THE ROCK OF CASHEL.-Continued.

Love of my love, and temple of my God!
How would I now clasp thee

Close to my heart, and, even as thou wast
trod,

So with thee trodden be!

O, for one hour a thousand years ago,

Her blooming cheek was like the rose, all blushing; and her eye
Like yonder star, that shines afar so bright and tenderly;
Her bosom like the snow, in evening's rosy ray,

Within thy precincts dim,
To hear the chant, in deep and measured flow, But oh! it seem'd as cold to me, sweet Maid of Castle Craigh.
Of psalmody and hymn!

To see the Prince of Cashel o'er the rest,
Their prelate and their king,

But now my griefs are all at rest, the wars at length are o'er,
And landed safe on Erin's soil, I'll never leave it more;
But live in peace and joy, to bless each happy day,

The sacred bread and chalice by him blest, With thee, my own, my only love, dear Maid of Castle Craigh.
Earth's holiest offering.

Thy glory in a crimson tide went down,

Beneath the cloven hoof

Altar and priest, miter, and cope, and crown,
And choir, and arch, and roof.

O, but to see thee, when thou wilt rise again—
For thou again wilt rise,

And with the splendors of thy second reign
Dazzle a nation's eyes!

The creedless, heartless, murderous robber

came,

And never since that time

Oh! Dermot Astore! how this fond heart would flutter,
When I met thee by night in the shady borcen,

Round thy torn altars burned the sacred And heard thine own voice in a soft whisper utter

flame,

66

Those words of endearment, Mavourneen colleen!

Or rose the chant sublime.

THE MAID OF CASTLE CRAIGH.

THREE times the flowers have faded since I left my native home,
Through hopeless love enlisting, in foreign lands to roam;
But whersoe'er I wandered, near or far away,

No maiden could e'er compare with the Maid of Castle Craigh.

I courted her a year and more, and sought to gain her love,
And sure her heart was fond and warm, though timid as a dove;
For oh! I never knew, till I was far away,

That I had won thy gentle heart, dear Maid of Castle Craigh.

And who shall smite thee then?-and who shall

see

Thy second glory o'er?

When they who make thee free themselves
are free,
To fall no more.

DERMOT ASTORE.

OH! Dermot Astore! between waking and sleeping
I heard thy dear voice, and I wept to its lay;
Every pulse of my heart the sweet measure was keeping
Till Killarney's wild echoes had borne it away.
Oh! tell me, my own love, is this our last meeting?

Shall we wander no more in Killarney's green bow'rs,
To watch the bright sun o'er the dim hills retreating,
And the wild stag at rest in his bed of spring ow'rs?
Oh! Dermot Astore, etc.

I know we must part, but oh! say not for ever,

That it may be for years adds enough to my pain;
But I'll cling to the hope, that though now we must sever,
In some blessed hour I shall meet thee again.

Oh! Dermot Astore, etc.