Of the fields and the flowers in our youth we wander'd

o'er,

That, ere condemn'd we go

To freeze 'mid HECLA's snow,

We would taste it awhile, and dream we live once more!

O'DONOHUE'S MISTRESS.+

AIR.-The little and great Mountain.

I.

Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,

* Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately.

The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Donohue and his White Horse, may be found in Mr. Weld's Account of Killarney, or, more fully detailed, in Derrick's Letters. For many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is supposed to have been seen, on the morning of May-day, gliding over the lake on his favourite white horse, to the sound of sweet, unearthly music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring-flowers in his path.

Among other stories, connected with this Legend of the

Sweet May, sweet May, shine thou for me; For still, when thy earliest beams arise, That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, Sweet May, sweet May, returns to me.

II.

Of all the smooth lakes, where daylight leaves
His lingering smile on golden eves,

Fair Lake, fair Lake, thou'rt dear to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim,

Thy Naiads prepare his steed for him

Who dwells, who dwells, bright Lake, in thee.

III.

Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore

Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,

White Steed, white Steed, most joy to thee, Who still with the first young glance of spring From under that glorious lake dost bring,

Proud Steed, proud Steed, my love to me.

Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beautiful girl, whose imagination was so impressed with the idea of this visionary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love with him, and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a May-morning, threw herself into the Lake.

IV.

While, white as the sail some bark unfurls,
When newly launch'd, thy long mane* curls,
Fair Steed, fair Steed, as white and free ;
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers,
Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers,
Fair Steed, around my love and thee.

V.

Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die,
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie,

Most sweet, most sweet, that death will be,
Which under the next May-evening's light,
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight,
Dear love, dear love, I'll die for thee.

* The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which come on a windy day, crested with foam, “O'Donohue's white horses."

ECHO.

AIR.-The Wren.

I.

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night,

When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.

II.

Yet Love hath echoes truer far,

And far more sweet,

Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,

The songs repeat.

III.

"Tis when the sigh in youth sincere,

And only then,

The sigh, that's breathed for one to hear,

Is by that one, that only dear,

Breathed back again!

OH BANQUET NOT.

AIR.-Planxty Irwine.

I.

On banquet not in those shining bowers,
Where Youth resorts-but come to me,
For mine's a garden of faded flowers,
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.
And there we shall have our feast of tears-
And

many a cup in silence pour

Our guests, the shades of former years—
Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more.

II.

There, while the myrtle's withering boughs Their lifeless leaves around us shed,

We'll brim the bowl to broken vows,

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead.

Or, as some blighted laurel waves

Its branches o'er the dreary spot,
We'll drink to those neglected graves
Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot!