Advertisement . . . . . . . . li
Letter to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal . 53
Like the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane 71
Drink to her, who long. . . .
Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers .
While gazing on the moon's light. . . .
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, 99
By the hope, within us springing. . . . .
Night closed around the conqueror's way . . .
Oh! 'tis sweet to think, that, where'er we roam .
Through grief and through danger . . . .
When through life unbless'd we rove . . . .
It is not the tear at this moment shed . . . .
'Tis believed that this harp, which I wake now .
Advertisement . . . . . . . . . xcv
Oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright . . 99
Though dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them to
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past . . . . 103
Lesbia hath a beaming eye . . . . 105
I saw thy form in youthful prime . . . . 107
By that lake, whose gloomy shore ...
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps iu
Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns . : 112
Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin . 113
What the bee is to the floweret. . . . . 115
Here we dwell, in holiest bowers .
This life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes . 118
Advertisement . . . . . . cxxiii
Through Erin's isle . . . . . . . 127
At the 'mid hour of night, when stars are weeping . 130
One bumper at parting !-though many . . 131