SOUL AND COUNTRY ARISE, my slumbering soul! arise, And learn what yet remains for thee To dree or do! ; The signs are flaming in the skies The earthquake hath not yet been born Immortal Freedom's thunder horn Look round, my soul! and see, and say Their mission here: The will to smite, the power to slay, But, God! must yet the conqueror's sword It sounds a false, blaspheming word, To leave the world a name is nought: A name to waken lightning thought Napoleon sinks to-day before Truth's name alone shall man adore Helen Selina, Lady Dufferin LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side The corn was springin' fresh and green, The place is little changed, Mary, And the corn is green again; 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near The church where we were wed, Mary; I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest – For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; But, oh! they love the better still The few our Father sends. And you were all I had, Mary, My blessin' and my pride: There's nothing left to care for now, gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow I thank you for the patient smile I bless you for the pleasant word, I'm biddin' you a long farewell, They say there 's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there, And often in those grand old woods And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. The king blew a blast on his bugle horn No answer came; but faint and forlorn For dead, in the light of the dawning day, The panting steed, with a drooping crest, Stood weary: The king return'd from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gush'd forth which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his charger's neck: "O steed that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the halls where my love lay dying!" LOVE NOT Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers Things that are made to fade and fall away Ere they have blossom'd for a few short hours. Love not! Love not! the thing ye love may change : The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. Love not! Love not! the thing you love may die, May perish from the gay and gladsome earth; The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. Love not! Love not! oh warning vainly said Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. |