246

All gone
and the bright hope we cherish'd
Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!
Oh! could we from death but recover

Those hearts as they bounded before,
In the face of high heav'n to fight over
That combat for freedom once more;
Could the chain for an instant be riven,
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
Oh! 'tis not in Man nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!

But 'tis past - and, tho' blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,

Accurst is the march of that glory,

Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.

Far dearer the grave or the prison,

Illum'd by one patriot name,

Than the trophies of all, who have risen

On Liberty's ruins to fame!

THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE.

THEY may rail at this life

- from the hour I began it,

I found it a life full of kindness and bliss;

And, until they can shew me some happier planet,
More social and bright, I'll content me with this.
As long as the world has such eloquent eyes,

see,

As before me this moment enraptur'd I
They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.
In Mercury's star, where each minute can bring them
New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high,
Tho' the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing them,*
They've none, even there, more enamoured than Í.
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love,

And that eye its divine inspiration shall be,
They may talk as they will of their Edens above,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.
Tous les habitans de Mercure sont vifs.

Pluralité des Mondes.

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour,
At twilight so often we've roam'd through the dew,
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you.'
But, tho' they were even more bright than the queen
Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea,
As I never those fair young celestials have seen,
Why,

- this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.
As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation,
Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare,
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,
Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we could spare.
Oh! think what a world we should have of it here,

If the haters of peace, of affection and glee,

Were to fly up to SATURN's comfortless spehre,

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love and me.

OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME!

Он for the swords of former time!

Oh for the men who bore them,

When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime,

And tyrants crouch'd before them!

When pure yet, ere courts began

With honours to enslave him,

The best honours worn by Man
Were those which Virtue gave him.
Oh for the swords of former time!
Oh for the men who bore them,
When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them.

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then!

Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men,
Were all the ramparts round them.
When, safe built on bosoms true,
The throne was but the centre,
Round which Love a circle drew,
That Treason durst not enter.
Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then,
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men,
Were all the ramparts round them!

VIIIth No.

NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.

NE'ER ask the hour what is it to us
How Time deals out his treasures?

The golden moments, lent us thus,
Are not his coin, but Pleasure's.

If counting them over could add to their blisses,
I'd number each glorious second:

But moments of joy are, like LISBIA's kisses,

Too quick and sweet to be reckon❜d.

Then fill the cup what is it to us
How Time his circle measures?

The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's!

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,

Till Care, one summer's morning,

La Terre pourra être pour Vénus l'étoile du berger et la mere des amours, comme Vénus l'est pour nous. — Pluralité des Mondes.

248

Set up, among his smiling flowers,

A dial, by way of warning.

But Joy lov'd better to gaze on the sun,

As long as its light was glowing,

Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on,
And how fast that light was going.

So fill the cup

---

what is it to us
How Time his circle measures?
The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's.

1

YES, sad one of SION if closely resembling,
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart
If drinking deep, deep, of the shame "cup of trembling"
Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.
Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken,
And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown;
In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken,
And "while it is day yet, her sun had gone down." 2
Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning,

773

Die far from the home it were life to behold;
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning,
Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old!
Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken,'
Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves;
And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken,
Have breathings as sad as the wind over graves!
Yet hadst thou thy vengeance yet came there the morrow,
That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night,
When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and sorrow,
Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight.

-

When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City 4
Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips,
And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity,
The howl in her halls and the cry from her ships.
When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over
Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust,
And a ruin, at last, for the earth-worm to cover,
The Lady of Kingdoms lay low in the dust.

5

1 These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews.

2 "Her sun is gone down while it was yet day." Jer., xv. 9.

3"Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken." "Isaiah, Ixii. 4.

"How hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased." Isaiah, xiv. 4.

5 "Thy pomp is brought down to the grave...... and the worms cover thee." Isaiah, xiv. 11.

6 "Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms. Isa., xlvii. 5.

1

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

DRINK of this cup - you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for HELEN,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in,

Only taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it; But would you rise above earth, till akin

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it. Send round the cup for oh there's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality Talk of the cordial that sparkled for HELEN,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Never was philter form'd with such power

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing; Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,

As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing.
There, having, by nature's enchantment, been fill'd
With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd,

To enliven such hearts as are here brought together!
Then drink of the cup - you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for HELEN,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps but breathe it to no one
Like caldrons the witch brews at midnight so awful,
In secret this philter was first taught to flow on,
Yet 'tis not less potent for being unlawful.
What though it may taste of the smoke of that flame,
Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden
Fill up
there's a fire in some hearts I could name,
Which may work too its charm, though now lawless and hidden.
So drink of the cup for oh there's a spell in

--

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality Talk of the cordial that sparkled for HELEN, Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 'twas told, by the new moon's light,
To young maiden, shining as newly.

But, for the world, let no one be nigh,
Lest haply the stars should deceive me;
These secrets between you and me and the sky
Should never go farther, believe me.

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim,
My science shall call up before you
A male apparition the image of him,
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you.

Then to the phantom be thou but kind,
And round you so fondly he'll hover,
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find
"Twixt him and a true living lover.

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight,
He'll kneel, with a warmth of emotion
An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite,
You'd scarcely believe had a notion.
What other thoughts and events may arise,
As in destiny's book I've not seen them,
Must only be left to the stars and your eyes
To settle, ere morning, between them.

OH, YE DEAD!

ye Dead! oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live, Why leave you thus your graves,

In far off fields and waves,

Where the worm and the sea-bird only know your bed;
To haunt this spot, where all
Those eyes that wept your fall,

And the hearts that bewail'd you, like your own, lie dead?

It is true

it is true - we are shadows cold and wan; It is true it is true - all the friends we lov'd are gone;

But, oh! thus e'n in death,

So sweet is still the breath

Of the fields and the flow'rs in our youth we wander'd o'er,
That ere, condemn'd, we go

To freeze 'mid HECLA's snow,

We would taste it awhile, and dream we live once more!

O'DONOHUE'S MISTRESS. 2

Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,

Sweet May, sweet May, shine thou for me;
For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
Sweet May, sweet May, returns to me.

Of all the smooth lakes, where day-light leaves
His lingering smile on golden eves,

Fair Lake, fair Lake, thou'rt dear to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim,

Thy Naïads prepare his steed for him

Who dwells, who dwells, bright Lake, in thee.

Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore

Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,

White Steed, white Steed, most joy to thee;
Who still, with the first young glance of spring,
From under that glorious lake dost bring,

Proud Steed, proud Steed, my love to me.
While, white as the sail some bark unfurls,
When newly launch'd, thy long mane curls,

Fair Steed, fair Steed, as white and free;
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers,
Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers,

Fair Steed, around my love and thee.
Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die,
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie,

Most sweet, most sweet, that death will be,
Which, under the next May evening's light,
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight,
Dear love, dear love, I'll die for thee.

ECHO.

How sweet the answer Echo makes

To Music at night,

1 Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to their homes, they say, they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately.

2 The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Donohue and his White Horse, may be found in Mr. Weld's Account of Killarney, or, more fully detailed, in Derrick's Letters. For many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is supposed to have been seen on the morning of May-day, gliding over the lake on his favourite white horse, to the sound of sweet, unearthly music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring-flowers in his path.

Among other stories, connected with this Legend of the Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beautiful girl, whose imagination was so impressed with the idea of this visionary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love with him, and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a Maymorning, threw herself into the Lake.

3 The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which come on a windy day, crested with foam, "O'Donohue's white horses."