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Oh! the heart that has truly loved, never forgets,

But as truly loves on to the close; As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,

The same look which she turn'd when he rose!

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Like the bright lamp that lay on Kildare's holy

shrine,' And turn'd through long ages of darkness and

storm, Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain,

Whose spiritoutlives them, unfading and warm! Erin! oh Erin! thus bright, through the tears Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears!

1 The unextinguishable 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 solicitè moniales et sanctæ mulieres ignem, suppetente materia, fovent et nutriunt ut à tempore virginis per tot annorum curricula semper inextinctus."

Girald. Camb. de Mirabil. Hibern. Dist. 2, c. 34.

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young;

Thy sun is but rising, when others are set: And, though Slavery's cloud o'er thy morning

hath hung, The full moon of Freedom shall beam round

thee yet. Erin! oh Erin! though long in the shade, Thy star will shine out, when the proudest shall

fade!

Unchilld by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, The lily lies sleeping through winter's cold

hour, Till the hand of Spring her dark chain unbind, And daylight and liberty bless the young

flower? Erin! oh Erin! thy winter is past, And the hope, that lived through it, shall blossom

at last!

? Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lily, has applied this image to a still more important subject.

DRINK TO HER.

Air-Heigh ho! my Jackey.

Drink to her who long

Hath waked the poet's sighThe girl, who gave to Song

What gold could never buy! Oh! woman's heart was made

For minstrel-hands alone; By other fingers play'd,

It yields not half the tone. Then here's to her, who long

Hath waked the poet's sighThe girl, who gave to Song

What gold could never buy!

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 ’twould not do; While Wit, a diamond brought

Which cut his bright way through! Then here's to her who long

Hath waked the poet's sighThe 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; Its native home's above,

Though woman keeps it here! Then drink to her who long,

Hath waked the poet's sighThe girl, who gave to Song

What gold could never buy!

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