"Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, The grandest, the purest, e'en thou hast yet. known;

Tho' proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, "Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. "At the foot of that throne for whose weal thou hast stood,

Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame“And bright o'er the flood

"Of her tears and her blood,

Let the rainbow of hope be her Wellington's name!"

THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.

THE time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light that lies

In woman's eyes,

Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the lore she brought me,
My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him the Sprite *

Whom maids by night

Oft meet in glen that's haunted.

This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which is to be met with, they say, in the fields at dusk ;-as long as you keep your eyes

Like him, too, Beauty won me,
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray

Was turn'd away,

O, winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing-
Too cold or wise

For brilliant eyes

Again to set it glowing?

No, vain, alas, the endeavor
From bonds so sweet to sever;
Poor Wisdom's chance

Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever.

OH WHERE'S THE SLAVE.

OH, where's the slave so lowly,

Condemn'd to chains unholy,
Who, could he burst

His bonds at first,

Would pine beneath them slowly?

upon him, he is fixed, and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite which we call the Leprechaun; but a high authority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan (in a note upon her national and interesting novel, O'Donnel) has given a very different account of that goblin.

What soul, whose wrongs degrade it,
Would wait till time decay'd it,
When thus its wing

At once may spring

To the throne of Him who made it?

Farewell, Erin,- farewell, all
Who live to weep our fall!

Less dear the laurel growing,
Alive, untouch'd, and blowing,
Than that whose braid
Is pluck'd to shade

The brows with victory glowing.
We tread the land that bore us,
Her green flag glitters o'er us,
The friends we've tried

Are by our side,

And the foe we hate before us.

Farewell, Erin, farewell, all
Who live to weep our fall!

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.

COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd has fled from thee, thy home is

still here;

Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,

And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.

Oh, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Thro' joy and thro' torment, thro' glory and shame ?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.

Thou hast call'd me thy Angel, in moments of bliss, And thy Angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this,Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too!

'TIS GONE AND FOREVER.

'TIS gone, and forever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead, When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking,

Look'd upward, and blest the pure ray, ere it fled. 'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, And darkest of all, hapless Erin! o'er thee.

For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting

Around thee, thro' all the gross clouds of the world; When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting, At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurl'd.* Oh, never shall earth sec a moment so splendid! Then, then, had one Hymn of Deliverance blended The tongues of all nations-how sweet had ascended The first note of Liberty, Erin, from thee!

* "The sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the ancient Irish to the royal banner.

K

But, shame on those tyrants who envied the bless

ing!

And shame on the light race unworthy its good, Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies caressing The young hope of Freedom, baptis'd it in blood! Then vanish'd forever that fair, sunny vision, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian, As first it arose, my lost Erin! on thee.

I

I SAW FROM THE BEACH.

SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining,

A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ;

I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,

So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from

us,

And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night; Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of Morning,

Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light.