O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh,
For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend.
Unpriz'd are her sons till they've learn'd to betray;
Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not their
sires,

And the torch that woud light them through digni ty's way

Must be caught from the pile where their country expires.

Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft dream
He should try to forget what he never can heal;
O give but a hope! — let a vista but gleam

Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll feel!

That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down Every passion it nurs'd, every bliss it ador'd, While the myrtle, now idly entwin'd with his crown, Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover his

sword.*

But tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope fade away,

Thy name, lov'd Erin, shall live in his songs! Not ev'n in the hour, when his heart is most gay, Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy

wrongs.

The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains; The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep, Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, Shall pause at the song of their captive, and weep!

* See the hymn attributed to Alcæus, Ev uvqtov zkadi to ξιφος φορησω‘I will carry my sword hidden in myrtles like Harmodius and Aristogiton,' &c

F

WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT.

WHILE gazing on the moon's light,

A moment from her smile I turn'd,
To look at orbs, that, more bright,
In lone and distant glory burn'd.
But too far

Each proud star,

For me to feel its warming flame ;
Much more dear

That mild sphere,

Which near our planet smiling came ; Thus, Mary, be but thou my own ;

*

While brighter eyes unheeded play,
I'll love those moonlight looks alone,
That bless my home and guide my way.

The day had sunk in dim showers,

But midnight now, with lustre meek,
Illumin'd all the pale flowers,

Like hope upon a mourner's cheek.
I said (while

The moon's smile

"Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the sun excepted, the single moon, as despicable as it is in comparison to most of the others, is much more beneficial than they all put together." WHISTON'S Theory, &c.

Fn the 'Entretiens d'Ariste,' among other ingenious emblems, we find a starry sky without a moon, with these words 'Non mille, quod absens.'

Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss),
"The moon looks

"On many brooks,

"The brook can see no moon but this."* And thus I thought our fortunes run,

For many a lover looks to thee, While O, I feel there is but one, One Mary in the world for me.

ILL OMENS.

HEN daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, The last time she e'er was to press it alone. For the youth whom she treasur'd her heart and her soul in

Had promis'd to link the last tie before noon; And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses,

Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, A butterfly, fresh from the night-flower's kisses, † Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.

* This image was suggested by the following thought, which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's works: "The moon looks upon many night-flowers, the night-flower sees but one

moon."

† An emblem of the soul.

Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces,

She brush'd him he fell, alas, never to rise !"Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces, For which the soul's innocence too often dies."

While she stole through the garden where heart'sease was growing,

She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night-fallen dew; And a rose, further on, look'd so tempting and glow

ing,

That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too. But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning,

Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was lost; "Ah! this means," said the girl, (and she sigh'd at its meaning,)

"That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost."

BEFORE THE BATTLE.

BY the hope within us springing,

Herald of to-morrow's strife,

By that sun, whose light is bringing
Chains or freedom, death or life

Oh! remember, life can be

No charm for him who lives not free!
Like the day-star in the wave

Sinks a hero in his grave,

'Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears.

Happy is he o'er whose decline

The smiles of home may soothing shine, And light him down the steep of years;But O, how blest they sink to rest,

Who close their eyes on victory's breast!

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers

Now the foeman's cheek turns white
When his heart that field remembers,
Where we tam'd his tyrant might !
Never let him bind again

A chain like that we broke from then.
Hark! the horn of combat calls

Ere the golden evening falls

May we pledge that horn in triumph round.*
Many a heart that now beats high,
In slumber cold at night shall lie,
Nor waken ev'n at victory's sound :-
But O, how blest that hero's sleep,
O'er whom a wondering world shall weep!

AFTER THE BATTLE.

NIGHT clos'd around the conqueror's way,

And lightnings show'd the distant hill,

Where those who lost that dreadful day

Stood few and faint, but fearless still!

*"The Irish corna was not entirely devoted to martial purposes. In the heroic ages, our ancestors quaffed meadh out of them, as the Danish hunters do their beverage at this day.-WALKER.