Then sullen winter, hear my prayer,
And gently rule the ruin'd year;
Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare,
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear;-
To shuddering Want's unmantled bed
Thy horror breathing agues cease to lend;
And gently on the orphan head

Of Innocence descend!

But chiefly spare, O king of clouds!

The sailor on his airy shrouds;

When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,
And spectres walk along the deep!
Milder yet thy snowy breezes

Pour on yonder tented shores,

Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes,
Or the dark brown Danube roars.

O winds of Winter! list ye there

To many a deep and dying groan;

Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own! Alas! even your unhallow'd breath

May spare the victim, fallen low—

But man will ask no truce to death,—
No bounds to human wo.

Impressions of Boyhood.

Campbell.

He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue,
Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue;
Hail in each craig a friend's familiar face,
And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace!
Long have I roam'd thro' lands that are not mine,
Ador'd the Alps and lov'd the Apennine,
Rever'd Parnassus, and beheld the steep,
Jove's Ida, and Olympus crown the deep;
But 'twas not all long ages' love, nor all
Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall!
The infant rapture still survived the boy,
And Loch-na-gar, with Ida, looked on Troy;
Mix'd Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount,
And highland linns with Castalia's clear fount'
Forgive me, Homer's universal shade,
Forgive me, Phoebus, that my fancy stray'd!
The north and Nature taught me to adore
Your scenes sublime, from those beloved before.

The Exile of Erin.

THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sigh'd, when, at twilight, repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill:
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion;
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once, in the fervour of youth's warm emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of ERIN GO BRAGH!

66

"Sad is my fate!"-said the heart-broken stranger—
The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee;
But I have no refuge from famine and danger:
A home and a country remain not to me!
Never again, in the green sunny bowers,

Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours; Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers,

And strike to the numbers of ERIN GO BRAGH!

Erin! my country! though sad and forsaken,

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore!

But, alas! in a far-foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more!
Oh! cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me

In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me?
Never again shall my brothers embrace me!-

They died to defend me!—or live to deplore!

66 Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood ?
Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all?
Ah! my sad soul, long abandon d by pleasure!
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure?
Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure;
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall!
"Yet-all its fond recollections suppressing-
One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw:-
Erin!-an exile bequeathes thee—his blessing!
Land of my forefathers!-ERIN GO BRAGH!
Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean!
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,
ERIN MAVOURNIN! ERIN GO BRAGH!"
Campbell.

The Torch of Liberty.

I SAW it all, in fancy's glass!
Herself, the fair, the wild magician,
Who bade this splendid day-dream pass,
And nam'd each gliding apparition.
'Twas like a torch-race-such as they
Of Greece perform'd in ages gone,
When the fleet youths, in long array,
Pass'd the bright torch triumphant on!
I saw the expectant nations stand
To catch the coming flame in turn;—
I saw, from ready hand to hand,

The dear, though struggling glory buru! And, Oh, their joy, as it came near, 'Twas in itself a joy to seeWhile fancy whisper'd in my ear, "That torch they pass is Liberty!"

And each, as she receiv'd the flame,
Lighted her altar with its ray;
Then, smiling to the next that came,
Speeded it on its sparkling way!

From Albion first, whose ancient shrine
Was furnished with the fire already,
Columbia caught the boon, divine,
And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady!

The splendid gift, then, Gallia took;
And, like a wild Bacchante, raising
The brand aloft, its sparkles shook,

As she would set the world a blazing!

Thus kindling wild, so fierce and high
Her altar blaz'd into the air,
That Albion, to that fire too nigh,

Shrank back, and shudder'd at its glare!

Next Spain, so new was light to her, Leap'd at the torch-but ere the spark,

That fell upon her shrine, could stir,

'Twas quench'd—and all again was dark!

Yet no!-not quench'd-a treasure, worth
So much to mortals, rarely dies,
Again her living light look'd forth,

And shone, a beacon, in all eyes!
Who next receiv'd the flame?—alas!
Unworthy Naples-shame of shames,
That ever, through such hands should pass,
The brightest of all earthly flames!
Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch,
When frighted by the sparks it shed,
Nor waiting e'en to feel the scorch,

She dropp'd it to the earth-and fled!
And fallen it might have long remain'd,

But Greece, who saw her moment, now
Caught at the prize, though prostrate-stain❜d—
And wav'd it round her beauteous brow!
And Fancy bade me mark, where, o'er
Her altar, as its flame ascended,
Fair laurel'd spirits seem'd to soar,

Who thus in song their voices blended—
Shine! shine for ever, glorious flame!
Divinest gift of God's to men!
From Greece the earliest splendour came,
To Greece the ray returns again!
Take, freedom, take thy radiant round!
When dimm'd revive-when lost return!
Till not a shrine through earth be found,
On which thy glories shall not burn!

Moore.

Flight of O'Connor's Child, and death of her Lover.

Ar bleating of the wild watch-fold

Thus sang my love" Oh, come with me!

Our bark is on the lake-behold

Our steeds are fasten'd to the tree.

Come far from Castle-Connor's clans!
Come with thy belted forestere,
And I, beside the lake of swans,

Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer;

And build thy hut, and bring thee home
The wild fowl and the honey-comb,

And berries from the wood provide,
And play my clarshech by thy side-
Then come, my love!"-How could I stay?
Our nimble stag-hounds track'd the way,
And I pursued by moonless skies,
The light of Connocht Moran's eyes!

And fast and far, before the star

Of day-spring, rush'd we through the glade,
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn
Of Castle-Connor fade.

Sweet was to us the hermitage
Of this unplough'd, untrodden shore;
Like birds all joyous from the cage,
For man's neglect we loved it more!
And well he knew, my huntsman dear,
To search the game with hawk and spear;
While I, his evening food to dress,
Would sing to him in happiness!
But oh, that midnight of despair,
When I was doom'd to rend my hair!
The night, to me of shrieking sorrow!
The night to him-that had no morrow!
When all was hush'd at even-tide,
I heard the baying of their beagle:
Be hush'd!' my Connocht Moran cried,

"Tis but the screaming of the eagle '—
Alas! 'twas not the eyrie's sound,
Their bloody bands had track'd us out;
Up-listening starts our couchant hound-
And, hark! again that nearer shout
Brings faster on the murderers.

Spare-spare him-Brazil-Desmond fierce!
In vain no voice the adder charms;
Their weapons cross'd my sheltering arms;

Another's sword has laid him low-
Another's and another's;

And every hand that dealt the blow-
Ah me! it was a brother's!

Yes, when his moanings died away,
Their iron hands had dug the clay,
And o'er his burial turf they trod,
And I beheld-O God! O God!-
His life-blood oozing from the sod!

Campbell.