And though the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh we shall journey on, love,
More safely, without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me

Along the path I've yet to roam-
The mind that burns within me,

And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus when the amp that lighted
The traveller at first goes out,

He feels awhile benighted,

And looks round in fear and doubt.

But soon, the prospect clearing,

By cloudless starlight on he treads,
And thinks no lamp so cheering

As that light which Heaven sheds.

WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE.

WHEN he who adores thee, has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,

Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resign'd?

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;

For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,

I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live
The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

ERIN, OH ERIN.

LIKE the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy fane,
And burn'd thro' long ages of darkness and storm,
Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain,
Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm.
Erin, oh Erin, thus bright thro' the tears

Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears.

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young,
Thy sun is but rising, when others are set;
And tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung,
The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.
Erin, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade,

Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade.

Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind,

The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour,

Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind,

And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.

Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past,

And the hope that liv'd thro' it shall blossom at last.

THE time I've lost in wooing,

In watching and pursuing

The light, that lies

In woman's eyes,

Has been my heart's undoing.

Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the lore she brought me,
My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they've taught me.

1

SING, SWEET HARP.

SING, Sweet Harp, oh sing to me
Some song of ancient days,
Whose sounds, in this sad memory,

Long buried dreams shall raise ;-
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame,

Whose light once round us shone;
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame,,
And hopes for ever gone.
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me;
Alike our doom is cast,

Both lost to all but memory,
We live but in the past.

How mournfully the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh,
As if it sought some echo there
Of voices long gone by;—

Of Chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd
The foremost then in fame;

Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd,
Now sleep without a name.

In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air

Among thy chords doth sigh;

In vain it seeks an echo there
Of voices long gone by.

Couldst thou but call those spirits round,
Who once, in bower and hall,

Sat listening to thy magic sound,

Now mute and mould'ring all ;—

But, no; they would but wake to weep

Their children's slavery;

Then leave them in their dreamless sleep,

The dead, at least, are free !

Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone,
That knell of Freedom's day;

Or, listening to its death-like moan,
Let me, too, die away.

:

LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD.

LET Erin remember the days of old,
Ere her faithless sons betray'd her;
When Malachi wore the collar of gold,

Which he won from her proud invader,

When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd,
Led the Red-branch Knights to danger;-
Ere the emerald gem of the western' world
Was set in the crown of a stranger.

On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays,
When the clear cold eve's declining,

He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining;

Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time
For the long faded glories they cover.

"TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.

"TWAS one of those dreams, that by music are brought, Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thought— When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on,

And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone.

The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those
He had taught to sing Erin's dark bondage and woes,
And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er
From Dinis' green isle, to Glena's wooded shore.

He listen'd-while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest,
The lingering sounds on their way lov'd to rest;
And the echoes sung back from their full mountain quire,
As if loth to let song so enchanting expire.

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