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Forget not our wounded companions, who stood*
In the day of distress by our side; While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,
They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died. That sun which now blesses our arms with his light
Saw them fall upon Ossory's p*ain;— Oh, let him not blush when he leaves us to-night,
To find that they fell there in vain!
ERIN, THE TEAR AND THE SMILE.
Tj^RIN ! the tear and the smile in thine eyes,
* This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dalgais, the favorite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest. "Let stakes be stuck in the ground," said they, "and suffer each of us, tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by the side of a sound man."— "Between seven and eight hundred wounded men," adds O'Halloran, "pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops ; never was such another sight exhibited." Hist. Ireland, bk. xii. chap. 1.
Erin! thy silent tear never shall cease,
Till, like the rainbow's light,
Thy various tints unite,
And form in heaven's sight
O BREATHE NOT HIS NAME!
AH breathe hot his name! let it sleep in the shade,
But the night-dew that falls, tho' in silence it weeps,
WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.
TTTHEN he, who adores thee, has left but the name
*' Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resigned?
Thy tears shall efface their decree;
I have been but too faithful to thee.
With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.
The days of thy glory to see; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.
THE HARP THAT ONCE THRO' TARA'S HALLS.
rTHE harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
As if that soul wTere fled.—
So glory's chill is o'er;
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and- ladies bright,
The harp of Tara swells;
Its tale of ruin tells.
The only throb she gives
To show that still she lives.
FLY NOT YET.
T?LY not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower,
And maids who love the moon.
Oh stay ! — Oh stay ! —
To break its links so soon.
Fly not yet, the fount that play'd
To burn when night was near.
Oh stay !— Oh stay ! —
As those that sparkle here?
* Solis Fons, near the Temple of Amnion,
0, THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS LIGHT.
AH! think not my spirits are always as light,
^ And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now i
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. No :—life is a waste of wearisome hours,
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers
Is always the first to be touched by the thorns. But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile :—
May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.
The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows!
If it were not with friendship and love intertwin'd; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind. But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd.
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine: That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth,
And the moonlight of friendship console our decline.