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Thoughts that not burn, but shine
Pure, calm, and sweet!
And, as the records are,
Which wandering seamen keep,
Through the cold deep-
the words I write
Guiding my way!
When in death I shall calm recline,
O bear my heart to my mistress dear; Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine
Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here;
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow
To sully a heart so brilliant and light; But balmy drops of the red grape borrow,
To bathe the relic from morn till night.
When the light of my song is o'er,
Then take my harp to your ancient hall; Hang it up at that friendly door,
Where weary travellers love to call.* Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
Revive its soft note in passing along, Oh! let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.
Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing,
To grace your revel when I'm at rest ; Never, oh! never its balm bestowing
On lips that beauty hath seldom blest! But when some warm devoted lover
To her he adores shall bathe its brim,
*“In every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed the more they excelled in music.”-O’HALLORAN,
Then, then my spirit around shall hover,
And hallow each drop that foams for him.
HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED.
AIR.—The Dear Black Maid.
Sweet bonds, entwined by Love!
Long may the fair and brave
* I have endeavoured here, without losing that Irish character which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allade to the sad and ominous fatality by which England has been deprived of so many great and good men at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity.
Every bright name, that shed
Light o'er the land, is fled.
But brightly flows the tear
Oh! quench'd are our beacon-lights-
Truth, peace and freedom hung!
So long shall Erin's pride
* This designation, which has been applied to LORD NELSON before, is the title given to a celebrated Irish Hero, in a Poem by O'Gnive, the bard of O'Niel, which is quoted in the “ Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland." Page 433. “Con, of the hundred fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories!”
+ Fox, “ ultimus Romanorum."
We may roam through this world like a child at a feast,
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest ; And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We
may order our wings and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,
Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, We never need leave our own green isle,
For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world whether eastward or westward
you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.
In ENGLAND, the garden of beauty is kept
By a dragon of prudery, placed within call; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,
That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all.