FILL THE BUMPER FAIR.

FILL the bumper fair!

Every drop we sprinkle

O'er the brow of Care

Smooths away a wrinkle.
Wit's electric flame

Ne'er so swiftly passes,
As when thro' the frame

It shoots from brimming glasses.
Fill the bumper fair!

Every drop we sprinkle

O'er the brow of Care

Smooths away a wrinkle.

Sages can, they say,

Grasp the lightning's pinions,

And bring down its ray

From the starr'd dominions:

So we, Sages, sit,

And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning,

From the Heav'n of Wit

Draw down all its lightning!

Wouldst thou know what first
Made our souls inherit
This ennobling thirst

For wine's celestial spirit?
It chanc'd upon that day,
When, as bards inform us,
PROMETHEUS stole away

The living fires that warm us.
The careless Youth, when up
To Glory's fount aspiring,
Took nor urn nor cup,

To hide the pilfer'd fire in;
But oh his joy! when, round
The halls of Heaven spying,
Amongst the stars he found

A bowl of BACCHUS lying.
Some drops were in that bowl,

Remains of last night's pleasure
With which the Sparks of Soul
Mix'd their burning treasure

Hence the goblet's shower

Hath such spells to win us

Hence its mighty power

O'er that Flame within us.

Fill the bumper fair!

Every drop we sprinkle

O'er the brow of Care

Smooths away a wrinkle.

DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY.

DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That e'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.

In that rebellious but beautiful Song, "When Erin first rose," there is, if I recollect right, the following line:

"The dark chain of Silence was thrown o'er the deep!"

The Chain of Silence was a sort of practical figure of rhetoric among the ancient Irish. Walker tells us of "a celebrated contention for precedence between Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities, shook the chain of Silence, and flung themselves among the ranks." See also the Ode to Gaul, the Son of Morni, in MISS BROOKE's Reliques of Irish Poetry.

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Dear Harp of my Country, farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine!
Go, sleep, with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,

Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own.

VIIth No.

MY GENTLE HARP

My gentle Harp! once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumbering strain;
In tears our last farewell was taken,
And now in tears we meet again.

No light of joy hath o'er thee broken,

-

But like those Harps, whose heav'nly skill
Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken

Thou hang'st upon the willows still.

And yet, since last thy chord resounded,
An hour of peace and triumph came,

And many an ardent bosom bounded

With hopes that now are turn'd to shame.
Yet even then, while Peace was singing
Her halcyon song o'er land and sea,
Tho' joy and hope to others bringing,
She only brought new tears to thee.

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure,
My drooping Harp, from chords like thine?
Alas, the lark's gay morning measure

As ill would suit the swan's decline!
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee,
Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains,
When e'n the wreaths in which I dress thee,
half flow'rd - half chains!
Are sadly mix'd ·

if yet thy frame can borrow
One breath of joy oh, breathe for me,
And shew the world, in chains and sorrow,
How sweet thy music still can be;
How gaily e'n 'mid gloom surrounding,
Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill
Like MEMNON's broken image, sounding,
'Mid desolation tuneful still!*

AS SLOW OUR SHIP.

As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still look'd back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loath we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,
To those we've left behind us!

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk with joyous seeming,

With smiles, that might as well be tears
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again

* Dimidio magicae resonant ubi Memnone chordae,
Atque vetus Thebe centum jacet obruta portis."

JUVENAL.

Each early tie that twin'd us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we've left behind us!

And when, in other climes, we meet
Some isle, or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flow'ry, wild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss
If Heav'n had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us!
As trav❜llers oft look back, at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing,
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.

In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin,
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own,
And the light that surrounds us is all from within;
Oh it is not, believe me, in that happy time

We can love, as in hours of less transport we may; Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime, But affection is warmest when these fade away.

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,

Like a leaf on the stream that will never return; When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high, First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn; Then, then is the moment affection can sway

With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew;
Love, nurs'd among pleasures, is faithless as they,
But the Love, born of Sorrow, like Sorrow is true.
In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flow'rs shed about;
"Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies,
That call the full spirit of fragrancy out.

So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,
But 'tis only in grief true affection appears;

And e'n tho' to smiles it may first owe its birth,
All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears!

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

WHEN cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast lov'd,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be remov'd,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
And oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far

From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam,
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star
That arose on his darkness, and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings, that taught him true Love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Thou cam'st, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; And, if happiness purely and glowingly smil'd

On his ev❜ning horizon, the light was from thee.

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And tho', sometimes, the shade of past folly would rise,
And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray,
He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish'd away.
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim,
At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair,
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there.

REMEMBER THEE!

REMEMBER thee! yes, while there's life in this heart,
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.
Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow,
But, oh! could I love thee more deeply than now?
No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs,
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest,
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast!
WREATH THE BOWL.

WREATH the bowl

With flowers of soul,

The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heav'n to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us!
Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid

That Joy, th' enchanter brings us,
No danger fear,

While wine is near,

We'll drown him if he stings us.

Then, wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul,

The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heav'n to-night,

And leave dull earth behind us!
"Twas nectar fed

Of old, 'tis said,

Their Junos, Joves, Apollos;

And man may brew

His nectar too,

The rich receipt's as follows:

Take wine like this,

Let looks of bliss

Around it well be blended,
Then bring Wit's beam
To warm the stream,

And there's your nectar, splendid!
So, wreath the bowl

With flowers of soul,

The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heav'n to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us!
Say, why did Time
His glass sublime

Fill up with sands unsightly,

When wine, he knew,
Runs brisker through

And sparkles far more brightly.

Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus,

IF THOU'LT BE MINE.

If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth, and sea shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,

Or in Hope's sweet music is most sweet,

Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love!
Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
A voice divine shall talk in each stream,
The stars shall look like worlds of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream
In our eyes - if thou wilt be mine, love!

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,
Like streams, that come from heaven-ward hills,
Shall keep our hearts like meads, that lie
To be bath'd by those eternal rills

Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

All this and more the Spirit of Love

Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells!
That heaven which forms his home above,
He can make on earth, wherever he dwells,
And he will, if thou wilt be mine, love!

TO LADIES' EYES.

To Ladies' eyes a round, boy,

We can't refuse, we can't refuse,

Tho' bright eyes so abound, boy,

"Tis hard to choose, 'tis 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