge thy lagging steed — Fly the dark woods lurking danger ; Churl, receive the 'nighted stranger- He with merry song and jest Will repay thy niggard feast, And the eye of heaven above Smile upon the deed of love, BOTH. Dusky dimmet 1 dewy hour 1 Welcome to our lonely bow*r ! TAMSEN. Hour of beauty I hour of peace ! Hour wheu caro and labour cease ; When around her hush'd dominion Nature spreads her brooding piricc, While a thousand angel eyes Wake to watch us from the skies, Till the reaaon centres there, And the heart is moved to pray 4 ?. BOTH. Lovely dimmet 1 pitching hoar I Teloome to our cottage bow*r I CVKICAL POEilS. 32 ®IWrt JfwttlK P»» *8 Staro'* •& Though lonely here, by Avon's tide, I waste my cheerless hours, And see its silent waters glide By thy forsaken bow'rs ; I'd rather bear the lasting pain That breaks this heart of mine, Than pine beneath the golden chain That guilt has flung o'er thine. IL In dreams I deem thee still mine own, Unsullied and unchanged ; But morning shows the vision flown, And thee again estranged. Oh ! when from some unheeding tongue I hear that once-loved name, Then, then my inmost heart is wrung To think upon thy shame. in. How lonely, when I wake at dawn, Each silent chamber now 1 How joyless looks the sunny lawn, How droops each weeping bough I For though the noontide sun shine WSC2V, All cheerless falls his beams ; And lonesome now, without that form, The gay verandah seems. fi S- LYRICAL I'UE^S. IV. With sinking heart and thoughtful paoo I pass our garden door. And 'mid the leafy stillness traou Each haunt of rapture o'er. Tho scents that rise, the flowers that bkWj The breeze that wanders froo, My alter'd sonso can hardly know- All breathe of death and thee. Ah, once I thought that mind was :\Ir, And void of inward blame ; Old age, I said, and hoary hair, Will find our hearts the same. Now soon — oh, soon I — the churchyard loua Shall liide those cares from me — Ah ! may thai turf and cold, graj stone Host lightly yet on thee 1 VL But not with old affection's blight, And love's forgotten day, I charge thee in my song to-night, Or pleasures past away. No — pledged on yonder sacred sod- Thy vows were heard above ; And thou wort falser to thy God, Than e'en to Edmund's love. LYRICAL POKJI& 95 ftOMttOtttd'S JptaS.' u Up I ye who have the hands to fight, Who have the hearts to feel ! Up, up ! for merry England's right, With musket and with steel ! Oh, brightly streams on summer's gate The gilded mist on high ; But brighter soon in Taunton vale Shall Freedom's ensign fly ! Then up ! who have, &0. n. " For Liberty and Monmouth ! ho I For liberty, arise 1 There's mercy In the conquering blow When grim Oppression dies. There's music in the mustering feet That marked the daisied green, When the gallant friends of Freedom meet In lovely Taunton Dene ! Up 1 ye who have, &c in. li Who basely shuns a glorious death, Dishonour haunt his tomb ! Who nobly wins a victor wreath, Long may ho see it bloom ! Ttkea Iron tbo uovel jf " The Duke of Monaw&tl." 96 LYKICAL VOZZla. Who freely sheds his gen'roue blooi, Bis children long shall tell Row he for England bravely stood, How he for England fell ! Then up 1 who have the hands to £gtt Who have the hearts to feel 1 Up, np I for meny England's right, With mnsket and with steel !" Tike th (Dak bu % Immtam. Liee the oak by the fountain, In snnshinc and storm ; Like the rock on the mountain, Unchanging in form ; Like the course of the river, Through ages the same ; Like the mist, mounfing ever To heaven, whence it came. ii. So firm be thy merit, So changeless thy soul ; So constant thy spirit. While seasons shall i oil ; The fancy that ranges, Ends where it began ; But the mind that ne'er ohan*fc:S Brings glorv to man. LYRICAL FOEMS. 9j SONG FROM THE INVASION. I. Falca volla ! falta volla ! welcome to the mountains I Falta volla I welcome to your native woods and foun- tains 1 To hear the harper play again — and the shouts that greet tb.ee; Faua voile I how it glads the widow's heart to meet ihee ; Falta volla ! falta volla ! Welcome to Rath-Aiden. u. Skult a volla ! shule a volla I through our parted island. Many s. friend and foe hast thou in valley and in highland; Bat where'er the friends are false — when the foes distress thee — ShvXe a volla 1 here are ready weapons to redress thee. Shule a volla ! shule a volla I Shelter in Rath-Aiden. m. I/t: a volla ! ire a volla I far in Corca's vallies, When round the Bloody Hand the routed Dal Gas rallies ; Wlieu the groans of dying friends filled the air above thee — ■ Itv a- voile! there are hands to help and hearts to love thee Ire a volla ! ire a volla I Hasten to Rath-Aiden. B 98 LYRICAL poo:s. • to* pili» Jfclfe ! (glim. SOKQ FOR T1IE INVASION. I. Osad millia falta ! child of the Itinera 1 Cead millia falta, Eliui 1 Aisneach, thy temple in ruins is lying, In Druim na Druid the dark blast is sighing ; Lonely wo shelter in grief and in danger, Yet have wo welcome and cheer for the stranger. Cead millia falta 1 child of the Ithian 1 Cead millia falta, Elim ! n. Woo for the weapons that guarded our slumbers, Tambreach, they said, was too small for our numbers Little is left for our sons to inherit, Yet what we have thou art welcome to share it Cead millia falta ! child of the Ithian 1 Cead millia falta, Elim t in. Gorman, thy teachers have died brokon-ketrtad ; Voice of tiio trilithon, thou art departed 1 All have forsaken our mountains so dreary, All but the spirit that welcomes the weary. Cead millia falta ! child of the Ithian 1 Cead millia falta, Elim 1 lveical pr>ej;s. 99 IV. Vainly the Draithe, alone in the mountain, Looks to the torn cloud or eddying fountain ; The spell of the Christian has vanquished their jur.vET, Yet he is welcome to rest in our bower. Oead millia falta ! child of the Ithian ! Cead millia falta, Elim I v. Wtko for the Christian your welcoming numbers ( Strew the dry rushes, to pillow his slumbers ; Long let him cherish, with deep recollection, The evo of our feast, and the Druids' affectbn. Cead. millia falta 1 child of the Ithian 1 Cetd millia falta, Elim! % fee fslc of &jn& r. Far, far amid those lonely seas, "Where evening leaves her latest smile. Where solemn ocean's earliest breeze , Breathes, peaceful, o'er our holy isle. ii. Remote from that distracted world, Y/here sin has reared his gloomy tiisas* With passion's ensign sweetly fhrl'd, We live and breathe for heaven alone. IQQ LYIUCAXi rOEMfi. III. For heaven wo hope, for heaven vre pray For heaven wc look, and long to die ; For heaven — for heaven, hy night by day, Untiring watch, unceasing sigh. IV. Here, fanu'd by heavenly temperM winds, Our island lifts her tranquil breast ; Oh, come to her, ye -wounded minds ' Oh, come and share our holy rest f v. For not to hoard the golden spoil Of earthly minds wc bow the knee — Our labour is the saintly toil, Whose hire is in eternity. VI. The mountain wild, the islet fair, The corrig bleak, and lonely vale •, The bawn that feels the summer air, The peak that split? the wintry gal-\ VII. From northern Ulladh's column'd slcce, To distant Clair's cinbosom'd nest ', From high BenhechYs summit hoar, To Am in the lonely west. Y1U. Through all, the same resounding choir, Harmonious pours its descant strong, All feel the same adoring fire, All raise the- same celestial song. LYRICAL VOEMS. 101 IX. When sinks the sun beyond the west, Our vesper hymn salutes him there ; And when he wakes the world from res'*, We meet his morning light with prayer. The hermit by his holy well, The monk within his cloister gray, The virgin in her silent cell, The pilgrim on his votive way. XI. To all, the same returning light, The same returning fervour brings ; And, thoughtful in the dawning bright, The spirit spreads her heaven-ward vriags. XII. From hill to hill, from plain to plain, Wherever falls his fostering ray, Still swells the same aspiring strain, From angel souls, in shapes of clay. xia. The echoes of the tranquil lake, The clifted ocean's eavem'd mane, The same untiring music make, The same eternal sound of praise. siv. Oh, come, and see our Isle of Saints, Ye weary of the ways of strife ; Where oft the breath of discord tiin» The Lymquet sweets of joyous life 102 LYBLOAIi I'OI^LS. XV. Yg v.eaiy of the lingeriug wooi That crowd on Passion's footsteps, pale — Oh, conic and taste the sweet repose That breathes in distant Inisfail. XVI. Not onrs the zeal for pomp — for power — Tho boastful threat — the bearing vain — The mailed host — the haughty tower — The pomp of war's encumbered plain. SVH. Our strifes are in the holy walk Of love serene and all sincere ; )ar converse is tho soothing talk Of souls that feel like strangers here. ZYIXL Oar armies are the peaceful bands Of saints and sages mustering iiigh ; \)ux towers are raised by pious hands To point the wanderer's thoughts on LI5U. ax. The fleeting joys of selfish earth Wo learn to shun with holy soom •, They cannot quench the inward dearth. With man's immortal spirit bom. Vet while my heart within me buiBfl To hoar that still resounding choir; To days onhleetit fondly turns ; Wheu dies that heaven-descor.Jtfil lire 1 LY81GU. R)EQ& 103 mi, Huw locg sLtlt thou be thus divine, Fair isle of piety and song ? lio w Long suail peace and love be thine, Oh, laud of peaoe — how long ? how Long? xxn. fx&ik ! echoing il-om each sainted tomb Prophetic voices sternly roll — They wrap my thoughts in sudden glooin. Their accents freeze my shuddering soul. XT-ILL Ha ! say ye that triumphant hell Shall riot in these holy grounds ? Shield, shield me from those visions ftli, Oh, silent be those fearful sounds I XXIV. They tell of crime, of contest sharp, Of force and fraud, and hate and wrong- IIo more, no more, my venturous harp, Oh, trembling close thine altered song. xxv. Oh, let thy thoughtful numbers cease, Ere yet the touch of frenzy taints The land of love and lettered peace, The Isle of Sages and of Saints. 1 1 I L1TUCA1 POEXS. $j! not for tty Glories of gaga t(jat sve $Imil Xo, Lor. for the gic:-le3 of days that are flov.u, For the fall of a splendour that was but our ov.ii No, QOt for tho dust of our heroes that sleep, Shook? the bard of the Coom in his melody weep. ii. For the thought of that glory remains in each breast Though we see them no longer, the dead arc at rest, And gay is the face of the Druids' lone vale ; But dark is the bosom of wide Inisfail. in. The demon of discord has breathed on the land, And her sons on her mountains meet hand against hazd ', The children who fought for her welfare are slai:, And her bosom is trampled by those who remain. rv. Wild blast of the trompa 1 that, echoing fa?, Hast summoned Leath Mogha with Cuin to war^ Far westward of Ara die over tho main, And never be heard in our vallies again. v. Arise on the mountains, spirit of peace ; Let tho sons of tho Riada hoar thee, and cox \ Too late for then* country, oh, let them no: prove \ That the strength of tho island is union and Lo%B. VI Oh, spread not thy strife-quelling pinions ale ft Till the calm on our country fall suun}' aix ocCt\ From Rechrin'fl cold islet and Ulladh the grsea, To woody GHengarifF ami fair Ibhersoeiitft LXBICAL P312ZS. W> #omcto glttpxffl Couw A in — :; Oars 'J* (L J^o^y Zxjr»i." I. Come to GlengariffI o^inel Close by the sea ; Ours is a happy home, Peaceful and free. Tlicre, there, far away, Happy by our sunny bay, "We live, from day to day, Blithe as the bee ; For ours is a sunny home, Joyous and free. Come to GlengarifF 1 come \ Close by the sea. Thine is a mountain hoar, Frowning and wild ; Oars is a lowland shore, Fertile and mild. There, there, loud and strong, Sudden tempests drive alorjg : Here, their gentle song Scarce moves the tree i For ours is a lowland homo, Peaceful and free Oome from the mountain ' Come to the .9ial IOC lyrical POi;::s. tTfet Dlniiifoiii (fitn, A story 1 heard on the cliffs of the we»'-, That oft, through tho breakers dividing, A city is seen on the ocean's wild breast * In turrettod majesty riding. But brief is tho glimpse of that phantom 80 bright. Soon close tho white ■waters to screen it, And the bodement, they say, of tho wondcful $ight, Is death to the eyes that have seen it. ir. I said, when they told mo tho wonderful tale, My country, is this not thy story? Thus oft, through the breakers of discord, we half A promise of pofjee and of glory. Soon gulphoo. in those waters of hatred a^din. No longer our fancy can find it, AiiC woe to our hearts for the vision &j vxuu ; For ruin and death como behind it Sfip He $ta uf jjcabm art Sptmj. AlB— c Jr hyd a n#i." I. Whilb the stars of heaven are shining, At hyd a nos, Here a; midnight lone, reclining, Ar byd a nos, LVRICAL H>iai& 10V V&ncy flies to those wild bowers, Sonny fields and springing flowers. Where 1 passed my infant hours, At hyd a nos. 11. To my own beloved mountains, Ar hyd a nos, Rushing streams and quiet fountains, Ar hyd a nos, Sleepless still my thoughts returning, Leave my lonely bosom mourning, And my heart within me burning, Ar hyd a nos. ILL There light slumbers blessed my pillo w t At hyd a nos, There, beside the starlit billow, Ar hyd a nos, Visions soft to mc were given, Pure as mountain winds at even, Peace for earth and hope for hcavea, Ar hyd a nos. rv. Still that Sabbath bell is ringing, Ar hjd a nos, Still that Sabbath choir is ringing, Ar hyd a nos, Sounds beloved 1 Oh, restore ae, With the scenes ye bring before tie, Hopes that then hung blooming rfsr uh, At hvd a ncs. 1US CAIIOAIi POEMS. i. Wae I War ! Horrid war ' Fly our lovely plain. Guide fleet and far, Thy fiery car, And uevcr come again, And never, Never come again 1 n, Peace 1 Peace ! smiling Poaoo \ Bless our lonely plain, Guide swiftly here, Thy mild career, And never go again ! And never, Never go again 1 Mar £on« of ristai. Feom the shieling that stands by the lone mountain rivarj Hurry, hurry down with the axe and the quiver, From the dcop^eated Coom, from the storm-boatou bighlaai Hurry, hurry down to the shores of your island. Hurry down, hurry down I Horry, hurry, Jbc LTWCAL POEMS. 