« VorigeDoorgaan »
The ge may be broke.
But nothing can cloud its native ray;
Each fragment will cast
A light to the last,
And thus, Erin, my country! though broken thou
There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will
A spirit, that beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's day!
WEEP ON, WEEP ON.
AIR-The Song of Sorrow.
WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past;
In vain the hero's heart hath bled;
The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
Weep on-perhaps in after days
And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,
Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wondering ask how hands so vile Could conquer hearts so brave?
« 'Twas fate, » they'll say, « a wayward fate Your web of discord wove;
And while your tyrants join'd in hate.
But hearts fell off, that ought to twine,
And man profaned what God had given, Till some were heard to curse the shrine, Where others knelt to heaven !»>
LESEIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.
LESBIA hath a beaming eye,
But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth!
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one Like unexpected light surprises! Oh, my Nora Creina, dear! My gentle bashful Nora Creina! Beauty lies
In many eyes,
But love in yours, my Nora Creina!
Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
But all so close the nymph hath laced it
That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
To sink or swell, as heaven pleases"
The dress you wear, mv Nora Creina!
Lesbia hath a wit refined,
Put, when its points are gleaming round us,
Who can tell if they're design'd
Bed of peace! whose roughest par
Hath not the light
That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina !
I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME.
I SAW thy form in youthful prime,
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom away, MARY! Yet still thy features wore that light Which fleets not with the breath; And life look'd ne'er more purely bright Than in thy smile of death, MARY!
As streams that run o'er golden miņes,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Thy radiant genius shone,.
If souls could always dwell above,
To live with them is far less sweet
I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite inscription of SHENSTONE's-«Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!