Then, oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, dear; And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips that are near! THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS. THROUGH GRIEF AND THROUGH DANGER. AIR-I once had a True Love. THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way, Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay; The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd, Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd: Oh! slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, And bless'd e'en the sorrows that made me more dear to thee. Thy rival was honour'd while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd; Thy crown was of briers while gold her brows adorn'd: She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in caves; Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves; Yet cold in the earth at thy feet I would rather be Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought from thee. They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale! They say too, so long thou hast worn these ling'ring chains! That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains; Oh! do not believe them-no chain could that soul subdue; Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too1! 1 "Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty," St. Paul, 2 Corinthians iii. 17. ON MUSIC. WHEN THROUGH LIFE UNBLEST WE ROVE. AIR-Banks of Bunna. WHEN through life unblest we rove, In faded eyes that long have wept! Like the gale that sighs along Beds of oriental flow'rs, Is the grateful breath of song, That once was heard in happier hours. Fill'd with balm the gale sighs on, Music! oh! how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship's balmy words may feign, Love's are ev'n more false than they; Oh! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly sooth, and not betray! |