109 II. C&dloglacL and Eern, hurry down to the sea — There the hungry Raven's beak is gaping for a proy ', Farrah ! to the onset ! Farrah ! to the shore ! Feast him with the pirate's flesh, the bird of gloom &xA gore Hurry down, hurry down Hurry down, &c. in. Hurry, for the slaves of Bel are mustering to meet j"e , Hurry by the beaten cliff, the Nordman longs to greet ye Euny from the mountain ! hurry, hurry from the plain. ' Welcome him, and never let him leave our l&nd again I Hurry down, hurry down ! Hurry down, &c. IV. On the land a sulky wolf, and in the sea a shark, Hew the ruffian spoiler down, and burn his gory bark I Slayer of the unresisting ! ravager profbie ! Leave the White sea-tyrant's linibs to moulder on the plain. Hurry down, hurry down I Hurry down, &c. $m fyee SM, mil Katibe Sell. Air—" Fare thee well, Sveet KUUlu." I. Fare thee well, my native dell, Though far away I wander, With, thee my thoughts shall over dwell, Tn kbsen^e only fonder 110 LYRICM, rOEKi Farewell, ye bonks, whcro onoo I i^vti To view that lonely river — A^.d you, ye groves so long beloved, And fields, farewell for ever I Fare thee well, Sec. a. Htre once my youthful moments flew, In joy like sunshine splendid, The brightest hours that e'er I know With those sweet scenes were blended— When o'er those hills, at break of morn, The deer went bounding early, And huntsmen woke with hounds and hem The mountain echoes cheerly, Fare thee well, &c. ril. Fare ye well, ye happy hours, So bright, but long departed 1 Fare yo well, ye fragrant bowYs, So sweet, but now deserted 1 Farewell each rock and lonely islo, That make the poet's numbers ; And thou, oh, ancient holy pile,* Where mighty Bryan slumbers ! Fare yo well, Ac, « Tha oitfctdral in which is ihe tuonan-r^.t .,' '.»* Metes t*»i Bifdtf LVE1CAL POSTS. Ill IV. BUrewoll, thou old, ronmtfo bi*dgo, Where morn has seen me roaming^ To mavk across each shallow ridge, The mighty Shannon foaming. No more I'll press the bending oar, To speed the painted wherry ; And glide along the woody shore, To view the hills of Derry. Fare thee well, &c There's many an isle in Scariff Bay, With many a garden blooming ; Where oft I've passed the summer df.y, Till twilight hours were glooming. No more shall evening's yellow glow Among those ruins find me ; Far from these dear scenes I go, But leave my heart behind me. Fare thee well, &c vr. Fast, fast we ride by bridge and tree, Fast fade my loved bow'rs ; Still through the bursting tears I see Thy hillfl and hoary towers. Tis past ! my last faint glimpse is o'er, My last farewell is spoken ; I see those loved scenes no more — My heart — my heart is broken, Fare thee well, my native dell, Though far away I wander, With thee my thoughts shall ever dwell*— In absence only fonder. L12 LYRICAL FOELli, Jilccn groan, i. When like the early rc^o, Ailcen aroon 1 Beauty in childhood bio Ailcen aroon I When like a diadem, Buds blush around the 8teP, "Which is the fairest gem? Ailcen aroon 1 IL Li it the laughing eye ? Ailcen aroon '. Lj it the timid sigh ? Ailcen aroon Id it the tender tone, Soft as the stringed hai-p's cvJia 1 Oh, it is truth alone, Ailecn aroon! in. When, like the rising day, Ailcen aroon I Love sends his early ray, Aileen aroon 1 What mikes his dawning glow Ghangeie86 through joy o;- 'woe Only the constant '.tnoT AiWa fcxxra IV. I khow a valley fair, Aileen aroon I I knew a cottage there, Aileen aroon ! Far in that valley's shade I knew a gentle maid, Flower of the hazel glado, Aileen aroon ! v. Who in the song so sweet, Aileen aroon! Who in the dance so sweet, Aileen aroon ! Dear were her charms to uie ? Dearer her laughter free, Dearest her constancy, Aileen aroon. n. Were she no longer true, Aileen aroon '. What should her lover do ? Aileen aroon ! Fly with his broken chain Fir o'er the sounding m;.in, Never to love again, Aileen aroon ! vn. Youth must ^vith time decay, Aileen aroon ! Ysafch must fade away. ±1± LYRICAL roEiT\ Gastlea are Backed hf""* CLioftaiua are scattered *a r Truth "us a iixcd star, Ailoen aroju 1 $jmr ! §one ! for tb« Gone gone, for ever gon«> Are the hopes I cherished. Changed like the sunny daw~. la sudden showers pcrLs&xl. u. Wither'd is the early UoVa, Like a bright lako broke Faded like a happy hour, Or Love's secret spokea. EEL Life I what a cheat art thoa I Oa } mouthful fancy bteauUfc, L prodigal in promise acrw ; jL ciiser in fulfilling I LYRICAL POEMS. 115 gncicni f ttUabg, Darkness o'er the -world is creeping, Slumber while the heavens are weeping, While the kerns their watch are keeping'. And all eyes beside are sleeping. ii. Heaven's dark curtains now are closing The wild winds in peace reposing ; Now the harper old is prosing, While his chieftain's eyes are dozing. ilL Heavy is the humming number : Let the witeh that scatters slumber, In her passage halt and murmer, Till her dews thy lids encumber. IV. Dull and dim the moon is gleaming, Drowsy is the owlet's screaming, Sullen sounds and gloomy secruirig SvX>a shall mingle in thy drewmbg, 116 •-V1UCAL WlZS. Jnoto nc wrf thai Vobcln giber.* Aiq — '' li'iy'i wift of Aldivalloch? Know yo not ihat lovely river ? Know yc not that smiling river? Whose gentle flood, By cliff and wood, With v/iluering sound goes winding ever. Oh 1 often yet with feeling strong, On that dear stream my memory po.ideri, And still I prize its murmuring song, For by my childhood's homo it wanders. Know ye not, &c. u. There's music in each wind that flows Within our native woodland breathing ; There's beauty in each flower that blows Around our native woodland wreathing^ Tho memory of the brightest joys In childhood's happy morn that found us, Ls dearer than the richest toys, The present vainly sheds around us. Know ye not, &c Ihose verses were written at the request of his sister, who vretw la Mm from America for new words fur the old Scotch air of Soy^a V.i£> of /Jdivalloch. LYU1CAL POEMS. 1 17 in. Oil, sister ! when 'mid doubts and fears, That haunt life's onward 3001-1167 ever L turn to those departed years, And that beloved and lonely river ; With sinking mind and bosom riven, And heart with lonely anguish aching ; It needs my long-taught hope in heaven To keep this weary heart from brcakuig 1 Know ye not, &c. I folic mij I0.be in the iteming. L I love my love in the morning, For she like mora is fair — Her blushing cheek, its crimson streak, It clouds her golden hah-. Her glance, its beam, so soft and kind; Her tears, its dewy showers ; And her voice, the tender whispering wise That stirs the early bowers. I love my love in the morniug, I love my love at noon, For she is bright, as the lord of light Yet mild as autumn's moon : Her beauty is my bosom's sun, Her faith my fostering shade, And I will love my darling one, Till even the sun shall fade. H$ LTRICAL POZMS. I.I. I lovo my love in the morning, I love my love at even ; iler smile's soft play is like the ray That lights the western heaven : I loved her when the snu was high, I loved her when he rose , But best of all when evening's sigh Was murmuring at its close. SJeruls Mbistles t|c Mitis on tbe 5(80. Meseily whistles the wind on the shore 6 "3r/T" Through the little willow, B^ wearily drops the boatman's ocs On the calm billow : TLs silont there — although it sing So freshly on the land ; The feather shook from the wild duck's wing Scarce finds the strand 1 Then do not fear — up, maiden, and lied:* The gushing billow ; In tlio deep* silent of the night Lie on your pillow, But wake wLih the waking of the daylight — /»s tVesh and as fair, and as blushing and bright " IV*J night— e was tlic rcaily halloo "£t&Z answered the call of Brian B-oiu. u Oh, -"oat not th?.t form, so aged and dear, AjzII the wild ciush of target and spear : Bright star of tho field and light of the hall, Our ruin is sure if Brian should falL" Like tho waves of the west that hurst on the ro;L: ; The hosts at the morning rushed to the shock, But ^.re his last beam was quenchM in the sc:i, The Haven was qnoll'd and Erin was frco. in. Yet hush'd be the sound of trumpet and drum, And silent as death let victory come ; For ho, at whose call the chieftains arose, All bleeding and cold was found at the close. And Erin is sad, though burst in her chain, And loud was the wail that rose o'er the plain ; For victory cost more tears on that shore Than ever defeat or ruin before. %\t glerriest giro on guslj or ®rtt, i. The merriest bird on bush or (sua Wns Robin of the grove, When, in the jocund spring-t'mc, he Sang to his nestling lovr. L.YKICAL POEMS. 123 Unknowing he the art to frame Methodic numbers vain, But as each varied feeling came He wove it in his strain. With freedom gay He poured his lay, While heaved his little breast of L^ To rival all the woodland choir. ii. Upon a day, a luckless day, When drove the wintry sleet, Some urchins limed a willow spray To catch poor Kobin's feet They sought, by measured rule and ao'j-J, To change his woodland strain, Do, re, mi, fa, he heeded not, He never sung again ! His joy is o'er, Ho sings no more, Nor knows the genial kindling thrill, That only freedom's children feeL in. You, who would dull the poet's fire, With learning of the schools, Gay Fancy's feet with fetters tire, And give to Genius rules. Had bounteous Nature's counsel hung Upon your will severe, Tom Moore had ne'er green Erin 8uri£ Nor Burns the banks of Ayr. O'er awed I ween Both bards had been ; Nor dared to strike the simple luto la your majestic presence mu*e. 1.21 LYItlCAl POEMS 'f is, if fa t()c Shannon's Sirm Tis, it is the Shannon's stronm Brightly glancing, brightly glancing, See, oh, sec the ruddy beam Upon its waters dancing ! Thus returned from travel vain, Years of exile, years of pain, To sec old Shannon's face again, Oh, the bliss entrancing ! Hail our own majestic stream, Rowing ever, flowing ever, Silent in the morning beam, Our own beloved river ! 11. Fling thy rocky portals wide, Western ocean, western ocean. Bend ye hills, on either side, In solemu, deep devotion ; While before the rising gales On his heaving surface sails, Half the wealth of Erin's valoi. With undulating motion. Hail, our own beloved si ream. Flowing ever, flowing ever Silent in the morning beam. Our own majestic rive: - '. LYRICAL POEMS. 125 III. On thy bosom deep and wide, Noble river, lordly river, Royal navies safe might ride, Green Erin's lovely river ! Proud upon thy banks to dwell, Let me ring Ambition's knell, Lured by Hope's illusive spell Again to wander, never. Hail, our own romantic stream, Flowing ever, flowing ever, Silent in the morning beam, Our own majestic river I IV. Let me from thy placid course, Gentle river, mighty river, Draw such truth of silent force As sophist uttered never. Thus, like thee, unchanging still, With tranquil breast and. ordered will, My heaven-appointed course fulfil, Undeviating ever ! Hail, our own majestic stream, Flowing ever, flowing ever, Silent in the morning beam, Our own delightful river ! U am glow I $ am JJow ! i. My soul is sick and alone, No social ties its love entwine, A heart upon a desert thrown Boats not in solitude like mine : (. 126 LTBICAL 1'oEMS. Kor though the pleasant sunlight shine, It show'd no form that I may own, And closed to me is friendship's shrine : 1 am alone ! — I am alone ! IL It is no joy for me To mark the fond and eager meeting Of fricuds whom absence pined — and see The love-lit eyes speak out their greeting For then a stilly voice repeating What oft hath woke its deepest moan, Startles my heart and stays its beating : I am alone ! — I am alone ! in. Why hath my soul been given A zeal to soar at higher things Than quiet rest — to seek a heaven, And fall with scathed heart and wings? Have I been blest ? The sea-wave sings Twecn me and all that was mine own ; I've found the joy ambition brings And walk alone 1 — and walk alone ! IV. 1 have a heart : — I'd live And die for him whose worth I knew — But could not clasp his hand and give My full heart forth as talkere Jo — And they who loved mc — the kind few — Believed me changed in heart and toae And left me, while it burned as true, To livo alone ! — to live alone I SOKKKTS. 127 I A^tl such shall be my day Of life — unfriended, cold, and dead. My hope shall slowly wear avay As all my young affections fled — No kindred hand shall grace my head When life's last flickering light is gone But I shall find a silent bed iaid die alone ! — and die alone jennet. /-SOKKSS£l> VO FRIEND9 tH AMERICA, AND PREFIXEU Ti> CARD-DRiVLNi, V)J»K OF VBE VALES OF THE MUNSTEIt FESTIVALS. Feiends far away — and late in life exiled — Whene'er these scattered pages meet jour gaze, Think of the scenes where early fortune sniilod — The laud that was your home in happier days — The sloping lawn, to which the tired raj's Of evening, stole o'er Shannon's sheeted flood — The hills of Clare that in its soft'ning haze Looked vapour-like and dim — the lonely wood— The cliff-bonntf. tnch — the chapel in the glen, Where oft, with bare and reverent locks, we stood, To hear th' Eternal truths — the small dark maze Of the wild stream that clipp'd the blossoni'd plain. And toiling through the varied soliiudfl, Upraised its hundred silver tongues and babbled rpda^ ' L28 soxnli-j. n. That home is desolate ! our quiet hearth Is ruinous and cold — and many a sight And ninny a sound are met of vulgar mirth, "Where once your gentle laughter cheered the nigut. It is as with your country. The calm light Of social peace for her ia quenched too — Rude Discord blots her scenes of old delight, Her gentle virtues scared away — like you. Remember her when in this talc you meet The story of a struggling right — of ties Fast bound and swiftly rent — of joy — of pain — Legends which by the cottage fire sound sweet, Nor let the hand that wakes those memories (In flint but fond essay) bo unrcmembercd then. ADDRESSED TO II IS NATIVE GLENS, AM' PREFIXED TO TIIS HALF SIR. I. 3lens of the West ! the days are past and gone, Since while the north wind howled amidst your bowers, And hurrying through its course of frequent showery Sped, pale, 'mid winter showers, the southern sun ; Vhou the vext Shannon, rid by ruffian g'des — That whipped his foaming sides with tireless hand — Shook his white mane along the darkening strand. And bounded fiercely by the leafless vales ; SbiM when our turfen firo made glad the hearth, And shouo on merry faces gathered near, With untaught song — light jest — and drowsy story, Wo blessed the winter eve, with gentle mirth — Or in soft sorrow lent a pensive car, To tales of Erin's elder srrenprth and faded i^lory. soNwftre.. 123 it. Ambition, absence, death, have thinned the nusiber Of those who met beside your evening fires ; Some, gathered to the ashes of our sires, Oa yonder sacred mount in silence slumber ; Some, scattered far, extend their longing hands Towards those loved shades and lonely walks, in valaj For never shall your sun behold again Their early footprints on your dewy lands — Ajid never more, within that ruined gate, Shall then- blithe voices cheer the hush'd domain Yet some are left to pace your dreary ways — Some cherished friends, in whose sweet circle late, Old joys came hovering round my heart again — Faint echoes of the bliss we knew in early days. M5DRESSED TO A FRIEND AND PREFIXED TO SUIL DOTV. I. I hold not out my hand in grateful love, Because ye were my friend, where friends were few ", Kor in the pride of conscious truth, to prove The heart ye wronged and doubted, yet was true— It is that while the close and blinding veil That youth and blissful ignorance had cast Around ruine inward sight, is clearing fast Before its strengthening vision — while the scale Falls from mine eye-balls — and the gloomy strecui Of human motive, whitening in my view, Shows clear as dew showers in the gray morn beam — 'iVhile hearts and acts, whose impulse seemed divino, Put on the grossness of an earthlier hue — I still can g.:ze, and deeply still can honour thine. 130 S( iNNKTS. IL Judge not your friend by what he seemed, when Fste Had crossed him in his chosen, cherished aim — When spirit-broken — bafiled — moved to hate The very kindness that but made his shame More self-induced — he rudely turned aside In bitter, hopeless agony from all Alike — of those who mocked or mourned his fallj And fence his injured heart in lonely pride, Wayward and sullen as suspicion's sonl ; To his own mind he lived a mystery ; But now the heavens have changed — the vapours roll Far from his heart, and in his solitude, While the fell night-mares of his spirit flee, He wakes to weave for thee a tale of joy renewed. flic future. c, Here by the shores of mine own sunny bay — Here in the 6hadow of my native bowers, Let me wear out in sweet content those hours Tlxit bear me gently toward my dying day, Waning with earth's affections, till the gray Of age hath touched my hair, and passion fled Leaves hope and stinglcss memory by my bed. And thoughts of danger quelled, and passed SW&V ', But there's a whispering fear within my breast That fills my mind with many a sad presage — That breaks hope's morning dream of peace and rest- That tells me I must never reach that time, Of reverend virtue, of victorious age, Uat early die in youth, and st lined by sudden criue. S3KKEIS. Ul gl Jrapntt. A LOKELY wanderer in the haunts of song, Unloved, unknown, I held my course forlorn, While sighing Echo on the soft wings borne, With shivering pinions bore my strains along. And, distant as they heard, the listening throng Cheered on the unseen bard, but sad was I ; For none there was to hear my pensive sigh, And passion in my heart was deep and strong ; I did not sigh for love — for I had given For some brief .date, my tender vows to faui-3 - t But yet I sighed for something like to love, For I was young, and summer lit the heaven, And gentle longings filled my anxious frame, As I sate all alone within that tuneful grove. 11. liven in that time of song-born loneliness. * * * * * gn gtmentante of \\s lister. 1. Oh, not for ever lost ! though in our ear Those uncomplaining accents fall no more, And Earth has won and never will restore Tli&t form that well-worn trrief made doubly dear. 1 32 BomnsT& Oh, not for ever lost! — though Eope may rei? No more sweet visions in the future now, And I'VL'ii the memory of thy pallid brow GfrOWB unfamiliar with each passing year. Though lonely be thy place on earth, ami fesy The tongues that name thee on thy native plains, Where sorrow first thy gentle presence crossed, jvni dreary tints o'er all the future threw; While life's young zeal yet triumph'd in thy veia.5 ;. Oi, early fallen thou art ! — but not for ever lciC II. Itl'JL that land where hope can cheat no moiv, Ls-vish in promiso — laggard in fulfilling — Where fearless love on ever}' bosom stealing, And boundless knowledge brighten all the shoro It' L: that land — when life's cold toils are done -aid my heart lies as motionless as thine, i still might hope to press that hsnd in mine Sly unoffending — my offended one 1 I v/ould not mourn the health that flics my chee'-:, I would not mourn my dissappointed years — My vain heart mock'd, and worldly hopes o'crtkrotffcj BuJ long to meet thee in that land of rest, Ko:* deem it joy to breathe in careless cars A talc of blighted hopes, as mournfil as thine own. soaxEss. ^33 genclmlettcc. A. youthful pair by virtuous love made one, Two fond hearts yoked by that sweet unseen chain That doubles every joy — divides each pain, Doth the sun look a lovelier sight upon ? Ay, let them laud love's holiness as they will, Its infelt thrill to heavenly bliss allied, In the wrapt visions of poetry purified ; It is earth-born, cold, selfish, sensual still. Oh, it is in the wide, benevolent feel, The limitless expanse of heart, embracing Within its undistinguishing circle, all, From the insect to the fellow-pilgrim, chasing Each lonely affection from the heart, we st«u Of heavenly love some faint memorial. A weary time hath pass'd since last we parted j Thy gentle eye was filled with sorrow, and 1 did not speak, but pressed thy trembling haad. Even in that hour of rapture, broken hearted, I have not seen thee since — for thou art changed There sits a coldness on thy lip and brow — The look, the tone, the smile, are altered now And all about, within thee, quite estranged. I have not seen thee since — although perchance Among the heartless and the vain, on me AH coldly courteous lights thy lovely glance, Yet art thou happier ? Oh, if such may ba Tfc.6 love that Friendship vows — give me agiia kly heart, rvy days of psaoe, my lute, and lijrieafag plsia, liJ4 SCKNLTS. J8B& Why hast thou hvrcd me on, fond muse, to quii The path of plain dull worldly sense, and be A wanderer through the realms of thought with tii« While hearts that never knew thy visitings sweet, Cold souls that mock thy qaict melancholy, Win their bright way up Fortune's glittering wheel ; And we sit lingering here in darkness still, Scorned by the bustling sons of wealth and folly ? Yet still thou whispercst in mine ear, " the day — The day may be at hand when thou and I, (The season of expectant pain gone by), Shall tread to Joy's bright porch a smiling way, And rising, not as once, with hurried wing, To purer skies aspire, and hail a lovelier spring." gtitcbdstoton Cabcrns. GaaiLY it frown'd when first with shuddering mind We saw the far-famed Cavern's darkling womb, And for that vault of silence and of gloom Left the fair day and smiling world behind. But what bright wonder hail'd our eyes ere long ! The chrystal well — the sparry curtained dome — The sparkling shafts that propp'd that cavern'd ho^ And vaults that tum'd the homeliest sounds to song. Oh, this, I thought, is sure a symbol plain Of that undreaded death, the holy die, Stern at the first and withering to the view ; But past that gate of darkness and of pain, What scenes of unimagined rapture lie — ?ich with clysian wwlth and splendour over aarw. SONNETS 135 mnttm m Jito m mo. \ looked npon a dark and sullen sea Over whose slumbering wave the night'3 mists hung, Till from the mom's gray breast a fresh wind sprung And sought it3 brightening bosom joyously ; Then fled tho mists its quickening breath before; The glad sea rose to meet it — and each wave Retiring from the sweet caress it gave, Made summer music to the listening shore. So slept my soul, unmindful of thy reign ; But the sweet breath of thy celestial grace, Hath risen— oh, let its quickening spirit chase From that dark seat, each mist and secret stain, Till, as in yon clear water, mirror'd fair, Heaven sees its own calm hues reflected there. tin gemembmng mx gnafotortart Mtzt m fort lirron's Sflfctm I. Forgive me, Thou who formed that wondroua mind, Where shone Thy works with fairly mirrored glea3> If thoughtlessly my lips with jest unkind, Have dared to slight Thy handy-work in him. For what of pure delight the quickening beam Of genius from his potent numbers cast, Our grateful praise we owe ; and if it3 dim .•aid wavering flame not heavenward burned at last, la truth, we should not judge, but wait in silence fast. 13G MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS II. Oh, blessed Charity I Religion mild! Thy gentle smiles are never meant to wound ; No jest hast thou for Error's helpless child, Hut holy tears and love without a bound — Thy constant votaries ! — they arc seldom found With bartx-d censure on their lips, but those Who newly enter on thy sacred ground, With little heed the thoughts of blame unclose And deem they love thee, when they only wound thy fbes. uncs to* a geprtcu- Jtfenfr. When May with all her blooming train Came o'er the woodland and the plain- When mingling winds and waters made A murmuring music in the shade, I loved to hear that artless song — I loved to stray those groves among, And every souud of rustic pleasure, Waked in my heart an answering measur-i. But now no more that gentle scene, Of mellow light and freshening green, Seems lovely to my altered eye ; And that soft west wind, hastening by, Seems breathing near mo faint and low — • Some warning dirge, some song of woe. iiow have I loved at early mom When the dew 'topp'd the glistening Ihflin*— • MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 1.37 When o'er the hill thd day-beam broke, And nature's plumed .ninstrels woke — To praise with them the will divine That bade that glorious sun to shine ! That day-beam b; rns as brightly still, The wild birds charm the echoing hill ; But light and song alike are vain To soothe a heart that throbs in pain - And pale disease that scene surveys Without one languid smile of praise. Thine was the gift, Almighty power ! That brig) ten'd many a youthful hour : Found joys in Winter's havoc drear, When heaven was dark and earth was birr"!, And raised the heart on secret wing To rapture in the bloom of spring. That blessing Thou hast claimed again. And left me wrapped in lingering pain. Almighty power ! the will was Thine, And this weak heart shall ne'er repine. In joy or grief, in good or ill, This tongue shall praise Thy mercies still ! But may that feeble praise be blest, And deeply felt, though ill confessed — Blest in my own awakened heed, Felt in the hearts of those who read ! Lost days of youth ! Oh, holy days, When joy was blent with prayer and p:"s^sS [ When this sad heart, now deeply dyed With many a thought unsanctified, Trembled at every venial stain, And shrink from sin, as now from pai£ I 133 ktsckllaneous tok::3. Oh ! not that even in that hour Of early reason's dawning power, My soul was pure from thoughts of aLl, But now so dark the past has been, That those first stains of young offense Wear the light hue of innocence 1 Departed spirit I often then, By peaceful fire in lonely gldO, Did thy maturcr reason sui'ia, A guidance and a light to mLi i — Did thy manner piety Awake some holy thoughts in rae. Late, wandering in those silent \vays r I thought upon our early day ; Ah 1 may 1 never feel again, The pain that touched my ;puit then I For every shrub and ever7 tree, Spoke with a still reproach to me ; And even the scene of boyish crime, Sccm'd hallow'd by the light of time! What could my heart, in passion triody If it could err, when by thy side ? Ambitious, there it would not dwell, We parted — and the faithless fell ; We parted — and the world since then Has learned the lesson o'er again, That Virtue, humble, simple, '.air, Is all the knowledge worth our care; That heavenly wisdom is a thing Above the flight of reason's wing ; That human genius caunot souud The depths in which her truth is found j MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 While a poor peasant's simple prayer, Will find her always watching there ; That hearts untaught can learn her roles, While far she flies from human schools ; That learning oft is but a rod — That he knows all who loves his God, And every other eye is dim, Save theirs who hope and trust in Hhu. Willing to serve is truly free ; Obedience is best liberty ; And man's first power — a bended knee. 