Fancy may trace some line
Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,
Pure, calm, and sweet.

And as, o'er ocean far,

Seamen their records keep,
Led by some hidden star

Through the cold deep;
So may the words I write

Tell thro' what storms I stray

You still the unseen light

Guiding my way.

THE LEGACY.

WHEN in death I shall calm recline,
O bear my heart to my mistress dear;
Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine
Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here.
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow,

To sully a heart so brilliant and light;
But balmy drops of the red grape borrow,
To bathe the relic from morn till night.

When the light of my song is o'er,

Then take my harp to your ancient hall;
Hang it up at that friendly door,

Where weary travellers love to call.*

"In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed, the more they excelled in music."-O'HALLOran.

Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
Revive its soft note in passing along,
Oh! let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing,
To grace your revel when I'm at rest;
Never, oh! never its balm bestowing

On lips that beauty hath seldom blest.
But when some warm devoted lover

To her he adores shall bathe its brim, Then, then around my spirit shall hover, And hallow each drop that foams for him.

THE DIRGE.

Air-"The dear black maid."

How oft has the Benshee cried!
How oft has death untied

Bright links that Glory wove,

Sweet bonds entwin'd by Love!
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth;
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth;

Long may the fair and brave
Sigh o'er the hero's grave!

We're fallen upon gloomy days!*
Star after star decays,

Every bright name that shed

Light o'er the land is fled.

Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth;
But brightly flows the tear
Wept o'er a hero's bier.

Quench'd are our beacon lights-
Thou, of the Hundred Fights!+
Thou, on whose burning tongue
Truth, peace, and freedom hung!
Both mute, but long as valour shineth,
Or mercy's soul at war repineth,

So long shall Erin's pride

Tell how they liv'd and died.

I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish character which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allude to that sad and ominous fatality, by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men, at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity.

+ This designation, which has been applied to Lord Nelson before, is the title given to a celebrated Irish hero, in a poem by O'Gnive, the bard of O'Neil, which is quoted in the "Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland," page 433. "Con, of the hundred fights, sleep in thy grassgrown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victo ries!"

Fox, "ultimus Romanorum."

WE MAY ROAM THRO' THIS WORLD.

Air-"Garyone."

WE may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast,

Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest; And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,

Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, We never need leave our native isle,

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward · you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept
By a dragon of prudery, plac'd within call;
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,

That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all.
Oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence
Which round the flower of Erin dwells;

Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, Nor charms us least when it most repels.

Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward

you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail
On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try,
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye,
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy,
Ever smiling beside his faithful oar,
Through billows of woe and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore. Then, remember, wherever the goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smiles that adorn her at home.

EVELEEN'S BOWER.

OH! weep for the hour

When to Eveleen's bower

The Lord of the Valley with false vows came;
The moon hid her light

From the heavens that night,

And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame.