But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing! And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies, caressing

The young hope of Freedom, baptiz'd it in blood. Then vanish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee.

QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.

QUICK! We have but a second,

Fill round the cup, while you may;
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,
And we must away, away!
Grasp the pleasure that's flying,
For oh, not Orpheus' strain
Could keep sweet hours from dying,
Or charm them to life again.

Then, quick! we have but a second,

Fill round the cup, while you may;
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,
And we must away, away!

Like some young Hebe's lip,

And half meets thine, and blushes
That thou shouldst delay to sip.
Shame, oh shame unto thee,

If ever thou see'st that day,
When a cup or lip shall woo thee,

And turn untouch'd away!

Then quick! we have but a second,
Fill round, fill round, while you may,

For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd,
And we must away, away!

TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE.

WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK.

TAKE back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill.

Thoughts come as pure as light,
Pure as even you require:
But, oh each work I write
Love turns to fire.

Yet let me keep the book.
Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.
Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair
To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there.

Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Tow'rds you and home;
Fancy may trace some line,

Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,
Pure, calm, and sweet.

And as, o'er ocean far,

Seamen their records keep,

Led by some hidden star
Through the cold deep;

So may the words I write

Tel thro' what storms I stray—

You still the unseen light,

Guiding my way.

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea;
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays

Along the smooth wave tow'rd the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays,

And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest

FAIREST, PUT ON AWHILE.

FAIREST! put on awhile

These pinions of light I bring thee, And o'er thy own Green Isle

In fancy let me wing thee. Never did Ariel's plume,

At golden sunset, hover O'er scenes so full of bloom, As I shall waft thee over.

Fields, where the Spring delays,
And fearlessly meets the ardour

Of the warm Summer's gaze,

With only her tears to guard her. Rocks, through myrtle boughs

In grace majestic frowning;

Like some bold warrior's brows

That Love hath just been crowning.

Islets, so freshly fair,

That never hath bird come nigh them,

But from his course through air

He hath been won down by them;

Types, sweet maid, of thee,

Whose look, whose blush inviting,

Never did Love yet see

From Heav'n, without alighting.

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,

And caves where the gem is sleeping,

Bright as the tears thy lid

Lets fall in lonely weeping.

Glens, where Ocean comes,

To 'scape the wild wind's rancour,

And Harbours, worthiest homes

Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.

Then, if, while scenes so grand,
So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land

Should haply be stealing o'er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,

O'er pride itself victorious--
Thinking how man hath curst

What Heaven had made so glorious.

THE PRINCE'S DAY.

THO' dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them,
And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers:
There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them,
More form'd to be grateful and blest than ours.

But just when the chain

Has ceas'd to pain,

And hope has enwreath'd it round with flowers,
There comes a new link

Our spirits to sink

Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles,
Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay;

But, though 'twere the last little spark in our souls,
We must light it up now, on our Prince's Day.

Contempt on the minion, who calls you disloyal!
Tho' fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true;
And the tribute most high to a head that is royal,
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too.

While cowards, who blight

Your fame, your right,

Would shrink from the blaze of the battle-array,

The Standard of Green

In front would be seen,

Oh, my life on your faith were you summon'd this minute,

You'd cast every bitter remembrance away,

And show what the arm of old Erin has in it,

When rous'd by the foe, on her Prince's Day.