'Twere vain to hope, if I could part Upon this page my bleeding heart, And to the young enquirer show How often knowledge ends in woe. Hearts would no more by earth be riven, And souls no longer lost to heaven. No ! human pride and passion still Will hold the reins of human will ; And even in passion's fierce excess, Find argument of haughtiness ! Youth's budding virtues will be blighted, The law of heaven forgot and slighted, Age follow age, yet, hurrying on, Trust no experience but its own. Yet it is something if we steal One spirit from the dizzy reel, A few may wake, when thousands sleep, Millions may scoff, but one may weep I 'Tis something, too, to think that, nevr, While I renew my infant vow, Thy gentle shade may wander near, Lni smile on each repentant tear; 140 MISCELLANEOUS TOEilS. To find, as thus, I glance mine eyo Over those pages mournfully, Something that might in former days, Have won that blameless spirit's praise. Ah, it wero all, if now at last This offering for evil past, Might pierce the ear of heaven and wis Oblivion for that faithless sin ; If thy pure, saintly, fervent prayer, Might lied a sweet acceptance there, And from that sacred home, on me Draw down the fire of charity ! That I might, scatter, wide and far My Maker's praise, from star to star, And joyous sing how He had smiled, Forgiveness on His erring child ! That all who heard that grateful song Might learn to grieve for secret wrong, And turn their hearts from joys of sense, To holy praise and penitence ! Ah, sanguine hope ! not in an hour Can zeal from passion wrest his power » Nor former scandals bo removed, Though those we teach be dearly loved. All the repentant soul can do, la still to toil and labour through rho remnant of life's shortening day, Acd for th.* rest to h )pe and pray. IUSCELLAKZO'oS PO££S. HL j$M Taunton gene. i. S'JrEET Taunton Dene ! thy smiling Sells Once more •with meriy accents ring ; Jace more reviving nature yields He; tribute to the smiling spring. The small birds in the woodland sinj, The ploughman turns the kindly green, And pleasure waves her restless wing Among thy groves, Sweet Taunton Dene. ii. Bit peace abides with Him alone "Who rules with calm, resistless pov/'r. Through all creation's boundless zone, From rolling sphere to garden floVr, Nor falls in Spring the welcome shoTrV UawilTd of Hini, nor tempest blows, Kor wind within the fragrant bow*r Gin rend a leaf from summer rose. ill. j^.'eet Taunton Dene 1 oh, long abide In thy fair vale delights like these ! Aad long may Tone's smooth waters glida, By smiling cots and hearts at ease ! Be thine the joy of rustic peace, Each sound that haunts the woodland sceid And blithe beneath thy bowering trees The dance at eve, Sweet Taunton Dene '. H£ MISCELLANEOUS POEUS. JIMcu to bonbon. COMPOSED ON TUE COACH, ON HIS WAY FROM! LUKIATJ. Adieu 1 thou pestilential air, Where death and pain reside Where every brow is dark with caro, And every eye with pride 1 Where vapours change the maiden h^e Of winter's cloudless moon, And man's unwinking eye may view The burning sun at noon ! ii. And welcome 1 welcome, yo hills 1 Bright skies and varied plain 1 A rushing joy my bosom fills To see your tints again. Here no deceitful ruin lurks Beneath the splendid show, But God unrols His glorious works Around me as I go. . m. Health breathes in every passing gaJo That shades my parted hair ; I bid the western bree&es hail With laughing forehead bare. They tell me of my native plains — They whisper of my home, And the freshening blood within my veins Runs gaily while I roam. KTSCELI.ANEOUS POE7dS. 143 IV. Away, away, fair Taunton Dene Lies nearer to the West ; Now fast o'er Hounslow's fading scene Night draws his gloomy vest. Now, while I watch the tiny beam Shot from each beauteous star, I think of Ireland and of him Who reads their lore afar. v. Tia morn — and I am far away From London's smoky den, And mark the light of breaking day 'Mid Nature's haunts again ; I hear her hedge-notes sweetly trilled Still hurrying swift along, And like a:\ organ newly filled My bosom swells with song. VI. For who can see the morning shine And view these blushing skies, Nor think of Him whose love divine Still bids that sun arise ? Tis eve — and for the noisy town 'Mid walks of silent green, I turn to see that sun go down On lovely Taunton Dene. vir. There, gazing on the smiling Webt I stay my wandering feet, And gentlest feelings fill my bvo&s!^ And sweetest pulses beat. li± JOifcKUiAHEOUfl I'0Ei3 L'oi- far boyond that woodland scene— Beyond that grassy Lea, I think of all that lies between That selting .star and me. viu. 0, absence I that like death dotli make The friends yon take more dear ; How sad were life for their sweet sake, But Hope stays whispering near. Still pointing to the exiled heart That heavenly-promised shore, Where friends shall meet " no more to p."vr^ To mingle tears no more." gb Spit is of pciuiuc glouto. i. My spirit is of pensive mould, I cannot laugh as once of old, When sporting o er some woodland 8>xl-> A. child I trod the dewy green. II. I cannot 3ing my merry lay, As in that past unconscious day •, For time has laid existence I And shown mo sorrow linking there. ni. I would I were the lonely breeze That mourns among the leafless trees, That I might sigh from mom till nig'a O'er vanished peace and lost delight. JUSCEU*A1,£.0US POEilS. 145 IV. I would 1 were the heavy shov/r, That falls in spring on leaf and bowV, That I might weep the live-long clj-y For erring man and hope's decay. v. For all the woe beneath the sun, For aD the wrong to virtue done, For every iouI to falsehood gain'd, For every heart by evil stain'd. VL For man by man in durance held, For early dreams of joy dispell'd, For all tho hope the world awakes In youthful hearts and after breaks. VII. But still, though hate, and fraud, and strilL Have stain'd the shining web of life, Sweet Hope the glowing woof renews, In all its old, enchanting hues. VIII. Flow on, flow on, thou shining stream ! Beyond life's dark and changeful dream, There is a hope, there is a joy, This faithless world can ne'er destroy. IX. Sigh on, sigh on, ye gentle winds ! For stainless hearts and faithful minds, There is a bliss abiding true, Tti&t shall not pass and die like yja. L 146 LitSCELLANEOl'S FOLMS. Shine on, shine on, thou glorious buu When Day his latest course lias ran, On sinless hearts shall rise t. light That ne'er shall set in gloomy nieht. %m$ aw a faun's §*al go*. i. Read ye the casket's history, Lay not the simple trinket by, But see those various signets met, O'er the enamelled surface set : For hearts that feel In every seal Can find a theme of grief or glee That careless eyes may never see. ii. Read ye the casket's history, I^t Fancy turn the leaf for thoo — Hero is a seal that brought afar Tidings of joy from scenes of wax i A mother sighed For her perished pride, A maiden mourned her idle c;\£h, And this brought sudden hlfas to bxL MISCELLANEOUS POSXS. 147 III. This tells a tale of drearier mood— A bride beside the altar stood ; What force compell'd his cold delay The bridegroom never came to say. This signet came To clear his fame, Its hue was blasting to her sight, For it was black as death and night ! IV. Here is a crest and here a shield With honours througM upon its field, Both in heraldic lustre bright, Both boasting high of princely right, Their owner's claim A bloody fame ; jne fell in fight on Cress/a plain, And one— cut steaks in Warwick-lane. v. ilow many hearts these toys have chill'd— Or with a sudden rapture fill'd — What tales of joy or sorrow spoken — What misery healed or bright hopes broken \ My song should dwell O'er long to tell, Though many a passion deep might be, \ wakened in their histoiy I VI. f know a casket, (guess you where ?) Filled with sweet thoughts and feelings raxe, A richer and a simpler one For noet's thoughts to dwell spou. I>t8 SUSCELLAKKOra P02US. A meetcr theme For minstrel dream, Fpon whose flowing surface yot 0:' do I eiT?) no seal is set. VII. Jh, bid me name a hand to place On that soft heart the firyt deep tr&oe And his it shall be in whose eya A soft and gentle diguity ; A healthful cheek, And smiles thai speak ; A voice whose memory haunts the asr, And full deep flashing eyes '*re dear. VIII. Let joys that time may never dim Share like thine own kind lookf for tau Who first the dear impression makes, And withered be the hand tfui breads ; Let life glide by All peacefully, Till on that sinless bora of thine klie signet of the jlcst shall shina. 21 portrait. i. LlERiiY hours will fleet, Friends that love must serer, Oft in joy we meet, To pirt in tears for ever 3J1SJELLANE0US pos:.is. 149 I&ay a word is said, And. changed as soon as spoken ' i'Cany a vow is made Only to be broken ii. Life is like a glass O'tjr whose surface gleaming, Brilliar.t shadows pass, But. vein as childhood's dreamiifi. Oould we find the art To fix the Hying splendour, One I know my heart Never would surrender. m. Tis a lovely shade ! Paint it while it lingers, Ere it fail and fade, Ere the wasting fingers Of the haggard Time, The blasting and consuming, Touch its tender prime, And wither, all its bloomimj, rv Paint a fitting form In royal halls to wander, With woman's softness wann l With dignity beyond her ; Think a youthful Queen Tarries while you tn.ee it, 'Tis a shape and mein, To fill a th^ne and grd.ee it. 150 u-'ISCELLANtOUS PQ2kU. V. Pain; a blushing cheek Filled with healthful beatify, Ready smiles that speak Of peace and cherished dut/ : Eyes that shift and shiuo With a full, deep meaning, Clonded curls that twine, A sunny forehead screening. VL Ptdut a blooming lip Vi'I^ii blushing softness .welllut-;, VTaere mirth and kindness koep An undivided dwelling. The charm is wanting still That on that soft lip lingo.c, And the ready skill That haunts those taper fingers. VII. ilerry hours will fleet, Friends that lovo must sever, Oft in joy we meet To part in tears for ever. But in absence, warm, Upon this heart reclining I will keep that form Of memory's fond designing. vi;i. Oft in lonesome eves, When the light is dying, And the shivering leaves In all the vooda ore sighing ; MISCELLANEOUS FOEilS. 15 1 Fancy will restore, Those well-remembered hours, That romantic shore, iVnd those forsaken bowei'9. DC. Fate may frown her worst. I no more will fear it, Let her thunder burst, I will smile to hear it ; If, when life shall fleet, A sinless death be given, And a hope to meet Hearts like thine in heaves. UXSiS ADDRESSED TO A YOUNO LADY ON READING A FOLIi CfS HERS ADDRESSED TO DEATH. Oh, may the burden of thy song Forbear the gentle minstrel long, But when all joys for which we live, Save those alone which guilt can give- When all thine early hopes are won, And love and friendship long thine own 5 Then, with those love-knots softly riveu, With all thy virtues ripe for heaven ; Then, looking calm to joys above, And leaving peace with all you love, Pass gently like an evening wind, And losvc no broken hearts behind. 152 VISCFXI.ANEOUS V)1Z\S. gttltrigta for a (Cup It was not dug from charnel deep, It was not hewn from quarried steep, But sweetly fill'd its covering dun Beneath warm India's burning sun ; That Lydia might the shell receive, In memory of that parted eve. Ah, still when each returning May, Restores sweet friendship's opening day, Remember those descending showers, And lovely Richmond's drooping bowerc ; And welcome then to thee and thine The May-day guest of twenty-nine. By lonely Dunloh's echoing lake.-', By wild GlengarifF8 rocky brakes, By old Askeyton's cloister still, By sweet Ringmoylan's leafy hill, And by that wild and clifted shore Hat hears the roused Atlantic roar, Remember him who gives the shell, And keep it long and guard it well, Devote — in Friendship's name to theo, And thine — oh, fair Fidelity .MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. £53 I'niftomptu, 3S. SES1KG AN 1KIS FORMED BY THE SPRAT OF THE OCEAi: fJJ MILTOWNMALBAY. Oh, sun-coloured breaker ! when gazing on thea I think of the eastern story, Ilow beauty arose from the fcam of the soa— A creature of light and of glory. But, hark ! n hoarse answer is sent from tho WIVU, " No — Venus was never my daughter — *- To golden-haired Iris her being I gave, " Behold where she shines o'er the wator." % \t Mute toilful a top** i. The dismal yew and cypress tall, Wave o'er the church-yard lone, Where rest our friends and fathers ill, Beneath the funeral stone. Unvexed in holy ground they sleep, Oh, early lost ! o'er thee No sorrowing friend shall ever weep, Nor stranger bend the knee. Mo chuma ! lorn am I ! Hoarse dashing rolls the salt sea wave, Ovor our perished darling's grave. • It 13 a custom among the peasantry in some parts of Ireland, wh-j^i tny member of a family has been lost at sea (or in any other wij which renders the performance of the customary funeral rite iinpou- sible), to celebrate the "wake," exactly iii the same way as \" tii: comse were actual] v present 154. MISCELLANEOUS POEH& II. The winds the sullen deep that tore His death song chaonted loud, The weeds that line the- cliftcd shore Were all his burial shroud ; For friendly wail and holy dirge And long lament of love, Around him roared the angry surge, The curlew screamed above. Mo chnma 1 lorn am I, My grief would turn to rapture now, Might I but touch that pallid brow. in. The stream-born bubbles soonest burst, That earliest left the source : Buds earliest blown arc faded first, In Nature's wonted course; With guarded pace her seasons creep, By slow decay expire, The young above the aged weep, Tho son above the sire : Mo chuma ! lorn am I, That death a backward course should hoKl, To smite tho young and spare the old. f o a i'loung Jximb on bis iirtfr-to I. Tub world has run one chequered round Within its aiiy ring, Since thou, unfolding flower 1 hast found The light of litVs suft spring. MISCELLANEOUS rOEMS. 