6.-RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE.-Moore.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore,

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But, oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand.

"Lady, dost thou not fear to stray,

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,

As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm:
For, though they love beauty and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more.'
On she went, and her maiden smile

In safety lighted her round the Green Isle ;
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride!

7. SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.-Moore.

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers around her are sighing;

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking ;-

Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.

He had lived for his Love,-for his Country he died!
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his Country be dried,
Nor long will his Love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest
When they promise a glorious morrow;

They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West-
From her own lovèd Island of Sorrow!

8.-BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS.--Moore.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaued by a tear,

That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close:

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.

9.-GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.-Moore.

2

'Go where glory waits thee! but, while fame elates thee, oh! still remember me. When the praise thou meetest to thine ear is sweetest, oh! then remember me. Other arms may press thee, dearer friends caress thee, all the joys that bless thee sweeter far may be; but, when friends are nearest, and when joys are dearest, oh, then, remember me. When, at eve, thou rovest by the Star thou lovest, oh! then remember me. Think, when home returning, bright we've seen it burning; oh! thus remember me. Oft as Summer closes, when thine eye reposes on its ling'ring roses, once so lov'd by thee, think of her who wove them,-her who made thee love them;-oh, then, remember me. When, around thee dying, autumn leaves are lying, oh! then remember me. And, at night, when gazing on the gay hearth blazing, oh! still remember me. Then should Music, stealing all the soul of feeling, to thy heart appealing, draw one tear from thee; then let Memory bring thee, strains I used to sing thee,-oh, then, remember me!

10. THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.-Moore.

3

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet,
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet!
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal, and brightest of green;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no, it was something more exquisite still.
'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear;
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Sweet Vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best,
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should ceasc,
And our hearts-like thy waters-be mingled in peace!

11.-THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.-Moore.

Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water!
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose,
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.
When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
Sleep, with wings in darkness furled?

When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?
Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love?-
When will heaven, its sweet bells ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?

12.-MUSIC.-Moore.

1When through life unblest we rove, losing all that made life dear, should some notes we used to love in days of boyhood, meet our ear,oh! how welcome breathes the strain! wakening thoughts that long have slept; kindling former smiles again, in faded eyes that long have wept ! Like the gale that sighs along beds of oriental flowers, is the grateful voice of song that once was heard in happier hours; filled with balm, the gale sighs on, though the flowers have sunk in death; so, when Pleasure's dream is gone, its memory lives in Music's breath. 3 Music!

Oh, how faint, how weak,-language fades before thy spell! why should Feeling ever speak, when thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship's balmy words may feign; Love's are e'en more false than they; oh! 'tis only Music's strain can sweetly soothe, and not betray!

13.-THE MINSTREL-BOY.-Moore.

The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he has girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.
"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,
"Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"
The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again—
For he tore its cords asunder!

And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!

Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

14.-DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY.-Moore.

Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee;
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers;
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine.
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touched by some hand less unworthy than mine:
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,

Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.

71

MORAL AND RELIGIOUS POETRY

FOR

JUNIOR PUPILS.

-CHILD'S MORNING HYMN.—Mrs. Opie.

The morning bright, with rosy light, has waked me from my sleep!
Father, I own, Thy love alone Thy little one doth keep.

All through the day, I humbly pray, be Thou my guard and guide;
My sins forgive, and let me live, blest Jesus! near Thy side.
O, make Thy rest within my breast, Great Spirit of all grace;
then shall I be prepared to see Thy face.

Make me like Thee,

2.-CHILD'S EVENING HYMN.—Anon.

Now darkness shades the distant hill,

The little birds are hid and still;

And I my quiet sleep may take,
Since my Creator is awake.

How sweet, upon my little bed,
To think my Saviour guards my head;
And He a helpless child can keep
Through all the hours of silent sleep!

3. THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION.--Heber.

I praised the Earth, in beauty seen
With garlands gay of various green;
I praised the Sea, whose ample field
Shone glorious as a silver shield;
And Earth and Ocean seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day!"
I praised the Sun, whose chariot rolled
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the Moon, whose softer eye
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky;
And Moon and Sun in answer said,
"Our days of light are numberèd !”