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: The gein may be broke .
By many a stroke,
Each fragrnent will cast
A light to the last, And thus, Erin, my country! though broken thou
art, There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will
A spirit, that beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's
WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past;
Your dreams of pride are o'er ;
And you are men no more!
The sage's tongue hath warn’d in vain ..
It never lights again!
Weep 01—perhaps in after days
They'll learn to love your name; And many a deed may wake in praise
That long hath slept in blame ! And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,
Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wondering ask how hands so vile
Could conquer hearts so brave ?
« 'Twas sate, » they'll say, « a wayward fate
Your web of discord wove;
You never join'd in love!
And man profaned what God had given,
Where others knelt to heaven !»
LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.
Lesbix hath a beaming eye,
Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth!
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
lew its looks, but every one Like unexpected light surprises !
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear! My gentle bashsul Nora Creina!
In iany eyes,
Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
Nat a charm of beauty's mould
Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
Leaving every beauty free
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear!
Lesbia liath a wit refined, Put, when its points are gleaming round u9g,
Who can tell if they're desigu'd . .
Bed of peace! whose roughest par
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear!
Wit, though bright,
Hath not the light That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina:
I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME.
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom away, MARY! Yet still thy features wore that light
Which fleets not with the breath ; And life look'd ne'er more purely brighi
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!
As streams that run o'er golden nuires,
With modest murmur glide,
Within their gentle tide, Mary?
Thy radiant genius shone,
Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!
If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere;
We ne'er had lost thee here, MARY :
Though fairest forms. we see,
Than to remember thee, Mary!!
I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite inscription of SHENSTONE's—«Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse.