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 deed— The 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, 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 prayer Ay! 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,— CHORUS. Hallow'd Earth! with indignation Radiant eye of wide creation, Watch th' accurs'd infanticide! Yet, ere Colchia's rugged daughter Shall mortal hand, with murder gory, 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, 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, Ask not Heaven's commiseration, Perish when thy victims bleed. O'CONNOR'S CHILD; OR, "THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDING.” 1. Он! 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, When, for O'Connor's child to mourn, And yet no wrongs, nor fears she felt: Say, why should dwell in place so wild, II. Sweet lady! she no more inspires Green Erin's hearts with beauty's power, |