AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS.
AND doth not a meeting like this make amends,
For all the long years I've been wand'ring away— To see thus around me my youth's early friends, As smiling and kind as in that happy day? Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, The snow-fall of time may be stealing,-what then? Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.
When soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart,
In gazing on those we've been lost to so long!
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part,
Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng.
As letters some hand hath invisibly trac'd,
When held to the flame will steal out on the sight,
So many a feeling, that long seem'd effac'd,
The warmth of a moment like this brings to light.
And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide,
To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew,
Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide,
The wreck of full many a hope shining through;
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers,
That once made a garden of all the gay shore,
Deceiv'd for a moment, we'll think them still ours,
And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more.
So brief our existence, a glimpse at the most,
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear;
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,
For want of some heart, that could echo it, near.
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone,
To meet in some world of more permanent bliss,
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on,
Is all we enjoy of each other in this.
But come, the more rare such delights to the heart,
The more we should welcome and bless them the more;
They're ours, when we meet, they are lost when we part,
Like birds that bring summer and fly when 'tis o'er.
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink,
Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, thro' pain,
That, fast as a feeling but touches one link,
Her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain.
THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS.
THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way.
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd;
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.
Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd,
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn'd;
She woo'd me to temples, whilst thou lay'st hid in caves,
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas were slaves;
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be,
Than wed what I lov'd not, or turn one thought from thee.
They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail—
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale.
They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains,
That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains—
Oh! foul is the slander-no chain could that soul subdue-
Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too!
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still look'd back
To that dear Isle 'twas leaving.
So loth we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts as on we rove,
To those we've left behind us.
When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming,-—
With smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twined us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us.
And when, in other climes, we meet
Some isle, or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,
If Heav'n had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!
As trav'llers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing,—
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.
By the hope within us springing,
Herald of to-morrow's strife;
By that sun, whose light is bringing
Chains or freedom, death or life-
Oh! remember life can be
No charm for him, who lives not free!
Like the day-star in the wave,
Sinks a hero in his grave,
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. !
Happy is he o'er whose decline
The smiles of home may soothing shine, And light him down the steep of years :But oh, how blest they sink to rest, Who close their eyes on Victory's breast!
O'er his watch-fire's fading embers
Now the foeman's cheek turns white,
When his heart that field remembers,
Where we tam'd his tyrant might.
Never let him bind again
A chain, like that we broke from then.
Hark! the horn of combat calls-
Ere the golden evening falls,
May we pledge that horn in triumph round!
Many a heart that now beats high,
In slumber cold at night shall lie,
Nor waken even at victory's sound:-
But oh, how blest that hero's sleep,
O'er whom a wond'ring world shall weep!
NIGHT clos'd around the conqueror's way,
And lightnings show'd the distant hill,
Where those who lost that dreadful day,
Stood few and faint, but fearless still.
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,
For ever dimm'd, for ever crost-
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,
When all but life and honour's lost?
The last sad hour of freedom's dream,
And valour's task, mov'd slowly by,
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam
Should rise and give them light to die.
There's yet a world, where souls are free,
Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss;-
If death that world's bright opening be,
Oh! who would live a slave in this?
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