LIKE the bright lamp that shone in KILDARE'S holy fane,* And burn'd through long ages of darkness and storm, Is the heart that afflictions have come o'er in vain, Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm! * The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare, which Giraldus mentions, " Apud Kildariam occurrit Ignis Sanctæ Brigidæ, quem inextinguibilem vocant; non quod extingui non possit, sed quod tam solicitè moniales et sanctæ mulieres ignem, suppétente materia, fovent et nutriunt ut tempore virginis per tot annorum curricula semper mansit inextinctus.". Girald. Camb. de Mirabil. Hibern. Dis. 2, c.. 34. ERIN! oh ERIN! thus bright, through the tears The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, Thy sun is but rising, when others are set; And, though Slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung, The full moon of Freedom shall beam round thee yet. ERIN! oh ERIN! though long in the shade, Thy star will shine out, when the proudest shall fade! III. Unchill'd by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, The lily lies sleeping through Winter's cold hour, Till Spring, with a touch, her dark slumber unbind, And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.* ERIN! oh ERIN! thy winter is past, And the hope that lived through it shall blossom at last. * Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lily, bas applied this image to a still more important subject. DRINK TO HER. AIR.-Heigh oh! my Jackey. I. DRINK to her, who long Hath waked the poet's sigh; The girl, who gave to song What gold could never buy. Oh! woman's heart was made For minstrel hands alone; By other fingers play'd, It yields not half the tone. The girl who gave to song II. At Beauty's door of glass When Wealth and Wit once stood, They ask'd her, "which might pass?" She answer'd, "he who could." VOL. IV. 4 With golden key Wealth thought To pass-but 'twould not do: While Wit a diamond brought, Which cut his bright way through! So here's to her, who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy! III. The Love that seeks a home Where wealth or grandeur shines, Is like the gloomy gnome That dwells in dark gold mines. But oh! the poet's love Can boast a brighter sphere; Though woman keeps it here! |