But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile :-
May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear!

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows!
If it were not with friendship and love intertwined;
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,

When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind.
But they who have loved the fondest, the purest,

Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed;
And the heart that has slumbered in friendship securest
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived.

But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth

Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,-
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth,

And the moonlight of friendship console our decline.

THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH SORROW
I SEE.

THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes,
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes;
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.*

RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE.t
RICH and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;

"In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII., an act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general, of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing Glibbes, or Coulins (long locks), on their heads, or hair on their upper lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was written by one of our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to give the preference to her dear Coulin (or the youth with the flowing locks) to all strangers (by which the English were meant), or those who wore their habits. Of this song, the air alone has reached us, and is universally admired."-Walker's Historical Memoirs of Irish Bards, page Mr. Walker informs us also that, about the same period, there were some harsh measures taken against the Irish minstrels.

134.

This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote :-"The people were inspired with such a spirit of honour, virtue, and religion, by the great example

But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand.

"Lady, dost thou not fear to stray,

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold

As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm:

For, though they love women and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more."

On she went, and her maiden smile

In safety lighted her round the green isle;
And blest for ever is she who relied

Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride.

AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE WATERS MAY GLOW.
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow,
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile,
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring,
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting:

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay,
Like a dead leafless branch in the summer's bright ray;
The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain;
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.*

THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; +
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart

Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

of Brien, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and costly dress, undertook a journey alone from one end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws and government of this monarch made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt was made upon her honour, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels."-Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i.

book 10.

"The Meeting of the Waters" forms a part of that beautiful scenery which lies between Rathdrum and Arklow, in the county of Wicklow, and these lines were suggested by a visit to this romantic spot in the summer of the year 1807. The rivers Avon and Avoca

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no-it was something more exquisite still.

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best,
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY.

ST. SENANUS.*

"OH! haste and leave this sacred isle,
Unholy bark, ere morning smile;
For on thy deck, though dark it be,
A female form I see;

And I have sworn this sainted sod
Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod."

THE LADY.

"O Father! send not hence my bark,
Through wintry winds and billows dark;
I come with humble heart to share

Thy morn and evening prayer:
Nor mine the feet, O holy Saint!
The brightness of thy sod to taint."

The Lady's prayer Senanus spurned;
The winds blew fresh, the bark returned;
But legends hint that had the maid

Till morning's light delayed,
And given the saint one rosy smile,
She ne'er had left his lonely isle.

In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from an old Kilkenny MS., and may be found among the Acta Sanctorum Hiberniæ, we are told of his flight to the island of Scattery, and his resolution not to admit any woman of the party; he refused to receive even a sister saint, St. Cannera, whom an ingel had taken to the island for the express purpose of introducing her to him. The following was the ungracious answer of Senanus, according to his poetical biographer :

Cui præsul, quid fœminis
Commune est cum monachis?
Nec to nec ullam aliam
Admittemus in insulam.

See the Acta Sanct. Hib. p. 610.

According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was no less a personage than the river Shannon; but O'Connor and other antiquarians deny this metamorphose indignantly

HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR. How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, And sunbeams melt along the silent sea, For then sweet dreams of other days arise,

And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays

Along the smooth wave t'ward the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays,

And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest.

TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE.
WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK.

TAKE back the virgin page,

White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill.

Thoughts come as pure as light,

Pure as even you require;
But oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.

Yet let me keep the book;
Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.
Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair;

To let wild passion write

One wrong wish there.

Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home;
Fancy may trace some line

Worthy those eyes to meet,

Thoughts that not burn, but shine,

Pure, calm, and sweet.

And as, o'er ocean far,

Seamen their records keep,

Led by some hidden star

Through the cold deep;

So may the words I write

Tell through what storms I stray

You still the unseen light

Guiding my way.

341

THE LEGACY

WHEN in death I shall calm recline,
Oh bear my heart to my mistress dear!
Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine
Of the brightest hue, while it lingered here.
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow,

To sully a heart so brilliant and light;
But balmy drops of the red grape borrow
To bathe the relic from morn till night.
When the light of my song is o'er,

Then take my harp to your ancient hall;
Hang it up at that friendly door

Where weary travellers love to call.*
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
Revive its soft note in passing along,
Oh let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.
Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing,
To grace your revel when I'm at rest;
Never, oh! never its balm bestowing

On lips that beauty hath seldom blessed.
But when some warm devoted lover

To her he adores shall bathe its brim,
Then, then my spirit around shall hover,
And hallow each drop that foams for him.

HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED.
How oft has the Benshee cried!
How oft has death united

Bright links that Glory wove,
Sweet bonds entwined by Love!

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth ;
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth;
Long may the fair and brave'
Sigh o'er the hero's grave!

We're fallen upon gloomy days! +
Star after star decays,

Every bright name that shed

Light o'er the land is fled.

Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth

Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth:
But brighty flows the tear

Wept o'er a hero's bier.

* In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed the more they excelled in music."-O'Halloran.

I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish character which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity.