The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burned; And blessed even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee. Thy rival was honoured, whilst thou wert wronged and scorned, They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail- ON MUSIC. WHEN through life unblest we rove, In days of boyhood, meet our ear, In faded eyes that long have wept. Like the gale that sighs along Beds of oriental flowers Is the grateful breath of song That once was heard in happier hours; Though the flowers have sunk in death Music! oh, how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell ! ; When thou canst breathe her soul so well Love's are even more false than they; Oh! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray! "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty"-St Paul, 2 Corin thians, 17. Ꮓ IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED." When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, 'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, Where buried saints are lying, So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 'TIS believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee. And who often, at eve, through the bright waters roved, Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay To speak love when I'm near thee, and grief when away! LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. OH! the days are gone when Beauty bright When my dream of life from morn till night Was love, still love. New hope may bloom, And days may come Of milder, calmer beam.. These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near and dear relative. who died lately at Madeira. But there's nothing half so sweet in life No, there's nothing half so sweet in life Though the bard to purer fame may soar, Though he win the wise, who frowned before, He'll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And, at every close, she blushed to hear No-that hallowed form is ne'er forgot Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot. 'Twas odour fled As soon as shed; 'Twas morning's wingèd dream; 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again THE PRINCE'S DAY.* THOUGH dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, But just when the chain Has ceased to pain, And hope has enwreathed it round with flowers, Our spirits to sink. Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles. Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal! Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true; While cowards who blight Your fame, your right, This song was written for a fête in honour of the Prince of Wales's birthday, given by my friend Maior Bryan, at his seat in the county of Killkenny. Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, The standard of Green In front would be seen Oh! my life on your faith! were you summoned this minute, He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded In hearts which have suffered too much to forget: And hope shall be crowned, and attachment rewarded, And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet. The gem may be broke By many a stroke, But nothing can cloud its native ray, A light to the last, And thus Erin, my country, though broken thou art, WEEP ON, WEEP ON. WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past; The fatal chain is round you cast, And you are men no more. In vain the hero's heart hath bled; The sage's tongue hath warned in vain ; O Freedom! once thy flame hath fled, Weep on perhaps in after days, They'll learn to love your name; When many a deed may wake in praise And when they tread the ruined aisle Where rest at length the lord and slave, "'Twas fate," they'll say, "a wayward fate, And, while your tyrants joined in hate, But hearts fell off that ought to twine, And man profaned what God had given, LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth. My Nora's lid that seldom rises; In many eyes, But love in yours, my Nora Creina! Lesbia wears a robe of gold; But all so close the nymph hath laced it Not a charm of beauty's mould Presumes to stay where Nature placed it. Oh my Nora's gown for me, That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. My simple, graceful Nora Creina, Is loveliness The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. Lesbia hath a wit refined; But when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're designed To dazzle merely, or to wound us? In safer slumber Love reposes- Hath no such light As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. I SAW thy form in youthful prime, Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of Time, |