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32 |
IRISH MELODIES. |
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Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces, She brush'd him — he fell, alas ! never to rise —
" Ah ! such," said the girl, " is the pride of our faces, " For which the soul's innocence too often dies."
While she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease was growing,
She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night-fallen dew; And a rose, further on, look'd so tempting and glowing,
That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too : But, while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning,
Her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was lost: " Ah! this means," said the girl, (and she sighed at its meaning,)
" That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost! " |
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BEFORE THE BATTLE.
By the hope within us springing,
Herald of to-morrow's strife; By that sun, whose light is bringing
Chains or freedom, death or lite — Oh! remember life can be No charm for him who lives not free !
Like the day-star in the wave,
Sinks a hero in his grave, Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. |
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