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 unfurl'd.' 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! Bat, 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, baptiz'd it in blood. Then vanish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, Stall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 1 The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the ancient Irish to the Royal Banner. K Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, My drooping Harp, from chords like thine? Alas, the lark's gay morning measure As ill would suit the swan's decline! Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains, When ev'n the wreaths in which I dress thee, Are sadly mix'd-half flow'rs, half chains? But come-if yet thy frame can borrow Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrillLike Memnon's broken image sounding, 'Mid desolation tuneful still!? IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own, And the light that surrounds us is all from within; Oh 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time 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, then is the time when affection holds sway With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Love, nurs'd 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 odour 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 splendour, 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. tention for precedence between Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities, shook the chain of Silence, and flung themselves among the ranks." See also the Ode to Gaul, the Son of Morni, in Miss Brooke's Reliques of Irish Poetry. 2 Dimidio magica resonant ubi Memnone chorda.-Juvenal. Eit bliss to remember that thou wert the star That arose on his darkness, and guided him home. From thee and thy innocent beauty first came The revealings, that taught him true love to adore, Tofeel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. | WREATHE THE BOWL. WREATHE the bowl Tow'rds heaven to-night, The wreaths be hid, That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us, While wine is near, We'll take a flight Tow'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us. 'Twas nectar fed Their Junos, Joves, Apollos; His nectar too, The rich receipt's as follows: Then bring Wit's beam And there's your nectar, splendid! Tow'rds heaven to-night, Say, why did Time, Fill up with sands unsightly When wine, he knew, And sparkles far more brightly? And, smiling thus, The glass in two we'll sever, In double tide, And fill both ends for ever! Then wreathe the bowl The brightest Wit can find us; Tow'rds heaven to-night, WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES. WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes, To dim a heav'n so purely bright- For time will come with all its blights, The ruin'd hope, the friend unkind, And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, A chill'd or burning heart behind: :- |