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ANTISTROPHE I.

Where silent vales, and glades of green array,

The murmuring wreaths of cool Cephisus lave, There, as the muse hath sung, at noon of day,

The Queen of Beauty bow'd to taste the wave;

And bless'd the stream, and breathed across the land

[bowers; The soft sweet gale that fans yon summer And there the sister Loves, a smiling band, Crown'd with the fragrant wreaths of rosy

flowers!

"And go," she cries, “in yonder valleys rove,

With Beauty's torch the solemn scenes illume; Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love, Breathe on each cheek young Passion's tender

bloom !

Entwine, with myrtle chains, your soft controul,

To sway the hearts of Freedom's darling kind ! With glowing charms enrapture Wisdom's soul,

And mould to grace ethereal Virtue's mind.”

STROPHE II.

The land where Heaven's own hallowed waters play,

[good, Where friendship binds the generous and the Say, shall it hail thee from thy frantic way,

Unholy woman! with thy hands embrued

In thine own children’s gore! Oh! ere they bleed,

Let Nature's voice thy ruthless heart appall! Pause at the bold, irrevocable deedThe mother strikes--the guiltless babes shall

fall!

Think what remorse thy maddening thoughts shall

sting, When dying pangs their gentle bosoms tear! Where shalt thou sink, when lingering echoes ring

The screams of horror in thy tortured ear?

No! let thy bosom melt to Pity's cry,-
In dust we kneel

by sacred Heaven imploreO! stop thy lifted arm, ere yet they die,

Nor dip thy horrid hands in infant gore!

ANTISTROPHE II.

Say, how shalt thou that barbarous soul assume,

Undamp'd by horror at the daring plan? Hast thou a heart to work thy children's doom?

Or hands to finish what thy wrath began?

When o’er each babe you look a last adieu,

And gaze on Innocence that smiles asleep, Shall no fond feeling beat to Nature true, Charm thee to pensive thought-and bid thee

weep?

When the young suppliants clasp their parent

dear, Heave the deep sob, and pour the artless

prayerAy! thou shalt melt ;-and many a heart-shed

tear Gush o'er the harden'd features of despair!

Nature shall throb in every tender string,

Thy trembling heart the ruffian's task deny ;Thy horror-smitten hands afar shall fling

The blade, undrench'd in blood's eternal dye.

CHORUS.

Hallow'd Earth! with indignation

Mark, oh mark, the murderous deed!
Radiant eye of wide creation,

Watch th' accurs’d infanticide!

Yet, ere Colchia's rugged daughter

Perpetrate the dire design,
And consign to kindred slaughter

Children of thy golden line !

Shall mortal hand, with murder gory,

Cause immortal blood to flow?
Sun of Heaven array'd in glory
Rise, forbid, avert the blow!

In the vales of placid gladness

Let no rueful maniac range; Chase afar the fiend of Madness,

Wrest the dagger from Revenge!

Say, hast thou, with kind protection,

Reard thy smiling race in vain; Fostering Nature's fond affection,

Tender cares, and pleasing pain?

Hast thou, on the troubled ocean,

Braved the tempest loud and strong, Where the waves, in wild commotion,

Roar Cyanean rocks among?

Didst thou roam the paths of danger,

Hymenean joys to prove ? Spare, O sanguinary stranger,

Pledges of thy sacred love!

Ask not Heaven's commiseration,

After thou hast done the deed; Mercy, pardon, expiation,

Perish when thy victims bleed.

O'CONNOR'S CHILD;

OR,

THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDING."

I.

Oh! once the harp of Innisfail
Was strung full high to notes of gladness;
But yet it often told a tale
Of more prevailing sadness.
Sad was the note, and wild its fall,
As winds that moan at night forlorn
Along the isles of Fion-Gall,
When, for O'Connor's child to mourn,
The harper told, how lone, how far
From any mansion's twinkling star,
From any path of social men,
Or voice, but from the fox's den,
The lady in the desert dwelt;
And yet no wrongs, nor fears she felt:
Say, why should dwell in place so wild,
O'Connor's pale and lovely child?

II.

Sweet lady! she no more inspires
Green Erin's hearts with beauty's power,

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