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I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet, when springing

From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells that nought on earth can break,

Till lips that know the charm have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken

By thee, thee, only thee.

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I. Shall the Harp then be silent, when he, who first gave

To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes ? Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave,

Where the first, where the last of her Patriots lies?

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II. No-faint though the death-song may fall from his lips, Though his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be


Yet, yet shall it sound, ʼmid a nation's eclipse,
And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost!"

What a union of all the affections and powers,

By which life is exalted, embellish’d, refined,
Was embraced in that spirit—whose centre was ours,
While its mighty circumference circled mankind.

Oh, who that loves Erin-or who that can see,

Through the waste of her annals, that epoch sublimeLike a pyramid raised in the desert-where he

And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time!


That one lucid interval, snatch'd from the gloom

And the madness of ages, when, fill'd with his soul, A Nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom, And, for one sacred instant, touch'd Liberty's goal!

VI. Who, that ever hath heard him-hath drank at th:

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Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own,

* It is only these two first


that are either fitted or intended to be sung.

In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force,

And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown.

VII. An eloquence, rich-wheresoever its wave Wander'd free and triumphant-with thoughts that

shone through Ás clear as the brook's 66 stone of lustre," and gave,

With the flash of the gem, its solidity too.

VIII. Who, that ever approach'd him, when, free from the

crowd, In a home full of love, he delighted to tread 'Mong the trees which a nation had given, and which

bow'd, As if each brought a new civic crown for his head



IX. That home, where-like him who, as fable hath told, *

Put the rays from his brow, that his child might

come near

Every glory forgot, the most wise of the old

Became all that the simplest and youngest hold dear.

Apollo, in his interview with Phaëton, as described by Ovid:-Deposuit radios propriusque accedere jussit.

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X. Is there one who has thus, through his orbit of life, But at distance observed him-through glory,

through blame, In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife

Whether shining or clouded, still high and the same


Such a union of all that enriches life's hour,

Of the sweetness we love and the greatness we praise. As that type of simplicity blended with power,

A child with a thunderbolt only portrays. —


XII. Oh no, not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns Deep, deep, o'er the grave, where such glory:

shrined O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the urns

of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind!

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Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing

O'er files, array'a

With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing! When hearts are all high beating, And the trumpet's voice repeating

That song, whose breath

May lead to death,
But never to retreating!
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing

O'er files, array'd

With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing !

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Yet, 'tis not helm or feather-
For ask yon despot, whether

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