In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,
On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try,
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye! While the daughters of Erin keep the boy Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, Through billows of woe, and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore. 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.

EVELEEN'S BOWER.

WEEP for the hour

When to Eveleen's bower

The Lord of the Valley with false vows came!

The moon hid her light

From the heavens that night,

And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame.

The clouds pass'd soon

From the chaste cold moon,

And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame;

But none will see the day

When the clouds shall pass away,

Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.

The white snow lay

On the narrow path-way,

When the Lord of the Valley cross'd over the moor; And many a deep print

On the white snow's tint

Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door.

The next sun's ray

Soon melted away

Every trace on the path where the false Lord came; But there's a light above,

Which alone can remove

That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame.

LET ERIN REMEMBER.

LET Erin remember the days of old,
Ere her faithless sons betrayed her;

When Malachi wore the collar of gold,*
Which he won from her proud invader.
When her kings, with standard of green unfurled,
Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger; -†
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
Was set in the crown of a stranger.

* " This brought on an encounter between Malachi (the monarch of Ireland in the 10th century) and the Danes, in which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he encountered successively, hand to hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the other, as trophies of his victory.—WARNER'S Hist. Ireland, vol. i. bk. 9.

"Military orders of knights were very early established in

On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining,

He sees the round towers of other days

In the wave beneath him shining;

Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time,
For the long-faded glories they cover. *

Ireland. Long before the birth of Christ we find an hereditary or der of chivalry in Ulster, called Curaidhe na Craiobhe ruadh, or 'the Knights of the Red Branch,' from their chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulster kings, called Teagh na Craiobhe ruadh, or the Academy of the Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bron-bhearg, or the House of the Sorrowful Soldier.”—O’HALLORAN's Introduction, part i. chap. v.

* It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that Lough Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sudden overflowing the country was inundated, and a whole region, like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says that the fishermen in clear weather used to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiastical towers under water. Piscatores aquæ illius turres ecclesiasticas, quæ more patriæ arctæ sunt et altæ, necnon et rotundæ, sub undis manifeste, sereno tempore conspiciunt, et extraneis, transeuntibus, reique causas admirantibus frequenter ostendunt.'-Topo. Hib. Dist.

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THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.*

SILENT, O Moyle! be the roar of thy water,
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.
When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Sleep with wings in darkness furled ?
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?

Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away ;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love?
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above ?

To make this story intelligible in a song, would require a much greater number of verses than any one is authorised to in flict upon an audience at once; the reader must therefore be con tent to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the daughter of Lir, was by some supernatural power transformed into a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of Christianity; when the first sound of the mass bell was to be the signal of her release. I found this fanciful fiction among some manuscript translations from the Irish, which were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of Ireland. the late Countess of Moira.

COME,

COME SEND ROUND THE WINE.

1OME, send round the wine, and leave points of belief

To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools;

This moment's a flower too fair and brief

To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools.

Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, But while they're fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool, who would quarrel for difference of hue, Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul.

Shall 1 ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly,

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? No, perish the hearts and the laws that try Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!

SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING.

UBLIME was the warning that Liberty spoke, And grand was the moment when Spaniards

awoke

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain.

O Liberty! let not this spirit have rest

Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west;

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