Like fairy-gifts fading away Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets. The same look which she turn'd when he rose ! ERIN! OH ERIN! AIR-Thamama Halla. LIKE the bright lamp that lay on Kildare's holy shrine, i The unextinguishable fire of St. Bridget at Kildare, which Giraldus mentions « Apud Kildariam occurrit IRISH MELODIES. And burn'd through long ages of darkness and storm, Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain, Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm! Erin! oh Erin! thus bright, through the tears Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears! The nations have fallen, and thou still art young; hung, The full moon of Freedom shall beam round thee yet. Erin! oh Erin! though long in the shade, Thy star will shine out, when the proudest shall fade! Unchill'd by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, The lily lies sleeping through winter's cold hour, Till the hand of Spring her dark chain unbind, Ignis sanctæ Brigidæ, quem inextinguibilem vocant; non quod extingui non possit, sed quod tam sollicite moniales it sanctæ mulieres ignem, suppetente materiâ, fovent et nutriunt ut à tempore virginis per tot annorum currisula semper inextinctus.>> Girald. Camb. de Mirabil. Hiben. Dist. 2, c. 34. And daylight and liberty bless the young flower1. Erin! oh Erin! thy winter is past, And the hope, that lived through it, shall blossom . at last! DRINK! TO HER. AIR-Heigh ho! my Jackey. DRINK to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh- It yields not half the tone. Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lily, has applied this image to a still more important subject. IRISH MELODIES. At Beauty's door of glass, When Wealth and Wit once stood, They ask'd her "Which might pass She answer'd," He who could." With golden key Wealth thought Το pass-but'twould not do ; While Wit, a diamond brought Which cut his bright way through! Then here's to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh The girl, who gave to Song What gold could never buy! The love, that seeks a home Where wealth or grandeur shines, Is like the gloomy gnome, That dwells in dark gold mines : But, oh! the poet's love Can boast a brighter sphere; Its native home's above, Though woman keeps it here! Then drink to her who long Hath waked the poet's sighThe girl, who gave to Song What gold could never buy! OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD 1. AIR-Kyuy-Tyrrel. OH! blame not the bard if he fly to the bowers Where Pleasure lies carelessly smiling at Fame; He was born for much more, and, in happier hours, His soul might have burn'd with a holier flame. The string that now languishes loose o'er the lyre, Might have bent a proud bow 2 to the warrior's dart; And the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire, We may suppose this apology to have been uttered' by one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser so scverely, and perhaps truly,describes in his State of Ireland, and whose poems, he tells us, «were sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness' and vice, which, with good usage, would serve to adorn, and beautify virtue.»> a It is conjectured by Wormius that the name of Ircland, is derived from Fr, the Runie for a bow, in the |