HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR. HOW dear to me the hour when daylight dies, And sunbeams melt along the silent sea! For then sweet dreams of other days arise, And, as I watch the line of light, that plays Along the smooth wave toward the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays, And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest. TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. AKE back the virgin page, TAKE White and unwritten still; Thoughts come as pure as light, Yet let me keep the book : Oft shall my heart renew, Haply, when from those eyes Worthy those eyes to meet; And as, o'er ocean far, Seamen their records keep, Led by some hidden star Through the cold deep; So may the words I write Tell through what storms I stray You still the unseen light Guiding my way. THE LEGACY. THEN in death I shall calm recline, WHEN O bear my heart to my mistress dear; Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here. Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow, To sully a heart so brilliant and light; But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, To bathe the relic from morn till night. When the light of my song is o'er, Then take my harp to your ancient hall ; Where weary travellers love to call.* On lips that beauty hath seldom blest. To her he adores shall bathe its brim, Then, then my spirit around shall hover, And hallow each drop that foams for him. HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED. W oft has the Benshee cried, How oft has How oft has death untied Bright links that Glory wove, Sweet bonds entwined by Love! Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth! Sigh o'er the hero's grave! * "In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed the more they excelled in music.”— O'HALLORAN. We're fallen upon gloomy days! * Every bright name that shed Light o'er the land is fled. Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth Quench'd are our beacon lights Thou of the Hundred Fights!† Thou, on whose burning tongue Truth, peace, and freedom hung!‡ Both mute, - but long as valor shineth, Or mercy's soul at war repineth, So long shall Erin's pride. Tell how they liv'd and died. * I have endeavored here, without losing that Irish character which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality, by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men, at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity. + This designation, which has been applied to Lord Nelson before, is the title given to a celebrated Irish Hero, in a Poem by O'Guive, the bard of O'Niel, which is quoted in the "Philosoph ical Survey of the South of Ireland,” page 433. "Con of the Hun dred fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories! " * Fox, "Romanorum ultimus.” E WE MAY ROAM THRO' THIS WORLD. WE may roam through this world, like a child at a feast, Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, We never need leave our own green isle For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, O remember the smile that adorns her at home. In England the garden of beauty is kept By a dragon of prudery placed within call; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all. O they want the wild sweet-briery fence, Which round the flowers of Erin dwells; Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, Nor charms us least when it most repels. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round O remember the smile that adorns her at home. |