But oh her beauty was far beyond Lady! dost thou not fear to stray, So lone and lovely, through this bleak way? As not to be tempted by woman or gold ?” "Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm, No son of Erin will offer me harm: For though they love woman and golden store, On she went, and her maiden smile In safety lighted her round the Green Isle ; And blest for ever is she who relied Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride. I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. SAW thy form in youthful prime, Than in thy smile of death, Mary! As streams that run o'er golden mines, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines Thy radiant genius shone, And that, which charm'd all other eyes, If souls could always dwell above, We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary! TO LADIES' EYES. O Ladies' eyes around, boy, We can't refuse, we can't refuse, Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 'Tis hard to choose, 't is hard to choose. For thick as stars that lighten Yon airy bow'rs, yon airy bow'rs, The countless eyes that brighten This earth of ours, this earth of ours. But fill the cup-where'er, boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! Some looks there are so holy, They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv'n, As shining beacons, solely, To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n. Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, So drink them all! so drink them all! In some, as in a mirror, Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray'd, But shun the flatt'ring error, 'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. Himself has fix'd his dwelling In eyes we know, in eyes we know, And lips but this is telling So here they go! so here they go! Fill up, fill up-where'er, boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! Ενταύθα δε καθωρμισται ἡμῖν. και ό, τι μεν ονομα τῇ νήσῳ, ουκ οιδα χρυση δ' «ν προς γε έμου ονομάζοιτο.-PHILOSTRAT. Icon. 17, lib. ii. STOLE along the flowery bank, "T was noon; and every orange bud A little dove, of milky hue, And-bless the little pilot dove! To guide me to a scene so dear As fate allows but seldom here; One of those rare and brilliant hours, |