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On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles bad still received thee,
Go-go-'tis vain to curse,
'Tis weakness to upbraid thee; Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
For her's was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,
She saw History write,
With a pencil of light That illumed all the volume, her WELLINGTON's name! II. “ Hail, Star of my Isle!” said the Spirit, all sparkling
With beams, such as break from her own dewy
“Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling,
" I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. “For, though Heroes I've number'd, unbless'd was
their lot, « And unhallow'd they sleep in the cross-ways of Fame;
" But, oh! there is not
6 One dishonouring blot “ On the wreath that encircles my WELLINGTON'S
“ Yet, still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
“ The grandest, the purest even thou hast yet known; “ Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,
"Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. " At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast
“Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame
“ And, bright o'er the flood
" Of her tears and her blood, “Let the rainbow of Hope be her WELLINGTON'S
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.
AIR.—Peas upon a Trencher.
The light that lies
In Woman's eyes,
My only books
Were Woman's looks,
Like him, the Sprite,*
Whom maids by night
If once their ray
Was turn'd away,
* This alludes to a kind of Irish Fairy, which is to be met with, they say, in the fields, at dusk :-as long as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite which we call the Leprechaun; but a high authority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan (in a note upon her national and interesting Novel, O'Donnel) has given a very different account of that Goblin.
From bonds so sweet to sever ;
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance
WHERE IS TIIE SLAVE?
AIR.---Sios agus sios liom.
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 To the throne of Ilim who made it ? Farewell, Erin! --farewell all Who live to weep our fall!