For high was thy hope, when those glories were

darting

Around thee, through 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 see 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!

Bat, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing!

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

1 The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the ancient Irish to the Royal Banner.

K

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure,

My drooping Harp, from chords like thine? Alas, the lark's gay morning measure

As ill would suit the swan's decline! Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains, When ev'n the wreaths in which I dress thee, Are sadly mix'd-half flow'rs, half chains?

But come-if yet thy frame can borrow
One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me,
And show the world, in chains and sorrow,
How sweet thy music still can be ;
How gaily, e'en mid gloom surrounding,

Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrillLike Memnon's broken image sounding, 'Mid desolation tuneful still!?

IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.

In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own, And the light that surrounds us is all from within; Oh 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time

We can love, as in hours of less transport we

may;

Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime, But affection is truest when these fade away.

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by, Like a leaf on the stream that will never return; When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,

First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn; Then, then is the time when affection holds sway

With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Love, nurs'd among pleasures, is faithless as they, But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true.

In climes full of sunshine, though splendid the flowers,

Their sighs have no freshness, their odour no

worth;

"Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of

showers,

That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth. So it is not 'mid splendour, prosperity, mirth,

That the depth of Love's generous spirit appears; To the sunshine of smiles it may first owe its birth, But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.

tention for precedence between Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities, shook the chain of Silence, and flung themselves among the ranks." See also the Ode to Gaul, the Son of Morni, in Miss Brooke's Reliques of Irish Poetry.

2 Dimidio magica resonant ubi Memnone chorda.-Juvenal.

Eit bliss to remember that thou wert the star That arose on his darkness, and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings, that taught him true love to adore, Tofeel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. |

WREATHE THE BOWL.

WREATHE the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.
Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid,

That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us,
No danger fear,

While wine is near,
We'll drown him if he stings us;
Then, wreathe the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;

We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us.

'Twas nectar fed
Of old, 'tis said,

Their Junos, Joves, Apollos;
And man may brew

His nectar too,

The rich receipt's as follows:
Take wine like this,
Let looks of bliss
Around it well be blended,

Then bring Wit's beam
To warm the stream,

And there's your nectar, splendid!
So wreathe the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.

Say, why did Time,
His glass sublime,

Fill up with sands unsightly

When wine, he knew,
Runs brisker through,

And sparkles far more brightly?
Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus,

The glass in two we'll sever,
Make pleasure glide

In double tide,

And fill both ends for ever!

Then wreathe the bowl
With flowers of soul,

The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight

Tow'rds heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.

WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.

WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes,
So full of hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,

To dim a heav'n so purely bright-
I sigh to think how soon that brow
In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,
Almost forget it once was gay.

For time will come with all its blights, The ruin'd hope, the friend unkind, And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, A chill'd or burning heart behind:

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