That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, And, darkest of all, hapless Erin! o'er thee, 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 start ing, At once like a sun-burst, her banner unlurl'd, Oh, never shall earth see a moment so splendid! Then, then, had one Hymn of Deliverance blen ded The tongues of all nations, how sweet had ascended The first note of Liberty, Erin! from thee. But shame on those tyrants, who envied the bles sing! And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies cares sing, The young hope of freedom, baptized it in blood! << The Sun-burst» was the fanciful name given by the ancient Irish to the royal banner. Then vanish'd for ever that fair sunny vision, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's de rision, Shall long be remember'd. pure, bright, and ely-. sian, As first it arose, my lost Erin! on thee, I SAW FROM THE BEACH. AIR-Miss Molly. I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came, when the sun o'er that beach was decli ning, The bark was still there, but the waters vere gone? Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise! So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore ́alone. Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night; Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening' best light. Oh! who would not welcome that moment's re turning, When Passion first waked a new life through his frame, And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning, Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame! FILL THE BUMPER FAIR: AIR-Iob and Joan. FILL the bumper fair Ne'er so swiftly passes, As when through the frame It shoots from brimming glasses. Fill the bumper fair! Every drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of Care Smooths away a wrinkle Sages can, they say, Grasp the lightning's pinions, And bring down its ray From the starr'd dominions So We, Sages, sit, And 'mid bumpers bright'ning From the Heav'n of Wit Draw down all its lightning! Fill the bumper fair! etc, Wouldst thou know what first Made our souls inherit This ennobling thirst For wine's celestial spirit? It chanced upon that day, When, as bards inform us, Prometheus stole away The living fires that warm us, Fill the bumper fair! etc. The careless youth, when up To hide the pilfer'd fire in:- A bowl of Bacchus lying, Fill the bumper fair! etc. Some drops were in the bowl, Remains of last night's pleasure, With which the sparks of soul Mix'd their burning treasure! |