I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. And such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave, that we danc'd on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night; Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light. Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON. ALONE in crowds to wander on, And feel that all the charm is gone Shed round us once, where'er we rov'd- Of all who've lov'd, and liv'd to see The few bright things they thought would stay Tho' fairer forms around us throng, Their smiles to others all belong, And want that charm which dwells alone Where, where the sunny brow? The long-known voice-where are they now? Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth, As soon could she bring back again Those eyes themselves from out the grave, ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. ONE bumper at parting-though many Remains to be crown'd by us yet. It dies, do we know half its worth. But come may our life's happy measure. Be all of such moments made up; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die 'midst the tears of the cup. As onward we journey, how pleasant Those few sunny spots, 'ike the present, Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours Ah, never doth Time travel faster, Than when his way lies among flowers. But come,-may our life's happy measure Be all of such moments made up; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die 'midst the tears of the cup. We saw how the sun look'd in sinking, His beam o'er a deep billow's brim- THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALL THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, No more to chiefs and ladies bright The chord alone, that breaks at night, Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, 'TIS GONE, AND FOR EVER. 'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the deadWhen Man, from the slumber of ages awaking, Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray, ere it fled. 'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee. For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting |