It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note, that died here,
Was again brought to life in some airier sphere,
Some heav'n in those hills, where the soul of the strain
That had ceas'd upon earth was awaking again!

Oh forgive, if, while list'ning to music, whose breath
Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against death,
He should feel a proud Spirit within him proclaim,
Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame:

"Even so, tho' thy mem'ry should now die away, ""Twill be caught up again in some happier day, "And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong,

"Through the answering Future, thy name and thy song."

AVENGING and bright fall the swift sword of Erin
On him who the brave sons of Usna betray'd!—

For every fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in,

A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade.

By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling, When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in goreBy the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore

We swear to revenge them-no joy shall be tasted,
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed,

Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted,
Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head.

Yes, monarch! tho' sweet are our home recollections, Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections, Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all!

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour,
At twilight so often we've roam'd through the dew,
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you.
But tho' they were even more bright than the queen
Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea,
As I never those fair young celestials have seen,
Why this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation,
Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare,
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,
Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we could spare.
Oh! think what a world we should have of it here,
If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee,

Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere,

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and ine.

COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.

COME, send round the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools;

This moment's a flower too fair and brief,

To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue,

But, while they are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool, who would quarrel for diff'rence of hue, Deserves not the comfort then shed o'er the soul.

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side
In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?
Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried,
If he kneel not before the same altar with me?
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly,
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss?
No: perish the hearts, and the laws that try

Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.3

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,

Where the cliff hangs high and steep
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do.

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,-
Eyes of most unholy blue!

She had lov'd him well and long,
Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong.
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turn'd,
Still her eyes before him burn'd.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last;
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.

But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be:

Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.

Fearless she had track'd his feet

To this rocky, wild retreat;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts!
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude repulsive shock,

Hurls her from the beetling rock.

1

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the Saint (yet ah! too late)

Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said, "Heaven rest her soul!"
Round the Lake light music stole;
And her ghost was seen to glide,

Smiling o'er the fatal tide.

OH! think not my spirits are always as light,

And as free from a pang as they seem to you now;
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
No:-life is a waste of wearisome hours,

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.
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 lov'd the fondest, the purest,

Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest, Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd.

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.

SHE SUNG OF LOVE.

SHE sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,
As if to feed, with their soft fire,

The soul within that trembling shell.
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek,
And play'd around those lips that sung
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak,
If Love could lend their leaves a tongue.

But soon the West no longer burn'd,

Each rosy ray from heav'n withdrew; And, when to gaze again I turn'd,

The minstrel's form seem'd fading too. As if her light and heav'n's were one, The glory all had left that frame; And from her glimmering lips the tone, As from a parting spirit, came.

Who ever lov'd, but had the thought
That he and all he lov'd must part?
Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught
The fading image to my heart-

And cried, "Oh Love! is this thy doom?

Oh light of youth's resplendent day! "Must ye then lose your golden bloom,

And thus, like sunshine, die away?