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And there hung the lute, that could soften

My very worst pains into bliss,
While the hand, that had waked it so often,

Now throbb'd to my proud rival's kiss!

There was a time, falsest of women!

When Breffni's good sword would have sought That man through a million of foemen,

Who dared but to doubt thee in thought! While now-oh! degenerate daughter

Of Erin! how fall'n is thy fame! And, through ages of bondage and slaughter,'

Thy country shall bleed for thy shame.

Already, the curse is upon her,

And strangers her vallies profane; They come to divide-to dishonour

And tyrants they long will remain! But, onward!--the green banner rearing,

Go, flesh ev'ry brand to the hilt; On'our side is VIRTUE and ERIN,

On theirs is the Saxon and GUILT.

Th

OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF

OUR OWN.

TI W

AIR-Sheela na Guira.

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Ou! had we some bright little isle of our own,
In a blue summer ocean far off and alone;
Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming

bowers,
And the bee banquets on through a whole year

of flowers.
Where the sun loves to pause

With so fond a delay,
That the night only draws

A thin veil o'er the day;
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we

live,
Is worth the best joys that life elsewhere can

give!

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the

clime, We should love, as they loved, in the first golden

time; The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer

there!
With affection as free

From decline as the bowers;
And with Hope, like the bee,

Living always on flowers;
Our life should resemble a long day of light,
And our death come on holy and calm as the

night!

FAREWELL!--BUT, WHENEVER YOU WELCOME

THE HOUR.

AIRMoll Roone.

FAREWELL!but, whenever you welcome the

houri That awakens the night-song of mirth in your

bower, Then think of the friend, who once welcomed

it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return—not a hope may remain Of the few that have brighten'd his path-way

painBut he ne'er will forget the short vision, that

threw Its enchantment around him, while ling’ring with

you.

of

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills

up To the highest top sparkle. each heart and each

сир, , Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that

night; Shall join in your revels, your sports and your

wiles, And return to me, beaming all o'er with your

smiles! Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay

cheer, Some kind voice had murmur'd, “I wish he

were here!”

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which he cannot de

stroy, Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and

care, And bring back the features that joy used to

wear.

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