STAR that bringest home the bee, Are sweet as her's we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, And songs, when toil is done, From cottages, whose smoke unstirr'd, Star of love's soft interviews, TO THE RAINBOW. TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem as to my childhood's sight, For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that Optics teach, unfold When Science from creation's face And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth, To watch thy sacred sign? And when its yellow lustre smiled Methinks, thy-jubilee to keep, Nor ever shall the Muse's eye, The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings,When glittering in the freshen'd fields The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast Or mirror'd in the ocean vast, As fresh in yon horizon dark, For, faithful to its sacred page, Nor lets the type grow pale with age, Ee YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. YE mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again, And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow: While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Britannia needs no bulwark,- Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below,— As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow: When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors, Our song and feast shall flow When the storm has ceased to blow : EXILE OF ERIN. THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours, Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken, And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! Oh, cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me? They died to defend me,—or live to deplore! One dying wish my lone bosom can draw: Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,Erin mavournin,-Erin go bragh! |