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FLY NOT YET.
Then let mem'ry bring thee
Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Strains I used to sing thee;
Her purest of chrystal and brightest of green; Oh! then remember me.
'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill!
Oh no-it was something more exquisite still :Air-Planxty Kelly,
'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,
near, When pleasure, like the midnight flower,
Who made ev'ry dear scene of enchantment more That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
dear; Begins to bloom for sons of night,
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, And maids who love the moon!
When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade
Sweet Vale of Ovoca! how calm could I rest That beauty and the moon were made;
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, 'Tis then their soft attractions glowing
Where the storms which we feel in this cold world Set the tides and goblets flowing!
should cease, Oh! stay,---oh! stay,--
Andour hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace! Joy so seldom weaves a chain, Like this to-night, that oh! 'tis pain
EVELEEN'S BOWER. To break its links so soon.
on! WEEP FOR THE HOUR. Fly not yet! the fount that play'd,
AIR-Unknown. In times of old, through Ammon's shade,
Oh! weep for the hour, Though icy cold by day it ran,
When to Eveleen's bower Yet still, like sounds of mirth, began
The Lord of the Valley with false vows came. To burn when night was near;
The moon hid her light And thus should woman's heart and looks
From the heavens that night, At noon be cold as winter-brooks,
And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. Nor kindle till the night, returning,
The clouds past soon
From the chaste cold moon,
And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; When did morning ever break,
But none will see the day And find such beaming eyes awake
When the clouds shall pass away, As those that sparkle here!
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.
The white snow lay
On the narrow path-way,
Where the Lord of the Valley cross'd over the moor; Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And many a deep print And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;
On the white snow's tint But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Shew'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. Her sparkling gems and snow-white wand.
The next sun's ray “ Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,
Soon melted away “ So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Ev'ry trace on the path where the false lord came. “ Are Erin's sons so good or so cold
But there's a light above, “ As not to be tempted by womar nan or gold ?"
Which alone can remove “ Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm;
That stain upon the snow of Eveleen's fame. “No son of Erin will offer me harm: " For though they love woman and golden store, “ Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more!"
AIR-The Red Fox. On she went, and her maiden smile
Let Erin remember the days of old, In safety lighted her round the Green Isle;
Ere her faithless sons betrayed her, And bless'd for ever is she who relied
When Malachi wore the collar of gold
Which he won from her proud invader;
When her kings with standard of unfurl'd
Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger, THERE IS NOT IN THIS WIDE WORLD A VALLEY
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
Was set in the crown of a stranger. AIR-The Old Head of Denis. There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; When the clear cold eve's declining, Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart He sees the round towers of other days Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart! In the ware beneath bim shining!
RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE.
LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD.
Thus shall memory often in dreams sublime
Has been my heart's undoing. Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Though wisdom oft has sought me, Thus sighing look through the waves of time
I scorn'd the lore she brought me; For the long-faded glories they cover!
My only books
Were woman's looks,
And folly's all they've taught me.
Her smile when beauty granted,
1 hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him the Sprite
Whom maids by night
Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, beauty won me,
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray
Was turn'd away,
O! winds could uot outrun me.
And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing?
No-vain, alas! th' endeavour
From bonds so sweet to sever;-
Poor wisdom's chance
Against a glance
Is now as weak as ever!
oa! WHERE'S THE SLAVE!
AIR-Sios agus sios liom.
Oh! where's the slave so lowly,
Condemn'd to chains unholy,
Who, could he burst
His bonds at first,
Would pine beneath them slowly?
What soul whose wrongs degrade it,
Would wait till time decay'd it,
When thus its wing
At once may spring
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Now all the world is sleeping, love,
And I, whose star,
More glorious far, Is the
eye from that casement peeping, love! Then awake, till rise of sun, my dear! The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear!
Or, in watching the flight
Of bodies of light,
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.
Air-Peas upon a Trencher.
The light that lies
THE YOUNG MAY MOON.
To the throne of Him who made it?
Farewell, Erin! farewell all
Who live to weep our fall!
Than that, whose braid
Is pluck'd to shade
The friends we've tried
Are by our side,
Farewell, Erin! farewell all
WREATHE THE BOWL.
With flow'rs of soul,
We'll take a flight
And leave dull earth behind us!
OH, FOR THE SWORDS OF PORMER TIME'
Oh, for the swords of former time!
Oh, for the men who bore them,
When, arm’d for right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them!
When pure, yet ere courts began
With honors to enslave him,
The best honours worn by man
Were those which virtue gave him.
Oh, for the swords of former time! &c.
Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then!
Oh, for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men
Were all the ramparts round them!
When safe built on bosoms true,
The throne was but the centre,
Round which love a circle drew,
That treason durst not enter.
Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then! &c.
OH, BANQUET NOT.
Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers,
Where youth resorts--abut come to me,
For mine's a garden of faded flowers,
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.
And there we shall have our feast of tears,
And many a cup in silence pour--
Our guests the shades of former years,
Our toasts to lips that bloom no more.
There, while the myrtle's withering boughs
Their lifeless leaves around us shed,
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows,
To friends long lost, the changed, the dead.
Or, as some blighted laurel waves
Its branches o'er the dreary spot,
We'll drink to those neglected graves
Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot!
ODE FOR THE SPRING OF 1814.
The vision then is past, That held the eyes of nations,
Swept in his own careering blast, That shook the earth's foundations!
No more throughout the air
Settles the burning glare,
No more the bolts from south to north
Leap in their fiery passion forth: We look'd and saw the Wonder on his throne; We raised our eyes again, and lo, his place was gone!
Nor did the Shape give way To mightier spirits like him,
Nor did upon that final day Elder Corruption strike him.
The long-taught world no more
Those idle charms explore,
But heav'n-ward things, that have their birth
And shed their early tears on earth,
Plague be still.
Than struck the balanced world around
And princely visions rare
The Eagles of the north were seen
THOUGHTS OF THE AVON,
On the 28th of September, 1817. It is the loveliest day that we have had This lovely month, sparkling, and full of cheer; The sun has a sharp eye, yet kind and glad; Colours are doubly bright: all things appear Strong outlined in the spacious atmosphere; And through the lofty air the white clouds go, As on their way to some celestial show. The banks of Avon must look well to-day; Autumn is there in all his glory and treasure ; The river must run bright, the ripples play Their crispest tunes to boats that rock at leisure; The ladies are abroad with cheeks of pleasure; And the rich orchards, in their sunniest robes, Are pouting thick with all their winy globes. And why must I be thinking of the pride Of distant bowers, as if I had no nest
And lo, how earth and sky,
From winter's other tyranny
There's not a joy of spring,
But's up upon the wing; The leaves put out their hands into the ray;
The bee, that rings the basking hour,
Comes for his kiss from flow'r to flow'r; Glad faces are abroad with crowding play, . And all creation keeps full-hearted holiday.
The soldier sheathes his sword,
The freeman feels his hope restored,
To sing in here, though by the houses’ side?
moh nog--that here I miss
WRITTEN TO BE SET TO MUSIC BY VINCENT
No; but it is that on this very day,
Its very hush and creeping And upon Shakspeare's stream, a little lower,
Seem wbispering us a smile:Where drunk with Delphic air, it comes away
Something divine and dim Dancing in perfume by the Peary Shore,
Seems going by one's ear,
Who say, “ We've finished here."
eye for art; a nature, that of yore
When lovely sounds about my ears
Like winds in Eden's tree-tops rise,
And make me, though my spirit hears,
For every luxury close my eyes,
Let none but friends be round about
Who love the smoothing joy like me,
That so the charm be felt throughout,
And all be harmony.
And when we reach the close divine,
Then let the hand of her I love
Come with its gentle palm on mine
As soft as snow or lighting dove;
And let, by stealth, that more than friend
Look sweetness in my opening eyes,
For only so such dreams should end,
Or wake in Paradise.
The little trembling hand
TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON,
Dio ti dia, baron, ventura.-Pulci.
Since you resolve, dear Byron, once again
To taste the far-eyed freedom of the main,
And as the coolness lessens in the breeze,
Strike for warm shores that bathe in classic seas,
May all that hastens, pleases, and secures,
Fair winds and skies, and a swift ship, be yours,
Whose sidelong deck affords, as it cuts on,
An airy slope to lounge and read upon;
And may the sun, cooled only by white clouds,
Make constant shadows of the sails and shrouds;
And may there be sweet, watching moons at night, Kind playmate of thy brother,
Or shows, upon
of curious light; Thy sister, father too;
And morning wake with happy-blushing mouth, My light, where'er I go,
As though her husband still had “ eyes of youth;"
While fancy, just as you discern from far
The coasts of Virgil and of Sannazzar,
May see the nymphs emerging, here and there,
To tie up at the light their rolling hair. " His voice his face—is gone;'
I see you now,
half eagerness, half ease,
Ride o'er the dancing freshness of the seas;
I see you now (with fancy's eyesight too)
Find, with a start, that lovely vision true,
While on a sudden, o'er the horizon's line
Phæbus looks forth with his long glance divine,
At which old ocean's white and shapely daughters
Crowd in the golden ferment of the waters,
And halcyons brood, and there's a glistering show
ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR ITALY AND GREECE.