And though the hope be gone, love, Along the path I've yet to roam- And pure smiles from thee at home. Thus when the amp that lighted He feels awhile benighted, And looks round in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, As that light which Heaven sheds. WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE. WHEN he who adores thee, has left but the name Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, I have been but too faithful to thee. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love; Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give ERIN, OH ERIN. LIKE the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy fane, Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears. The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind, The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour, Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind, And daylight and liberty bless the young flower. Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past, And the hope that liv'd thro' it shall blossom at last. THE time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light, that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. Though Wisdom oft has sought me, Were woman's looks, And folly's all they've taught me. 1 SING, SWEET HARP. SING, Sweet Harp, oh sing to me Long buried dreams shall raise ;- Whose light once round us shone; Both lost to all but memory, How mournfully the midnight air Of Chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd, In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air Among thy chords doth sigh; In vain it seeks an echo there Couldst thou but call those spirits round, Sat listening to thy magic sound, Now mute and mould'ring all ;— But, no; they would but wake to weep Their children's slavery; Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, The dead, at least, are free ! Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone, Or, listening to its death-like moan, : LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD. LET Erin remember the days of old, Which he won from her proud invader, When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd, On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, He sees the round towers of other days Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, "TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS. "TWAS one of those dreams, that by music are brought, Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thought— When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those He listen'd-while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest, گ |