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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.


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 first gave To our country a name, is withdrawn from all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


No_faint though the death-song may fall from

his lips, Though his Harp, like his soul, may with sha

dows be crost, Yet, yet shall it sound, mid a nation's eclipse, And proclaim to the world what a star hath

been lost" ? " 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


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


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

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

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


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

shewn –

An eloquence fich-wheresoever its wave Wander'd free and triumphant,with thoughts

that shone through, As clear as the brook's “stone of lụstre,” and

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



That home, where—like him who, as fable hath

told, Put the rays from his brow, that his child

might come nearEvery 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


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

we praise, As that type of simplicity blended with power,

A child with a thunderbolt only pourtrays.

* Apollo, in his interview with Phaëton, as described by Ovid :-" Deposuit radios propriùsque accedere jussit.

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