HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED. HAS sorrow thy young days shaded, Has love to that soul, so tender, Allur'd by the gleam that shone, Has Hope, like the bird in the story, If thus the young hours have fleeted, SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Ah! little they think who delight in her strains, He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED. How oft has the Eenshee cried, How oft has death untied Bright links that Glory wove, Sweet bonds entwin'd by Love! Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Long may the fair and brave Sigh o'er the hero's grave. We're fall'n upon gloomy days! Every bright name, that shed Light o'er the land, is fled. Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth Quenched are our beacon lights- Tell how they lived and died. I'D MOURN THE HOPES. I'D mourn the hopes that leave me, With heart so warm and eyes so bright, No clouds can linger o'er me, That smile turns them all to light. "Tis not in fate to harm me, While fate leaves thy love to me; 'Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shar'd with thee. Of waking bliss without thee, My own love, my only dear! 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 lamp 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 Is the pride of thus dying for thee. ERIN, OH ERIN. LIKE the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy fane, 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, 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. 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, I scorn'd the lore she brought me, Were woman's looks, And folly's all they've taught me. |