155 II. Thy parents were my Mends in joy, My friends in sadness long, And now, to greet their rosy boy, I bring my birth-day song. in. By many a shore and mountain wild, Lone lake and cheerful bowei, VTe wove a tie, beloved child, To bless a distant hour. IV. We staid not on the threshold cold, Of strange and lingering form, 3c£ pressed to friendship's inmost hold, With trusting hearts and warm. v. Perhaps — because I wrote of truth, They deem'd I loved ho;* tec, And painting forms of generous youlLi, I was the thing I drew. VL For soon then- hearts were bound to U6, In feeling deep and sure, Like old friends lost in infancy, And found in life mature. VII. The light of earth's uncertain skies, Not yet its quickening flood, Had sent into those gentle eyes, Dark, unexpanded bud 1 Lf)'6 KISCELLAHKOUS POEMS. VIII. When, in an hour of joy sereu-j, A. kindly promise came, That now, my young and lov&i ii'lgiZd, Is broken in thy name. IX. Yet ne'er for that unheeding tura, Of friendship's first excess, ILoi^e faintly mine to them shall tram, Nor thou be loved the less. x. Whene'er thino altered name I hear, My heart may mourn, 'tis true ; A keen reproach must grieve mine ecx, And wholesome warning too. XI. For oft I think, 'mid lonesome hours, By night and silence stirred — Whene'er I think on those lost hours, And that forgotten word. XII. That had they found this heart when tri&d, The heart their f.mcy dreamed, And had long knowledge justified, "What trusting friendship deemed. xiii. That pledge might be remembered ao.v> That confidence the same, And, sign of alteved feeling thou, Ead'st borne another name. i^SCELLANEOUS POJC3. XIV. Bat tar let waking reason keep Each indolent regret ; And while she hoards the lesson deep The useless grief forget. xv. Now many a month has rolled aviuy, Dear boy, for us and you, And closed are all those scenes so gey, And changed their actors too J XVI. 3ut let me turn from thoughts liko the*;, And change my song to joy, And rhyme for thee a prayer of peace, Oh, sinless, angel boy 1 xvn. Fair virtue guide my young Eugoue, Willi footing firm and true, And keep his breast from sorrow keen j Bis feet from wandering too ! xvm. ILdrcy divine ! — if changing fate Ravo in his pathway wild ; l £Lt& strong thine arm to shield bis stita ' Oh, save this infant child I 151 158 MISCELLANEOUS POKriS. glburcsscu to a Jtiflft, Wilvi ! passed away ! those happy hours When sunny friendship yet was now, When love's own music filled those bowers And joy's bright sun broke dazzling through. ii. Ah, no ! the spirit is not fled That woke that brief, admiring rhyme, Nor feeling cold — nor memory dead — Though changed, alas ! are place and time. m. Ah, no ! if vivid dreams at night, If keen remembrances by day, Can fetter Times untiring flight, Those moments are not passed away. IV. Dear scenes ! where oft my spirit quaffoJ Life's social joy from genial springs ; Sweet time! when Pleasure round us laughs! And freely waved his golden wings. v. Ah, does this worthless heart forget Those moments now so sadly sweet, Xor musing on their memory yet, With lonesome feelings wildly beat ? MISCELLANEOUS POEJIS. 159 VI. I know the thoughts that die unsung To many speak a heart untrue, They think when silence chains the tongue The soul must be forgetful too. VII. Yet, trust me, Memory's wannest sighs Are often breathed in moments lorn — And many a feeling thought Trill rise And in the bosom die unborn. vni. No — Friendship does not always sleep, Though sometimes she may mourn alone, Nor sympathy less kindly weep, Though oft her tears have fallen unknown. ®n lulling some Campanulas in a f abn's t&mkv. L Oh, weeds will haunt the loveliest scene The summer sun can see, And clouds will sometimes come between The truest friends that be. And thoughts unkind will come percbanoo, And haply words of blame, For pride is man's inheritance, And frailty is his name. II. Vat while I pace this leafy • , vis, That nursed thine infancy — And hear in ever}' passing gala A whispered sound of thee. My 'nightcd bosom wakes anew, To Feeling's genial ray, And each dark mist on Memory's view Melts into light away. m. The flowers that grace this shaded spot — Low, lovely and obscure — Are like the joys thy friendship brought — Unboastcd, sweet, and pure. Now withered is their autumn blow, And changed their simple hue, Ah 1 must it e'er be mine to know Their type is faded too? IV. Yet should those wcll-remcmbered hours Return to me no more, And — like those culled and faded flowery Their day of life bo o'er — In memory's fragrant shrine concealed, A sweeter joy they give, Than aught the world again can yield Or I again receive. KZSCELL/vNKOUS POEMS. 161 Mt\\ $\m1x MISCELLANEOUS rOKlli. 111. Yes, there ia the window that looked to the flood; But where aro tlio friends by the casement that stood, And told mo how sweet as he sunk, to his rest, Was the smile of tho sun from the clouds of the west ? How bright on tho river his blushing light falls, How spectral in distance those time-shattered walls, And the hearts that to mine turned fervently there, And tho minds that to mine were an echo — oh where? rv. l'r;oi — Life ia but short and possession unsure; Religion may teach us that we should endure ; But oh ! there are moments when feeling will speak, When nature is mighty and reason is weak ; When selfishly sinking our bosoms will mourn O'er joys that are gone and can never return ; And whisper in ignorance, fearful and drear, Where now are tho days that have left us ? — oh where v. May He in whose keeping aro sorrow and joy, Tho kindly to save, and tho just to destroy, Give light to our spirits in moments so dim, For those aro tho trials that turn us to Him. Tnerc may bo a time, when tho bosoms that here, Let sigh o'er tho wrecks of the vanishing year. Say whisper iD jo}' round tho foot of His throne, Twsj well that our dwelling looked dreary and lono! lUISJELLA&saUB i»OEMS. 161 %\t Wxttk at t\t hornet. D/^kess ia on the wave — The sea heaves sluggishly, The winds are in their cave, Slumbering silently. Don is the seaman's track, Unclieercd by starry glow, Kad all above is black — And lightless all below. n. Two ships are on the sea — No need of wind have they v To speed them rapidly Forth on their watery way. Like creatures of the deep, They ply their forward course, breaking old Ocean's sleep "With heavy sounds and hoarso m. Look through the darkling veil- Night hangs upon the wave — Death's own eternal pale — The universal grave ! Ivlark yon tall bark — the din Of life that is about her — Love, Hope, and Mirth are in, And Rniu is without h I£S tiraCELLANEOLS POBSg IV. Youth is slumbering there, And Ago — as beautiful — iiush'd is the heart of Care — Beauty's love looks are dull — Here young Hope's honey bredth, The waking lover quail's — And yonder, see where death Sits on the v,B.ve, sj:d lauglis I v. The % Oesels near ! — they ply — Tkcy meet — that fate hath caught he: A 3uddeii crash — a cry ! A wail above the water — L hiss of quenching flame — A rush of billows on her — The hungry waves are tame — The sea is smooth upon her. VL A voice is on the deep — Hoarse is the whirlwind's lungs — rhe sea starts from her sleep, And lifts her billowy tongues — 1 A sorrow for the dead I Friend — countryman — and sSrmgO- And a curse for him who fled His fellov-ineu in danger I" MISCELLANEOUS POi23 169 £ be BttUx of Cljaritg. bSS orce was a lady of honour and wealth, Bright glow'd on her features the roses of health ; Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, And her motion shook perfume from every fold : Joy revell'd around her — love shone at hei side, And gay was her smile, as the glance of a bride ; And light was her step, in the mirth-sounding hall, When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de Pard. a She felt in her spirit the summons of grace, That call'd her to live for the suffering race ; And, heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home, Rose quickly, like Mary, and answered " I come !' ? She put from her person the trappings of pride, And passed from her home, with the joy of a bride ,* Nor wept at the threshold, as onward she moved, For her heart was on fire, in the cause it approved. m. Lost ever to fashion — to vanity lost, That beauty that once was the song and the toast No more, in the ball-room that figure Ave meet, But, gliding at dusk to the wretch's retreat. Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name. For the Sister of Chanty blushes at fame ; Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth, For shft birters for heaven, the gkrr of earth. 170 MISOELI.ANEOCS POUR IV. Those B»e- that to music xmld gracefully mo-.e, Now bear her h,lonc DO the mission of love ; Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem, Arc tending the helpless or lifted for them ; That voice that once echo'd the song of the vain, Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain ; And the hair that was shining with diamond and peati< Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl. v. Her down-bed a pallet — her trinkets a bead, Her lustre — one taper that serves her to read ; Her sculpture — the crucifix oail'd by her bed, Her paintings — one print of the thorn-crowned heai Her cushion — the pavement that wearies her knees, Her music— tho psalm, or the sigh of disease ; The delicate lady lives mortified thcro, And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer VI. Yet not to the service of heart and of mind, Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined ; Liko Him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief, She hastes with tho tidings of joy and relief. She strengthens tho weary — she comforts the weak, And soft is her voice in the ear of the siok ; Where want and affliction on mortals attend, The Sister of Charity there is a friend. VII. Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath, Like an angel she moves, 'mid the vapour of death •, Where rings the louu masket, and flashes the sworl UnlcarLc.^ sb.o walks, for she follows the Lord. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 71 How sweetly she bends o'er each plaguo-tainted fao-j With looks that are lighted with holiest grace How kindly she dresses each suffering limb, For she sees in the wounded the image of Him, vra. uphold her, ye worldly 1 behold her, ye vain I Woo shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain 5 Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your da;-s, Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise. Ye lazy philosophers — self-seeking men — Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen, How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed, With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid ? $ta 3W*, TCV^DBSSS OJ TS3 PaESSKTiTIJM AND URSUL1NE OBDKBS OW NUS3 M IBELAND, WHICH AES DEVOTED CHIEFLY TO THE EDUCATION O? THE POOR. IVas the garden of Christendom, tended with cere Ev'ry flowret of Eden grew peacefully there ; When tho fire of the spoiler on Lombard? blazed, And the Moslemin shout in the desert was raised, And high o'er the wreck of a fear-stricken world, The standard of hell to tho winds was unfurled, ;faith, bleeding returned to tho land of the west, ajkI with Science, her handmaid, sought shelter and reatr 1'12 .MISCELLANEOUS I'OF.US, n. With n warm burst of welcome that shelter was gives ; Tier breast open'd wide to the envoy of heaven ; In the screen of her bowers was the stranger conccal'd, nil her pantings were hushed and her bruises were h"aI';L From the hall of the Iiigh, to tlie shciliug afar, All echoed her glory, all greeted her star ; In the depth of our glen, were her secrets adored, And our mountain shone out in the light of the Lord. in. Te ivy-clad relioe, resounding no more With the swell of the anthem from shore unto shore Yo crags of the ocean, ye caves, in whose gloom The saint found a home, and the martyr a tomb : Ye arrows of vengeance, forgot in the quiver, Ye death-shouts of enmity silenced for ever, Ye roods of the wilderness hoary with years, Ye knew of her triumph — ye know of her tears. IV. Ye speak of that time when the cells of the west Gave voice after voice to the choir of the blest ; Alien a breathing of pray'r in the desert was heard, And the angel came down, and the waters were stirrd When the church of the isles saw her glories arise — Coluraba the dove-like, and Carthage the irise ; And the school and the temple gave light to each sh.vn3 From elided Iona to wooded Lismore. v. There's a mist on the eye — there's a wail on the oar — Fly doves of the temple 1 — the falcon is near 1 There's a change in the heavens — there's a rushing of gloj'-n, And ib» mountains are. black v'th the hue of the tomb, 1USCELLAUE0US POEJIS. 17$ There's a ringing of steel, there's a voice in the bovver Tis the death-shriek of Charity striving with Powgl* ; With finger inverted rude Ignorance smiled, And grim Passion exulted when mind was exiled. VI. >Voe, woe, for the ruin that broods o'er thy towers ' ■ Fair garden of Christendom where are thy flowers \ Oh, say, when that thunder-cloud burst on thy shore, Stood thy Faith as the Skellig when Ocean is hoar ? Say, smiled she undaunted when Hope look'd aghast, And when Learning lav prostrate, stood Piety fast ? Oh, answer ye mountains that witnessed the zeal, '<\*hen the faith of our sires dared the dungeon and steel vn. tVn still though the tempest is hushed ou our plains. On the minds of our Country the havoc remains ; Peace grieves o'er her temples, on mountain and shore, Sad History's witnesses, vocal no more. Shall no sabbath arise on our week-day of care ? Is no waking reserved for our sleep of despair ? Ha, see 1 — there's a shooting of light Li the gloom, tLnd the spirit of Nagle replies from the tomb. VIII. Hail, star of the lowly ! apostle of light, In the glow of whose fervour the cottage grew bright f Sweet violet of sanctity, lurking conceal'd, Till the wind lifts the leaf and the bloom is reveal'd ; $y the light of that glory which burst on thy youth, la its day-dream of pleasure, and woke it to truth, By the tears thou hast shed, by the toils thou hast beni?, Ob, sir, shall our night know a breaking of item ? I7-J KXKELLAKEOUS POEMS. IX. l * As the dawn on the lingering night of the north, To tho hills of the west has the mandate gone forth : In the desolate aisles there's a murmur of praise, And the lost lamp of science rekindles its rays. The voice of lament in our island shall cease, And her cities rejoice in the sunlight of peace ; From her sleep of enchantment young Erin shsll ri^j, And again be the home of the holy and wise." %n Seniors. i. Oh, come 1 thou sadly pleasing power, Companion of the twilight hour — Come, with thy sable garments flowing. Thy tearful smile, all brightly glowing — Come, with thy light and noiseless tread As ono belonging to the dead I Come, with thy bright, yet clouded eye, Grant me thine aid, sweet memory I n. She comes, and pictures all again, Hie " wood-fringed" lake — the rugged pla-v Tho mountain flower — tho valley's smile, And lovely Inisfallen's isle. The rushing waters roaring by, Our ringing laugh — our rapturW sigh, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 175 The wavelcss sea — the varied shore — The dancing boat — the measur'd oar., The lofty bugle's rousing cry, rhe awakened mountains deep reply. Silence resuming then her reign, In awful power, o'er hill and plain. She paints, and her unclouded dyes, Can never fade, in feeling's eyes, For dipp'd in love's immortal stream — Through future years they'll brightly beam Oh, prized and loved, though lately known, Forget not all, when we ai*e gone — Think how our friendship's well-knit band Waited not time's confirming hand. Think how despising forms control, Heart sprung to heart, and soul to soul — ■ And let us greet thee, far or near — As cherished friend — as brother dear. ffl Ihi the time of my boyhood I had a strange feeling. That I was to die in the noon of my day ; Not quietly into the silent grave stealing, BaC torn, IHw a blasted oak, suclusa away. i76 iuscellaki:ous ror-oi n. 'itat, even in the hour when enjoyment WSJ keff-SSt, My lamp should quoncli suddenly hissing in glooin, That o>en when mine honours were freshest and groeoeSj A blight should rush over and scatter their bloom. in. It might bo a fancy — it might bo the glooming Of dark visions taking the semblance of truth, And it might be the shade of the storm that is coming, Cast thus in its mom through the sunshine of youth rv. But be it a dream or a mystic revealing, The bodement has haunted me year after year ; A.nd whenever my bosom with rapture was tilling, I paused for the footfall of fate at mine ear. v. With this feeling upon me, all feverish and glowing I rushed up the rugged way panting to fame, I snatched at my laurels while yet they were growing. And won for my guerdon the half of a name. VI. My triumphs I viewed from the least to the brightest, As gay flowers pluck'd from the fingers of death, And whenever joy's garments flowed riclcst and lightest; I looked for the skeleton lurking beneath. VII. 0, friend of my heart 1 if that doom should fall on oip, And thou should'st live on to remember my love — Come oft to the tomb when the turf lies upon me, And list to the even win'] mourning above. MISCELLANEOUS POEAI8. 177 VIII. Lie down by that bank where the river is creeping All fearfully under the still autumn tree, When each leaf in the sunset is silently weeping, And sigh for departed days — thinking of me. IX. By the smiles ye have looked— by the words ye have spok£3 (Affection's own music — that heal as they fall,) By the balm ye have poured on a spirit half broken, And, oh ! by the pain ye gave, sweeter than all Remember me * * *, when I am departed, Live over those moments when they, too, are gone ♦ Be still to your minstrel the soft and kind-hearted, And droop o'er the marble where he lies alone. XI. Itemember how freely that heart, that to others Was dark as the tempest-dawn frowning above, Burst open to thine with the zeal of a brother's, And showed all its hues in the light of thy love. XII. And, oh, in that moment when over him sighing. Forgive, if his failings should flash on thy brain , Remember the heart that beneath thee is lying Can never awake to offend thee again. XIII. And say while ye pause o'er each sweet recollection, " Let love like nime own on his spirit attend — For to me his heart turned with a poet's affection, Jvst less than a lover and more than a friend. 178 MISCELLANEOUS rOEMS. XIV. u Wild ho selfish ? Not quite — bat his bosom waj glo\)R3g With thronging affections — unanswered — unknown ; Re looked all round the -world for a heart overflowing, But found not another to love like his o^ n. xv. ' Yet how ? Did the worthy avoid or forsake hira ? Ah, no — for heaven blessed him with many a friend But few were so trusting that might not mistake him. Oh, none were so dear that he could not offend 1 XVL K Yet, peaco to his clay in its dreary dominion ; 1 know that to me he was good and sincere, And that Virtue ne'er shadowed with tampering pinion An hono~tcr friendship than Death covers here," Sty Uigljttoalhcr. Twas in the blooming month of May, When woods and fields are green ; Then early, at the dawn of day, The sky-lark sings, unseen ; A gallant brig, with swelling sails, Weigh'd anchor by our strand, With convicts from poor Erin's v&£?6, Bound for Van Diemun'fl Land MISCELLANEOUS TOEilS. u' II. Slovr down old Shannon's silent tide, By favouring breezes borne, I saw the royal fabric glide, Dim in the twilight mora ; When sadly o'er the shining flood Those accents reached the shore, Lfc Adieu, adieu ! my own green wood. I ne'er shall see thee more 1 in. w Yo furze-clad hills, and briery dells, Now waking to the dawn — Ye streams, whose lonesome murmur swells Across the silent lawn — Ye snow-white cots that sweetly smile Aloag the peaceful shore, Adieu, adieu 1 my own green isle, I ne'er shall see thee more. IT. a Oh, had my tongue a trumpet's force, To rouse yon slumbering vale, That I might make the echo hoarse, With my unhappy tale ; That I might wake each sleeping iriczd, To hear my parting moan, And, weeping o'er my luckless end, Be watchful for his own. v. " From infancy, a blissful life In yonder vale I led ; There, first I met my faithful wife, There, first I woo'd and wed ,• L&j CELLAXEOUS i'JLiS. Long time with blithesome industry We met each coming dawn, Or closed each evo with gentle glee, Beside tho dark Ovaan. VI. x )h 1 give again my humble lot, My gardeu by the mill, The rose that graced our clay-built cot, The hazel-tufted hill ; The sweets that HUM each grateful senia From dawn to dewy night ; And more than those — the innocence That gave the landscape light. vn. i( For daily there the nesting lark Sang to my spade at mora ; The red-breast there, at fall of dark, Ilymn'd lonely from her thorn. Ah 1 must I leave thifc happy dell, "Where all my youth was pass'd, And breathe to each a sad farewell, My fondest, and my Inst ? Mil. '' When far Van Diemen's sunbeams aooa. Upon my head shall fall, llow shall I miss at toilsome noon My Mary's cheerful call ! When, Btanding on the distant stile. She pour'd her summons clear, Or met mc with that happy smile Thai made our threshold dearf laSCELLANEOUS POE1I3. 181 m. "What hand shall trim the rushlight now That glads m) r cabin floor ? Or raise the turf with bended bough, When wintry tempests roar ? Ah ! never shall that lightsome hearth Again be swept for me ; Nor infant there, with fondling mirth, Come climbing to my knee. 1L J Ah, happy days ! what Mary now Along the hedge shall steal, With dark blue cloak and hooded brow, To bring my noontide meal ? The plenteous root of Erin's fields, To toil-worn peasant sweet ; And that fair draught the daiiy yields, Not whiter than her feet. si. u Dream on — dream on, my happy friends Oh ! never may you know The hopeless, helpless grief that reads My bosom as I go 1 But when, at merry dance or fair, The sportive moments flee, Let old remembrance waken there Ons pitying thought on ae. XII. i: Yot hear my tale — the bursting sigh That leaves the sufferer's heart, TL9 tears that blind each fixed eye When old affections part ; 182 MISCELLANEOUS mi. Mi The wail, ihc shriek, each souud of fe*r, That scares the peopled glen, alight yet, would they the lesson hear, Teach wisdom unto men. XIII. u Twus night — the black November blast Eowl'd fierce through shrub and bria^ We heard the demon as ho pass'd, And stirr'd our scanty firo ; Our babes by sweetest slumber lull'd la rosy silei"-"? lay, Like buds to g?aoe a garland cull'd Upon a summer day. XIV. ' A knock! — hark! — hush 1 — twas bu: Lbihai That smote our single pane — Stul fiercer beat tho ruffian gale — Still heavier drove the rain ; Again I — tho latch is raised — the storzi Dash'd back tho opening door, And light'ning show'd the unknown fora. That press'd our cabin floor. XV. ■' Satan, prince of darkness ! thou — Wert thou in presence there, Thou could'st not wear a subtler brow, Nor loftier seeming bear ; Dark hung the drenched tresses wild Around his sallow cheek ; Nior e'er did lady, whispering mild, With sweeter accent speak. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. J 63 XVI. •' [c was, it was some friendly pow'r That saw my coming doom, And warned me of that fatal hoar, Amid the stormy gloom : When loud I heard the thunders roll Prophetic in mine ear, Ami something shook my secret soil With sense of danger near ! XVII. " Now quickly Mary's dext'rous hand The simple meal prepared ; And soon, by rapid apron fanu'd, The ruddy heai-th-stone glared ; Soon by its social, quick'ning light TVe talk'd, with bosoms free, And Mary left the long, long night To rain and to me. xvni. '* The sound of waters gushing sweet Upon a summer noon, Of winds that stir the green retreat, Or harvest songs in June, Were like the soxd-ensnarhxr words That from the stranger fell, But while they sounded heavenly Tbsy had the spleen of hell. XIX. He spoke of faded martial zeal Before the sun was set, That blood-red hail'd the victor stoel Of old Plantagenet. iS-t SCLLLANEOUS POE^S. He talked of Erin's injured plains. Of England's galling yoke, And a subtle firo within my veins Vfes kindling while ho spoke. xx. v lie marked ray neat : — ' And if thou £&s: A pulse for Ireland still — If thou caust wind a merry blast Upon a moonlight hill — If selfish hopes and craven fears Have left thy courage free, And thou canst feel thy country's teer3, Arise and follow me 1' XXL We left the cot — The storm had sunk Upon the midnight wild, And, bright against each leafless trunk, The flitting moon-beam smil'cL We hurried down by copse and rill, By cliff and mountain gorge, Till, close by Shanid's lonesome hill, We reached the villago forge. XXII. u Dark, silent, lone, the hovel seem'd, And cloak'd each tiny paue, Yet oft from chinks a red ray btreani'd Across the gloomy plain ; Knd emothcr'd voices heard within Came doubtful on the car, Ab when a merry festal din Is hc-sh'd in sudden fear. 185 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. XXIII. "-The stranger paus'd — 'Within arc thcso. The bravest of the land, With heart to feel her countless woes, And ever ready hand. If thou for home and manhood's right Can mock at danger too, Come, pledge us at our board to-night, And join our gallant crew I' XXIV. " He knocked — ' Who's there ?' ' My voice ab-e May answer for my name.' Quick, from the op'ning doorway shone A glow of ruddy ilame — The wicket closed — the anxious blood Forsook my pallid face, When, like a wild bird snared, I stood Within that hideous place. XXV. " Around a board, whose dingy piano Was stained by long carouse, Sat grim Rebellion's horrid train, With fierce suspicious brows. Crouch'd by the hearth, a wrinkled hag The fading embers blew — Old Vauria of the river crag — The Hebe of the crew. XXVI. " Hero Starlight (name of terror !) quafTd, Unmix'd, the liquid fire — Here Blink-o'-dawn, with milder draught, Inflamed his easy ire ; LbG MISCELLANEOUS TOE.MS. Knd Lard-thc-back, and Dcath's-hoaJ guuia Their murderous vigil keep, 4nd many a name whose echoes liauc*. The village parson's sleep. XXYtl. u Here Moonshine (name to oauuge ll The traitor and the slave, Who purchased with their reeking bloo-'* The life his judges gave. 1 538 MISCELLANEOUS l'OKMS. Still rod with gore, each streaming hilt Against the moonlight glows — Oh ! thus shall all who sow in guilt Reap treason at the close. xxxiv. " Oh, you who bless these dawning skies In yon receding vales, Take warning from my parting sighs, And from those swelling sails 1 To answer crime with crime is worse. Than tamely to endure ; And ev*n for black oppression's curse Dark treason is no cure. XXXV. u Farewell, farewell ! ye distant hills With many a garden gay ! Ye waving groves and gushing rills That hail the rising day I Ye hills of Clare, with vapours hoar, Ringmoylan's leafy dells ; And thou, oh, wild, sea-beaten shore, Where many a kinsman dwells 1" XXXVI. He sung, while o'er the df Aiming street Fresh came the wakening gale, And, fading like a- morning dream, I heard his parting wad : — a Farewell, yo cots, that sweetly smile Along tho peaceful shore I Farewell, farewell, my own green is'.e I I ne'er shall see thee more." MISCELLANEOUS POEXS. 