Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er Fearless she had tracked his feet Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts! AVENGING AND BRIGHT. AVENGING and bright fall the swift sword of Erin On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed!For every fond eye he hath wakened a tear in, A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade. By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,† When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in goreBy the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, Have wafted these heroes to victory's shoreWe swear to revenge them!-no joy shall be tasted, The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted, Till vengeance is wreaked on the murderer's head. Yes, monarch! though sweet are our home recollections, Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections, Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! THE MINSTREL BOY. THE Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, And his wild harp slung behind him.- And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thy songs were made for the pure and free, The words of this song were suggested by the very ancient Irish story called "Deirdri, or the Lamentable Fate of the sons of Usnach," which has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by Mr O'Flanagan (see vol. i. of "Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Dublin"), and upon which it appears that the Darthula of Macpherson" is founded. The treachery of Conor, king of Ulster, in putting to death the three sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against Ulster, which terminated in the destruction of Eman. "This story," says Mr. O'Flanagan, "has been, from time immemorial, held in high repute as one of the three tragic stories of the Irish. These are. The death of the children of Touran ;' 'The death of the children of Lear' (both regarding Tuatha de Damans); and this, 'The death of the children of Usnach,' which is a Milesian story." It will be recollected. that, in the second number of these Melodies, there is a ballad upon the story of the children of Lear or Lir: "Silent, oh Moyle!" &c. Whatever may he thought of those sanguine claims to antiquity which Mr. O'Flanagan and others advance for the literature of Ireland, it would be a lasting reproach upon our nationality if the Gaelic researches of this gentleman did not meet with all the liberal encouragement they so well merit. +"Oh Nasi! view that cloud that I here see in the sky! I see over Eman-green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red."-Deirdri's Song + Ulster. ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. ONE bumber at parting!-though many Have circled the board since we met, The fullest, the saddest of any, Remains to be crowned by us yet. It dies, do we know half its worth. They die 'midst the tears of the cup. As onward we journey, how pleasant But Time, like a pitiless master, Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay houra Ah, never doth Time travel faster, Than when his way lies among flowers But come-may our life's happy measure Be all of such moments made up: They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die 'midst the tears of the cup. We saw how the sun looked in sinking, The waters beneath him how bright; His beam o'er a deep billow's brim- In full liquid glory, like him. Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing FAREWELL!-BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. FAREWELL!-but whenever you welcome the hour, Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain, HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED. HAS Sorrow thy young days shaded, As clouds o'er the morning fleet? Been like our Lagenian mine," Allured by the gleam that shone, The gem did she still display, If thus the young hours have fleeted, NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. He thinks the full choir of heaven is near-- Our Wick.ow Gold Mines, to which this verse allndes, deserves, fear but too well the character here given of them. "The bird, having got its prize, settled not far of, with the talisman in his mouth The prince drew near it, hoping it would drop t; but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again," etc - Arabian Nights. Of summer wind through some wreathed shell— Each secret winding, each inmost feeling Of all my soul echoed to its spell. To have my long sleep of sorrow broken OH! DOUBT ME NOT. Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. Is o'er, when Folly made me rove, And now the vestal, Reason, Shall watch the fire awaked by Love And though my lute no longer May sing of Passion's ardent spell, I feel the bliss I do not tell. Is o'er, when Folly kept me free, Shall guard the flame awaked by thee. YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.⚫ You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, They see a proud castle among the trees. "To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there; The wind blows cold, the hour is late?" So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, And the porter bowed, as they passed the gate. "Now, welcome, Lady!" exclaimed the youth"This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!" She believed him crazed, but his words were truth, For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall! And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves What William, the stranger, wooed and wed, And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. WHEN FIRST I MET THEE. I saw thee change, yet still relied, The heart, whose hopes could make it Deserves that thou shouldst break it. This ballad was suggested by a well-known and interesting story told of a certain noble family n England. When every tongue thy follies named, I fled the unwelcome story; Or found, in even the faults they blamed, I still was true, when nearer friends Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken The grief of hearts forsaken. Even now, though youth its bloom has shed, The few, who loved thee once, have fled, No genial ties enwreath it; The smiling there, like light on graves, Go-go-though worlds were thine, For all thy guilty splendor! And days may come, thou false one! yet, On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 'Tis weakness to upbraid thee; Than guilt and shame have made thee. Has been my heart's undoing. Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the lore she brought me, Were woman's looks, Was turned away, O! winds could not outrun me. And are those follies going? For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No, vain, alas! th' endeavor Is now as weak as ever. I SAW FROM THE BEACH. I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining, I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, And such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night;— Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light. Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, When passion first waked a new life through his frame, And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in burning, Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame! *This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which is to be met with, they say, in the fields at dusk. As long as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed, and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing some inducement), he vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite which we call the Leprechaun, but a high authority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan (in a note upon her national and interesting novel, "O'Donnel'), has given a very duferout account of that goblin. WHERE IS THE SLAVE? OH, where's the slave so lowly, Condemned to chains unholy, Who, could he burst His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly? To the throne of Him who made it ? Farewell, Erin-farewell, all, Less dear the laurel growing, Aud the foe we hate before us. Farewell, Erin-farewell, all, 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 frame Ne'er so swiftly passes, As when through the frame It shoots from brimming glasse? 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 starred dominions : So we, Sages, sit, And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, From the Heaven of Wit Draw down all its lightning. For wine's celestial spirit? The living fires that warm us : The careless Youth, when ap Took nor urn nor eup To hide the pilfered fire in But oh his joy, when, round A bowl of Bacchus lying! Some drops were in that bowl, O'er that flame within us. Every drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of Care Smooths away a wrinkle. 'TIS GONE, AND FOR EVER. "Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the deadWhen Man, from the 'slumber of ages awaking, Looked upward, and blessed the pure ray, ere it fled. 'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee. For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting Around thee, through all the gross clouds of the world When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting, At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurled. Oh! never shall earth see a moment so splendid! Then, then-had one Hymn of Deliverance blended The tongues of all nations-how sweet had ascended The first note of liberty, Erin, from thee! But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing! And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies, caressing The young hope of Freedom, baptized it in blood. Then vanished for ever that fair, sunny vision, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, Shall long be remembered, pure, bright, and elysian, As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee! MY GENTLE HARP. My gentle Harp, once more I waken No light of joy hath o'er thee broken, Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, As ill would suit the swan's decline! But come-if yet thy frame ean borrow "The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the ancicom Irish to the royal banner How gayly, even 'mid gloom surrounding, 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,t 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 wakened thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 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 touched by some hand less unworthy than mine; If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone; IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, 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 truest 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, thea is the time when affection holds sway With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Love, uursed among pleasures, is faithless as they, But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true. In climes full of sunshine, though splendid the flowers, Their sighs have no freshness, their odor no worth; 'Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of Showers, That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth. So it is not 'mid splendor, prosperity, mirth, That the depth of Love's generous spirit appears; To the sunshine of smiles it may first owe its birth, But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears. AS SLOW OUR SHIP. As slow our ship her foamy track Her trembling pennant still looked back To those we've left behind us. Dimidio magicæ resonant ubi Memnone choice."—JUVENAL. 1 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 Pinn's palace at Almhaim, where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities, shook the chain of Silence, and dung th mselves among the ranks." See also the "Ode to Gaul, the Son of Morni," in Miss Brooke's "Reliques i rish Poetry." And when, in other climes, we meet With some we've left behind us! When eastward darkly going, WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH. The revealings, that taught him true love to adore, On his evening horizon, the light was from thee. And though, sometimes, the shades of past folly might rise, REMEMBER THEE. REMEMBER thee? yes, while there's life in this heart, WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES. So full of hope, and joy, and light, I sigh to think how soon that brow For time will come with all its blights, The ruined hope, the friend unkind, A chilled or burning heart behind :- |