Who, when the time of summer season smiled,
Did earn for her a meal of honesty,
And with affectionate discourse beguiled

The keen attacks of pain and poverty;
Till Power, as envying her this only joy,
From her maternal bosom tore the unhappy

boy.

VII.

And now cold charity's unwelcome dole
Was insufficient to support the pair;
And they would perish rather than would
bear

The law's stern slavery, and the insolent

stare

With which law loves to rend the poor man's soul

The bitter scorn, the spirit-sinking noise Of heartless mirth which women, men, and boys,

Wake in this scene of legal misery.

you

and me

Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar:

Yet in spirit oft I see

On thy wild and winding shore
Freedom's bloodless banners wave,-
Feel the pulses of the brave
Unextinguished in the grave,-

See them drenched in sacred gore,-
Catch the warrior's gasping breath
Murmuring "Liberty or death!"

II.

Shout aloud! Let every slave,
Crouching at Corruption's throne,
Start into a man, and brave

Racks and chains without a groan;
And the castle's heartless glow,
And the hovel's vice and woe,
Fade like gaudy flowers that blow-
Weeds that peep, and then are gone;
Whilst, from misery's ashes risen,
Love shall burst the captive's prison.

III.

Cotopaxi! bid the sound

Through thy sister mountains ring, Till each valley smile around

At the blissful welcoming! And O thou stern Ocean-deep, Thou whose foamy billows sweep Shores where thousands wake to weep Whilst they curse a villain king, On the winds that fan thy breast Bear thou news of Freedom's rest!

IV.

Ere the day-star dawn of love,
Where the flag of war unfurled
Floats with crimson stain above
The fabric of a ruined world?
Never but to vengeance driven
When the patriot's spirit shriven
Seeks in death its native heaven!
There, to desolation hurled,
Widowed love may watch thy bier,
Balm thee with its dying tear.

TO IRELAND.

BEAR witness, Erin! when thine injured isle
Sees summer on its verdant pastures smile,
Its cornfields waving in the winds that sweep
The billowy surface of thy circling deep.
Thou tree whose shadow o'er the Atlantic gave
Peace, wealth, and beauty, to its friendly wave,
its blossoms fade,

And blighted are the leaves that cast its shade;
Whilst the cold hand gathers its scanty fruit,
Whose chillness struck a canker to its root.

EYES: A FRAGMENT.

How eloquent are eyes!
Not the rapt poet's frenzied lay
When the soul's wildest feelings stray
Can speak so well as they.
How eloquent are eyes!

Not music's most impassioned note
On which love's warmest fervours float
Like them bids rapture rise.

Love, look thus again,

That your look may light a waste of years,
Darting the beam that conquers cares
Through the cold shower of tears.
Love, look thus again!

TO THE QUEEN OF MY HEART.

I.

SHALL we roam, my love,
To the twilight grove,

When the moon is rising bright; Oh, I'll whisper there,

In the cool night-air,

What I dare not in broad day-light!

I'll tell thee a part

II.

Of the thoughts that start

To being when thou art nigh; And thy beauty, more bright

Than the stars' soft light,

Shall seem as a weft from the sky.

III.

When the pale moonbeam

On tower and stream

Sheds a flood of silver sheen,

How I love to gaze

As the cold ray strays

O'er thy face, my heart's throned queen!

IV.

Wilt thou roam with me

To the restless sea,

And linger upon And list to the flow Of the waves below

the steep,

How they toss and roar and leap?

Those boiling waves

V.

And the storm that raves

At night o'er their foaming crest, Resemble the strife

That, from earliest life,

The passions have waged in my breast.

VI.

Oh, come then and rove

To the sea or the grove

When the moon is rising bright,
And I'll whisper there

In the cool night-air

What I dare not in broad day-light.

THE DEVIL'S WALK.

A BALLAD.

I.

ONCE, early in the morning,

Beelzebub arose,

With care his sweet person adorning,
He put on his Sunday clothes.

II.

He drew on a boot to hide his hoof,
He drew on a glove to hide his claw,
His horns were concealed by a Bras Chapeau,
And the Devil went forth as natty a Beau
As Bond-street ever saw.

III.

He sate him down, in London town,
Before earth's morning ray,

With a favourite imp he began to chat,
On religion, and scandal, this and that,
Until the dawn of day.

IV.

And then to St. James's court he went,

And St. Paul's Church he took on his way,