1S9 f \t gaiusl] gnbasion. i. Wet .vcepest thou, Eriu ? Why droop thy green bowers. Why flows all in purple the wave of Cullain ? vTby sink thy young maidens like rain-laden flowers? Why hush'd are their songs on the desolate plain ? Rain and sorrow are o'er thera spread — ilevel, suid treedom, and mirth are fled. n. Kuh the demon of pestilent airs been out To taint the sweet breath of thy mountain gales ? To scatter his death-breathing vapours about, And wave his dark wings o'er thy blooming vdod ? Like tho wind that monrns in the winter bowers, Bitting the fairest of health's young flowers. in. Ko ; poison and pestilence have no share In tho ruin that, moulders our strength away- Happy are those who breathe that air, And die at the sight of their hopes' decay. 3ut the ocean's breezes fan our skies — The plague spirit tastes their breath and dies. IV. Bu: n demon more deadly — the Norman has flowu From his lonely hills* — so chilling and gray; He h.»3 left Ids rude mountains Gf heath and stone, For the fairest that bloom in the light of day — And Erin has dropp'd her shield and sword, And we*xs the yoke of a heathen lord. * Men of the hills : tho ancient epithet given to the DauSA 190 MISCELLANEOUS TOEM3. V. The blood of the royal — the blood of the brave- Aro blent with the willows of dark Calkin — Our king is a gay and a gilded slave — And ours are tho ruins that blot the plain. The Ravens of Denmark are seen on our walls, And tho shout of the spoiler is loud in our halls. VI. Weep on, then, lost island ! thy honours have fled Like the light on a lake that is troubled and br Thy Suako* hath hid his coward head — The words of thy grief and shame are spoken Thou hast not left one lingering light, To ble&e with a promise thy cheerless night. %%t |0J2 jof honour. i. The tears from these old eyelids crept. When Dermod left his mother-land—' And I was one of those who wept Upon his neck, and pressed his hand, lie did not grieve to leave us then, fie hop'd to see his home again — With honours twined in his bright hd: He could not hope to gather there. • Harp and Snake — the national standard. MSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 19 L II. Tear after year rolled fleetly on, Lost in the gravo of buried time, And Dermod's name and praise had won Their way into his parent clime ; But all his youthful haunts were changed, The wild woods perished whero he ranged— And all his friends died one by one, Till the last of Dermod's name was gono. m. I sit one eve in Curra's glade, And saw an old man tottering down, Where the first veil of evening's shade Had given tho heath a deeper brown. His cheek was pale— his long hair now Fell in white flakes o'er his aged brow, But the same young soul was in his eye, And I knew the friend of my infancy. IV. He gazed upon the silent wood — Ho passed his hand across his brow ; The hush of utter solitude Slepi on each breathless birchen bough. " That lake with flowering islets strewed — That skirts the lawn and breaks yon wood — I knew in youth a valley green, The eeat oi many a, merry scene. u The youtlis that graced the village dance, Beneath the turf they trod arc sleeping — The maidens in whose gentle glance Their op?r'ts lived, arc o'er them weeping- 192 M ISCELLAKEOl'S POEMS. Sorrovr, and blight, and age have come, Where mirth once reigned, and youth and blou.Vi, And the soft charms of Nature's prime Aro blasted by tho breath of Time, VI. " And hath tho joy that honour gives No power o'er memories like this ? Ah ! witless is the man who live- To soar at fame and spurn at bliss 1 That hath been mine — this might have l^een, Had I hut held the humble mean — And passed upon my parent soil A life of peace and quiet toil. VII. 1 And is it thus that all who gaiu The phantom glory of a name, That, ere it grace their brow, the pain Of their long search hath quenched tho tlaana That young ambition lit — and those Whose praise they songht are at repose — And they stand in a world unknown — Admired — revered — unloved — ale VIII. " I want my early playmates back, My friends, long-lost, but ne'er forgot — Are these old men who haunt my track My school-day friends ? I know them ilX Alas 1 I grieve and call in vain, Their youth will never come again — But it is sad my heart should feel 1*3 6rst affections youthful s'ill " MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 193 Sffloulfc sou <£j}0o$c a $ram&? i. Would yon choose a friend ? Attend * r.ttend m teach yon how to attain your end. He on whose lean and bloodless cheek The red grape leaves no laughing streak ; On whose dull white brow and clouded eye Cold thought and care sit heavily ; Him you must flee, Tween you and me, Vhai man is very bad company. n. And he around whose jewelled nose The blood of the red grape freely flows ; Whose unrsy frame as he fronts the board Shakes Jne a wine sack newly stored, In whose half-shut, moist, and sparkling eye The wine god revels cloudily, Him you must flee, Tween you and me, Hat man is very bad company. in. Bat ie "who takes bis wine in measure, Miugiiiig wit and sense with pleasure, Who likes good wine for the joy it brings. &nd merrily laughs and gaily sings : With heart and bumper always full, Ntrrer luaidlin, never dull, Your friend let him ba. 'Tween you and on\ Tiit min Is excellent company. o 194. -MISCELLANEOUS l'OKMS. ffl\w some alnWest anb ^ujjrtkss £j/k i. When some unblcst and lightless eye, With lid half droop'd, and moist, and v^e&. Tells silent tales of misery, The trembling lip could never speak', What is it wete the listener's cheelr, What fills with love his answering voice, And bids the Buffering heart not breaL, And bids that trembling eye rejoice V When the heart wavers in its choice, What is it prompts the generous part ? Oh ! spring of all life's tender joys ! Oh, sun of youth 1 'tis heart 1 'tis Lei-:t, ' n. When the advancing march of time, With cheering breath, has roll'd away The mists that dull'd her morning prime, And beauty steps into her day ; What gives those eyes that conquering pLy That aching bosoms long confess? And lights those charms with quickening riT That else had charmed and conquered less ; A sweet light unto loveliness, A meaning breathing o'er the whole, That else might charm, but could not bless. Win, but not fix ? Tis soul ! 'tis soJ i m. VTieu youth and youthful friends are gouo, When disappointment glooms the brj-Ar, Acd early loves leave us alone, To walk in friendless 8 >rrov, njw. MISCELLANEOJS POEMS. 19*3 And chill'd is young rapture's glow, Aad hoary grown the raven hah, And age its paly tinge of woe Hangs over all youth fanciecWair, What guards our home from chill despair ? And bids joy linger, loth to part ? Oh, balm of grief and pining care ! Oh, stay of age ! 'tis heart ! 'tis heart ! IV. When beauty feels the touch of years, "When tho round voice grows faint and smaL And that bright eye is dimmed by tears, That once held many a heart in thrall, What makes that voice still musical ? That sunken eye still seeming bright ? And beauty, even in beauty's fall, As full of witching life and light, As when the hue of young delight Over its blushing spring-time stole ? Oh, star of love's approaching night 1 Oh, shield of faith! 'tis soul 1 'tis soul! v. Seldom they shine in worlds like this, Seldom their favouring light we see, For passion taints earth's purest bliss With spots of dark mortality ; But once a sweet dream came to we, A vision of a glorious land, "Where sounds of gentle revelry IJose on the soft air, making bland And rapturous music to a band Of nymphs that o'er the green path stole, Where beauty and youth walked hand in haad, Lsck'd in love's faith with Heart and Sord. lQ'j M13CELLAiriWCS PJEiO. ®Jc .§ong of the iOlu ggtentai. i. A KAH of threescore, with the snow on hifl brov.', A.ud the light of his nged eye dim, DL vslioy of sorrow I what lure hast thou now, In thy changes of promise for him ? Gsy Nature may smile, but his sight has gvown jli— Jor sound, but his hearing is dull ; Mid pleasure may feign, but his bosom is cold, And the cup of his weariness full. n. O;:co warm with the pidses of young twenry-trou^ With plenty and ease hi thy train, Tly fair visions wore an enchantment for me That never can gild them again. For changed arc my fortunes, and early and hits b\'om dwelling to dwelling I go : And 1 knock with my stafi' at our first mother's g*£f .■Ujd I ask for a lodging below.* in. Farewell to thee, Time 1 in thy passage with me, One truth thou hast taught me to know, Though lovely the past and the future may bo, The present is little but woe ; F*c (he sum of those joys that we find in life's w$y 7 Where thy silent wing still wafts us on, Is ti hope tor to-morrow — a want for to-day, .Led a. sigh for the times that are gone. *• VrJs L-*uittftil sentiment occurs in Clmucwr. 3USCELLAK2UUS POEMS. I'j7 glarn-Ic-gonc f%m$. iTR. GPAHAJX TO MISS DAWSON IN THE CL0CD9. tli- Gnthsm now handed Miss Dawson into the osu 1 , a^I, la ft (ck ini&utes, the aeronaut and his accomplished sud bo*o?l£i.L Bellas:- voyager were lost to the gaze of the admiring multitude. Here we go up, up, up, And now we go down, down, down- Now we go backward and forward, And heigh for London town I Dim 3\ii£r. I. Who says the moon is n^o of aksoso ? The sky a sheet of paper ? The little stars so many peas — The sun a mere gas* tape:'? That all the clouds are chimno/ arises The sun's attraction draws ou ? Tis clear as noon, 'tis all a joke To you and me, Miss Dawson. n. The secrets of the sky are ours — The heaven is opening o'er ub — The region of the thunder-shoxery Is spreading wide before is. U will be recollected that this was actually issertsd, < dbxH timp ~i!iiw'e by e celebrated professional Rentlexu&cu •96 .MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. H.ow pleasant, from this fleecy clou^ To look on ancient places, And peer upon the pigmy crowd Of upturu'd gaping faces I ni. Oh ! what a place were this fo:- lovo I Nay, never start, I pray ; Suppose our hearts could jointly uiovo, Aiid in a lawful way. Like Ixion I should scorn the ^owus Of earthly beauties to know, • ^jid love a lady in the clouds— And you should be my Juno. IV. Speed higher yet — throw out more KBa We're not, the last who'll rise, By scattering, with lavish hand, Dust in our neighbours' eyes. Away ! away 1 the clouds divide — Hish ! what a freezing here ! — And now we thread the mist-hill sid^ And now the heavens appear. v. " How blest !" (so Tommy Moore affi slr^ " Did worldly love not blind us, Could we to yon bright cloud but v/iug, And leave this earth behind us : There feed on sunshine — safe from '*\aj We'd live and love together !" »\h, you and I, Miss Dawson knov/, lis very foggy weather ttOF.t.LAXEUUS POEMS. l\)0 VI. S-ppose some future act made vo'd And lawless Gretna ruarriag.-s i*:;o snuff-maii joiner's trade destroyed, And nullified post carriages : V/liat think you if a Gretna here, With post-balloons were given ? Such marriages (wo all conld swear) At least were made in heaven. VII. 'Low small, Miss Dawson, from the sty Appears that man below — Tlii> Triton of the nabbing fry, The sadler-king of Bow ! ;•» fig for Dogberry, say we ! For leathern bench and " watches V A fig ror l aw • ^ u '^ e t0 see What Bishop* here could catch us? nn. Suppose we smasli the stars for fun.? I lava with the larks a lark ? Oi liang a cloak upon the sun, And leave the world all dark? Oi upwards still pin-sue our flight, Li'.ivc that dull world at rest, .\nd into Eden peep — and fright Tlie banquet of the blest ? Vbiz ! whiz ! the fatal word is spok^*- Tho sprites are round our car— Our gas is spent— our pinion broke, And, like a shooting star, aao MISCELLANEOUS P0EKs>. i>0\»"2, down we glide — the closds divide ; Tuey close above our head — How, safe and sound, we touch tho gra^d And now we go to bed- Pnr-ic-gaw Juries. TO CUlUDE 8EURAT" ON LSAYINQ LCNIWN. Prtthe; — see there! behold I look I lol hov sey yo: It oharuol honses and our graves mnst sond Those that they bnry back — onr monu.u:eL.t6 Shell b^ the maws of kites. I. CLunt symbol of the doom All mortals must inherit, Finger-post of the tomb — Half corse — half shade — hslf spirit I Walking burlesque on, man I Still warmer 1 living knell ; Dangler in life's last span, All hail ! and fare ye well I ii. If, as the Spaniard^ says, At mankind's day of doom — When starting through the bkiA Of crackling worlds they oonifr— * A man so wasted that he was exhibited aa a living skuletoa. £ Q;ueredo — visions. 1&1SCHLLAXE0US TOEMS. 201 Biach spirit to its frame ; All wrangling for the fairest ; What ghost, Claude ! will claki That wither'd trunk thou wetras! in. Say wilt thou then ariss, A skeleton as now — Soaring the peaceful skiys With that pale, ghastly brow ? Oh, ere thou wanderest there. Just step to Curtis' 1 sbriue Ee r s flesh enough to spare, For forfy shanks like thine. 1Y. fA*e marked that wasted trunk — Those fleshless bones — and thought, VThflc my sick spirit shrank, :i Is this our common lot ?" Shall the ripe cheeks — bright cu: And eyes that round me sh-hi* Must " golden boys and girls" 5 To this at last "consign?"' Shall Garcia cease to charm ? Shall Chester pine and dwiadio? A drumstick Pasta's arm ? And Vestris' leg a spindle ? Shall love's light dimple grow, Into a hideous wrinkle ? 3^ru's cheek no longer glow ? A-nd Foote's eye cease to twnkle ? '■?J2 MISCKIXANKOUS TOKMS. VI. t\str&.y — the sight that hcareu Fo:~ passing pleasures gave, Wis no'er to mortals given To peer beyond the grave. ^Tu».t beauty is — wo all Oaa feel — what it will be A tfiiiu memorial ; \V*9 find, Seurat, in thee ! VII. Thy bor.es are marrowless ! Thy blood is cold! thine air, I-iLko his whose gory tress Shook blood on Macbcth'a chair : Yst no 1 for who'll deny — When firsi thou sought'ai our us£L r -- lTtou hads't got in that eye Of rhine, u some peculation f* vm. Art thou the wretch of old, ]>y mammon pined to death? 'J: 1 hin, the shipman bold, V7e read of it in Macbeth ? By the weird hag consumed, The slayer of the swine — For thy wifo's chesnuts doora'J To cV-vindle, peak, and pine ! V; hfcte'er thou art, Claudo I When thou — though made of fone-. Host ta'en at last the road, All flesh goes — nrd Ins gone — MISCELLANEOUS I'OEilS. M3 . ^03 Oh, sweet Adare ! oh, lovely vale 1 Oh, soft retreat of sylvan splendour . Nor sTimmcr sun, nor morning gab- E'er hailed a scene more softly tender How shall I tell the thousand charms, Within thy verdant bosom dwelling, When lulled in Nature's fostering arms, Soft peace abides and joy excelling ? !/e morning airs, how sweet at dawn The slumbering boughs your song awaken : Or, lingering o'er the silent lawn, With odour of the harebell taken. Thou rising sun, how richly gleams Thy smile from far Knockfieraa's mountain O'er waving woods and bounding streams, And many a grove and glancing fountain, V e clouos of noon, how freshly there, When summer heats the open meadows, O'er parcLed hill and valley fair, All coolly lie your veiling shadows. Ye rolling shades and vapours gray, Slow creeping-o'er the golden heaven, IIow soft ye seal the eye of day, And wreathe the dusky brow of even. Apart among her maidens sate Fair Helen, formed with grace excelling Though first in wealth and princely state, The humblest heart in all the dwelling. If ever truthful maiden's breast, For virtue burned with warm affection, la Helen'sheart, that influence blest, Hail made it'' fixed and pure election. £10 WATT UYLaND. Not as by modem maids profaned, The cross adorned her vesture only, Bat, deep within her heart it reigved, With hidden influence riding lonely ; While that clear brow and tranquil eye, And plain unbraided locks ol amber, Told talcs of meek humility, And vigils of the midnight chamber. Endued with all the power to please, With wealth at will and amplest leisuiv*. The boor took more of sensual case, The outcast slave of sensual pleasure. Perchance even he, whose sword and shield. Rang loud on plain or moated lower, Lived easier in the bannered field, Than Helen in her father's bower. Oh, yo to sure destruction doomed, Whirled in the vortex gulf of fashion, more unblest, who lie entombed, "Within the living graves of passion. Say, could it wako your slumbering fears, Had you beheld that tender maidei., More deeply mourn her blameless years, Than hearts with blackest memories kudo.i ? Ne'er through self-love with inmost shaue. A weak excuse she seeks to borrow, Nor e'er with superstitious flame, She played the enthusiast's part in sorrox. Bat clear her speech as gliding stream, Each pebble in its depth revealing, TThile in he? soft eyes' tender gleam, Lay taintless truth, and childish feelinp. MATT O.YLAXD. ftll .Some surely deemed the duteous giri Would soon, within come convent towei; Resign for truth's immortal pearl The pomp of rank and earthly power. And, doubtless, had high heaven assigned, As Helen's lot such high vocation, She then had lived, with cheerful mind, Obedient in an altered station. But Heaveu decreed the maiden's life Should pass with constant heart, unswer, U£. Amid the cares of vulgar strife, Her purity of soul preserving. J ilid wealth and splendour — poor in will, Though high in rank — in spirit lowly ; Amid the world unworldly still — Amid the unbelieving — holy. Not hers the venomed tongue that feels Small joy in social conversation, Si.ve when its spite destruction deals On some unhappy reputation. Hot hers the doomed minds unblesi, To mirth devote and senseless laughter, Vi r lio xaste the hours in sinful rest, And leave to chance — the dread hereafter. Each eve the parting day reviewed, With lowly penitential feeling ; Each mora the maiden's zeal renewed, Fresh graco within her heart instilling- Bach Sabbath eve when twilight falls, Its lingering light around diffusing, Within tho still, dim cloistered walls, O'erawed, she knelt, herself accusing. 112 MATT HYLAi.P. Yet, not to outward sense exposed, Young Helen wore her hcart'B devtfjjn . In tone or Btudied mien disclosed, la serious or affected motion ; Fo.\ loy in all her glances shone, Cby rang her laugh, like music flow.: ft l&a conscious power of duty done, la all her bright demeanour glowing. Aud fervent heart she has to feci Fair Virtue's warmth, when time shall lb£u IT, Aad chungcless truth and fearless zeal, And hopo that scents the winds that bli^at A yy; love was Helen's hourly theme, And aome undying deep devotion, ilie promise of her nightly dream, And spirit of her daily motion. Xat Lovo like that whose selfish aim, From earthly bliss to bliss is ranging, Bui such as bums with generous flame, In heLrtS devoted and unchanging, That constant wife, and patient bride, Rata oft embalmed in deathless story — Vne lovo for which the Deed died, And mild Camillas lives in glory. Firmly, the pious maid designed Tul: uouc should share her heart's^ affection, Savo one whose puro and stainless mind iligUt vindicate such high election. Sag rank, nor fame, nor deeds of arms, Snou'id win her mind to love unheeding— bTo? genius high, nor youthful charms, C: voice, or mien, or grace exceeding. MATT HTL.OO. 9.XZ ^o, ho should gain her hand alone, Whaie'er his claim to wealth or station ">Vhose heart had treasured like uer own, For heaven, its warmest aspiration. For, well she thought a rustic hind, To love divine, aspiring tender, Far nobler hi the heart and mind, Than kings who live for earthly splendour. And who, at sober dusk had seen This nobly-born and beauteous maiden, Arrayed in garb of ocean green, With gems of purest lustre laden. Or lovelier still upon the lawn, Where mom's awakening light had fouud hsr. Would marvel that her love had drawn The first of Erin's sons around her. Full oft the Earl his daughter pressed, That soon in holv bonds united, His aged years might yei be blessed, To hear her children's voice delighted ', Lest, buried in his own dark tomb, His household, name, and ancient glory, Like lamps unfed, should quench in gloo^i, Lost ever to the eye of story. But Helen, with evasive wile, Unanswered, left the fond suggestion, With playful jest or ready smile, Avoiding still th' unwelcome question. For who among the nobles there, Within her father's hall acquainted, Oould reach the ideal standard rare, Eer j\vn believing hope had painted. 2L4 MATT HTLAICD. For when the mu^ic merriest played, When dancers trod the blithest measure He:' thoughts in calm reflection BSrayod, Far distant from these scenes of pleasure. Where many a soul was mourning now, That e'er it shared such haunts of danger — Whcro many a worn and fevered brow, Slow pining lay, to peace a stranger. Si.ch thoughts, in still succession brought, Like amulets of holiest power, Svroot safety in her bosom wrought, E'eu. in enjoyments echoing bower. Thus holy themes of peace and rest, Even in her buoyant mirth were rciguhie;, The hermitage within her breast, Inviolate still, and pure remaining. Whore glides the Maguc as silver cio~r, Asong the elms so sweetly flowing, Thoro fragrant in the early year, Wild roses on the banks are bloving. There, wild ducks sport on rapid wing, Beneath the alder's leafy awning, Lnd sweetly there the small birds sing, When daylight on !he hill is dawning. 4IATT 1IYLAKD. lucre miiTored in the shallow tide, Around his trunks so coolly laving, High towers the grove in vernal pride> His solemn boughs majestic waving. And there beside the parting flood, That murmured round a lonely island, Within the sheltering woodland stood, Tho humble ro^f of poor Matt Hyland. Though now, among3t the village swains, Young Hyland tilled the lands surroundiae. All regal in his youthful veins, The blood of Erin's king's was bounding. Yet lowly were his hearc o thou its first and last devotion ! Liko birds that seek a distant home, O'er ocean's waste and wide dominios, And only touch the heaving foam, To rise again with stronger pinion. MAK? HTLAND. 21.3 " Oh thou I the wretch's surest friend, First scarce of blessiug aud of beauty, Be still my being's aim and end, Chief mark of worship and of duty. Like sailors on a stormy sea, Like wandering exiles homeward hasting", So turn my constant thoughts to thee, Oh, unbeginning, everlasting ! * Yes, since to thee, alone oui signs, Ariso with certain hope ascending, Still keep my heart from guilty ties, And wandering loves and quickly ending. Still turn my spirit's eagle gaze, From joys like marsh lights widely strayi;!*^ To that unchanging crown of rays — The boundless and ttw undecaying. c Here lone within thi3 sacred grove Beside those banks and listening river, To thee I pledge my youthful love, My loyalty and faith for ever. Whate'er of earthly bliss be mine, Of joy fulfilled or blest affection, Let heavenly hope aud love divine, Be still my spirit's first election !" Dark hovering in the midnight air, A demon heard the prayer ascending, And saw beneath the moonlight there, The fervent youth devoutly bending. Grimly he smiled to hear that w r ord, With deep confiding ardour spokea, From feeble man so often heard, By faithless man so often broken. 220 UATT II Y LAND. LLcj ocean bin! that downward vie'A'3 His prey within the summer billow. The fiend with baleful wing pursues, Young Hyland to his nightly pillow. With many a wfle he haunts the cot, And deep suggestion darkly tainted. And now ho seems a sinful thought, Or sight-alluring fancy painted. But firmly stood the holy youth, By many a guardian bright attended, Unshrinking zeal and spotless truth, In holy rapture calmly blended. Each sicramental rite of love, With reverent heed devout to render, Ho felt his prayer received above, Fat dearer than whole mines of splendj: l\or when by ills like these oppressed, Turned he his mind to daring questbo, Nor fed within his simple heart, The demon tempter's dark suggestion. But placed on God his trust aright, WitLout whose wise according power 1 , Not 6*63, tie tempest's fiercest might, Cau rend a leaf fror.i slend'rest flower PART II. Qi, fatal power of human love, The jwift-enthralling — swifter cloying, J\jp earth below anA heaven above, The edl-coDfoundi-iPC — all destroying. MATT IiVLAXD. "i21 With visions wild it cheats the brain, And steals its peace and leaves it lonely ; It whispers hope that must be vain, And joys in hearts ill sorted only. Alas ! within the youthful breast, When holy thoughts arise sincerest, And when the heart is most at rest, Temptation oft is lurking nearest* Confiding high in purpose pure, To fear and guilt alike a stranger, It steps within the fatal lure And falls, before it sees the danger. Tis vain to say, in youthful ears, Time tiies — earth fades with all its pLeaS3i'£5~- Thc ardent heart attentive hears, But nought of transient counsel trearoroa Tis heavenly grace — pure, undented, The voico of prayer ascending duly, Can firmly stem the tumult wild, Of earthly passion rising newly. Upon a day — a summer's day, When calmly broke the dewy mornin*:, Young Helen sought the woodland gay, With rosy buds her brows adorning ; And joyous as the early bird, She sung along the green wood bounding, And rock and cliff the soft notes heard. And answered from the hill surroun di ng; Her golden hair the rising breeze Aroaud her laughing face was blowing, While gliding fleet beneath the trees, Sic sa&aed a star, through thin clouds gabg 222 MATT IIVLAJO. Wliat eye that B.nw her tripping light Along each laurel-shaded alley, Bui must have deemed a form so bright, Seme fairy of the leafy valley. Hark, far within the silent wood, What sounds arc those that softly linger? Bcneatli the stream fair Helen stood, With lips apart and listening finger. They ceased ehc leaves the sunny spot Through brake and covert swiftly hieiug, TJ1 stretched beside his lonely cot She sav the youthful minstrel lying Fly, Ilclcn '. fly that fatal sight 1 Oh, hast thou seen the rose-bud fading. When sudden breathes the eastern blight, Its tender bloom with death invading 5 Or wounded bird that turns to pine, And die in some sequestered bower ? More woe awaits that heart of thine - Than wounded bird or blighted flower. Black flowed his hair as moonless night, His eyes like midnight stars unclouded OC many hues tho vesture bright, Ilis peaceful form that lightly shrouded. And Genius on his youthful face, And o'er his ample forehead stealing, With strong expression's thoughtful grojo, Habitual, noblo thoughts revealing. Deep hid within that tangled screen, The lady eaw him lone reclining, While reason's light was faint within, found fknc/» only roviA her s hiaiM fr MATT HYLAND. 223 Oli, woe ! (hat e'er a lieart so light Should feel the gloom of oarly s-adncdb— - That cankering sorrow e'er should blight The heaMiful glow of blameless gladness '. One o'^ the lesser sprites, who keep Amongst the blest then - radiant station, Saw from the far empyrean steep The subtle tempter's sly temptation. Ana upward sought hi higher ah', Bright hovering o'er the sunny water, That angel whose protecting care Kept watch around the chieftain's daughter. Terrible brightness !" thus it said, u Scc'st thou yon fiend with wings extende-i, Haligu, above that simple maid, Park, lowering in the moonbeam splendid ? Hast thou thy tender charge resigned ; Dost thou no more her safety cherish, That thus, with heedless impulse blind, Thou lcav'st her in the snare to perish ?" Smiling, the essence pure replied, " Peace with thee be, blest one ! — thee only— Who tempt their fate in curious pride, On their own strength presuming lonely ; Or strongly tried, who fail to use With vigorous will their free endeavocr, Shall in the internal conflict lose The banner of their hope for ever.