Page images
PDF
EPUB

I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.

Like spells, that nought on earth can break,
Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.

SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT?

AIR-Macfarlane's Lamentation.

SHALL the Harp then be silent, when he, who first gave

To our country a name, is withdrawn from all

eyes?

Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave, Where the first-where the last of her Patriots

lies?

No-faint though the death-song may fall from

his lips,

Though his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crost,

Yet, yet shall it sound, mid a nation's eclipse, And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost1?

It is only these two first verses, that are either fitted or intended to be sung.

What a union of all the affections and powers, By which life is exalted, embellish'd, re

fined,

Was embraced in that spirit whose centre was

ours,

While its mighty circumference circled man

kind.

Oh, who that loves Erin-or who that can see, Through the waste of her annals that epoch sublime

Like a pyramid, raised in the desert where he

And his glory stand out to the eyes of all

time!

That one lucid interval snatch'd from the gloom And the madness of ages, when, fill'd with his

soul,

A nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her

doom,

And, for one sacred instant, touch'd Liberty's

goal.

Who, that ever hath heard him hath drank at

the source

Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force,

And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

An eloquence rich wheresoever its wave

Wander'd free and triumphant with thoughts that shone through,

As clear as the brook's "stone of lustre," and gave,

With the flash of the gem, its solidity too.

Who, that ever approach'd him, when, free from the crowd,

In a home full of love, he delighted to

tread,

'Mong the trees which a nation had given, and which bow'd,

As if each brought a new civic crown for his

head.

That home, where-like' him who, as fable hath

told2,

Put the rays from his brow, that his child might come near—

Every glory forgot, the most wise of the old Became all that the simplest and youngest hold dear.

Is there one who hath thus through his orbit of life, But at distance observed him-through glory, through blame,

In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife Whether shining or clouded, still high and the

same

Such a union of all that enriches life's hour,
Of the sweetness we love and the greatness

[ocr errors][merged small]

As that type of simplicity blended with power, A child with a thunderbolt only pourtrays.

2 Apollo, in his interview with Phaëton, as described by Ovid:" Deposuit radios propriusque accedere jussit.

« PreviousContinue »