"And now I'm in the world alone, But, why should I for others groan, "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, "Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves! ST. PETER'S IN ROME. LORD BYRON. BUT thou, of temples old, or altars new, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. Enter! Its grandeur overwhelms thee not— AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 207 Thou movest-but increasing with the advance, Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonise, Rich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flame Sits on the firm-set ground-and this the clouds must claim. AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. LEIGH HUNT. How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, At evening in our room, and bend on ours my THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. W. BLAKE. WHEN mother died I was very young, There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said, “Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet; and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black. And by came an angel, who had a bright key, Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark, warm: So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. THE GERALDINES. 209 THE GERALDINES. THOMAS DAVIS. THE Geraldines, the Geraldines! 'Tis full a thousand years Since, 'mid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their battle spears: When Capet seized the crown of France their iron shields were known; And their sabre-dint struck terror on the banks of the Garonne ; Across the downs of Hastings they spurred hard by William's side, And those gray sands of Palestine with Moslem blood they dyed: But never then, nor ever yet, has falsehood or disgrace Been seen to soil Fitzgerald's plume, or mantle in his face. The Geraldines, the Geraldines! 'Tis true in Strongbow's van By lawless force, as conquerors, their Irish reign began; And, oh! through many a dark campaign they proved their prowess stern On Leinster's plains, in Munster's vales, on king, and chief, and kerne: But noble was the cheer within the halls so rudely won, And generous was the steel-gloved hand that had such slaughter done; How gay their laugh, how proud their micn! You'd ask no herald's sign Among a thousand you had known the princely Geraldine! Those Geraldines, those Geraldines! Not long our air they breathed, Not long they fed on venison in Irish waters seethed, Not often had their children been by Irish mothers nursed, When from their full and genial hearts an Irish feeling burst! The English monarchs strove in vain, by law, and force, and bribe To win from Irish thoughts and ways this " Irish" tribe; more than For still they clung to fosterage, to Brehon, cloak, and bard; What king dare say to Geraldine, "Your Irish wife discard!" Ye Geraldines, ye Geraldines! how royally ye reigned O'er Desmond broad and rich Kildare, and English arts disdained; Your sword made knights; your banner waved; free rang your bugle's call By Glyn's green slopes, and Dingle's tide, from Barrow's banks to Youghal. What gorgeous shrines, what Brehon lore, what minstrel feasts there were In and around Maynooth's gray keep, and palacefilled Adare! But not for rite or feast ye stayed when friend or kin was pressed; And foemen fled when "Crom Abú" bespoke your lance in rest. Ye Geraldines, ye Geraldines! Since Silken Thomas flung King Henry's sword on council board, the English Thanes among, Ye never ceased to battle on against the English sway, Though axe, and brand, and treachery, your proudest cut away. Of Desmond's blood, through woman's veins passed on th' exhausted tide; His title lives-a Sacsanach churl usurps the lion's hide; |