S RICH and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; 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 woman and golden store, On she went, and her maiden smile In safety lighted her round, the Green Isle; Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride. NEER ask the hour-what is it to us How Time deals out his treasures? The golden moments lent us thus, Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. If counting them o'er could add to their blisses, But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, Then fill the cup-what is it to us The fairy hours we call up thus, Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours, Set up, among his smiling flowers, A dial, by way of warning. But Joy lov'd better to gaze on the sun, As long as its light was glowing, Than to watch with old Care how the shadows stole on, And how fast that light was going. So fill the cup-what is it to us. NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. No, not more welcome the fairy numbers This heart long had sleeping lain, Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shellEach secret winding, each inmost feeling Of all my soul echoed to its spell. 'Twas whisper'd balm-'twas sunshine spoken!I'd live years of grief and pain To have my long sleep of sorrow broken At Beauty's door of glass, The girl, who gave to song |