But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!
Now too-the joy most like divine
Of all I ever dreamt or knew,

To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,—
Oh, misery! must I lose that too?
Yet go-on peril's brink we meet ;-

Those frightful rocks-that treacherous sea-
No, never come again—though sweet,
Though heaven, it may be death to thee.
Farewell-and blessings on thy way,

Where'er thou go'st, beloved stranger!
Better to sit and watch that ray,
And think thee safe, though far away,

Than have thee near me, and in danger!'

WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE.

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind,

Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resigned?

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree ;

For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;

In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live
The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,

Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,

That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE1.

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,

Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
'Here, at least,' he calmly said,
'Woman ne'er shall find my bed.'
Ah! the good Saint little knew,
What that wily sex can do.

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,

Eyes of most unholy blue!

She had lov'd him well and long,

Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong.

1 This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of St. Kevin whose bed in the rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the county of Wicklow.

Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turn'd,
Still her eyes before him burn'd.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ;
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be:
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.

Fearless she had tracked his feet
To this rocky, wild retreat;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts!
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude, repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock.

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the saint (yet ah! too late,)
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said, 'Heav'n rest her soul!'
Round the Lake light music stole ;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling o'er the fatal tide.

LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.

Lesbia hath a beaming eye,

But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they aim at no one dreameth.

Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon

My Nora's lid that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light, surprises!
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear,
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies

In many eyes,

But Love in yours, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,

But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of beauty's mould

Presumes to stay where nature placed it. Oh! my Nora's gown for me,

That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free

To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear,
My simple, graceful Nora Creina,
Nature's dress

Is loveliness

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia hath a wit refin❜d,

But, when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're design'd

To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
Pillowed on my Nora's heart,

In safer slumber Love reposes-
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses.
Oh! my Nora Creina dear,
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
Wit, tho' bright,

Hath no such light,

As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina.

AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT.

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we lov'd, when life shone warm in thine eye;

And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear!
When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,
I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,
How sweet to rove

Through Morna's grove,

When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!-the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,

And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days,

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,

And I, whose star,

More glorious far,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.

Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear,

The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,

Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.