If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their rights, For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain! The Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd Join, join in our hope that the flame which you light God prosper the cause!-oh, it cannot but thrive, Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain. BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS. BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of Would entwine itself verdantly still. my heart It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose. ERIN, OH ERIN. LIKE the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane, Of a long night of bondage thy spirit appears. The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, Thy sun is but rising, when others are set: And tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung, The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet. Erin, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade, Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind, And daylight and liberty bless the young flower. † And the hope that liv'd thro' it shall blossom at last. * The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare, which Giraldus mentions. " Apud Kildariam occurrit Ignis Sanctæ Brigidæ, quem inextinguibilem vocant; non quod extingui non possit, sed quod tam solicite moniales et sanctæ mulieres ignem, suppetente materia, fovent et nutriunt, ut a tempore virginis per tot annorum curricula semper mansit inextinctus."- Girald. Camb. de Mirabil. Hibern., dist. ii. c. 34. † Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lily, has applied this image to a still more important object. DRINK TO HER. DRINK to her who long It yields not half the tone. At Beauty's door of glass When Wealth and Wit once stood, 'They ask'd her, "which might pass?" She answer'd, "he, who could." With golden key Wealth thought To pass but 't would not do: While Wit a diamond brought, Which cut his bright way through. So here's to her who long Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home Where wealth or grandeur shines, Is like the gloomy gnome That dwells in dark gold mines. But oh the poet's love Can boast a brighter sphere; Tho' woman keeps it here. OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD.* OH! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's dart ;† And the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire, Might have pour'd the full tide of a patriot's heart. * We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser so severely, and perhaps truly, describes in his "State of Ireland," and whose poems, he tells us, "were sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which have good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify virtue." It is conjectured, by Wormius, that the name of Ireland is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, in the use of which weapon the Irish were once very expert. This derivation is certainly more creditable to us than the following: "So that Ireland (called the land of Ire, from the constant broils therein for 400 years) was now become the land of concord."-LLOYD'S State Worthies, art. The Lord Grandison. |