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IRISH MELODIES. |
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IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED. *
It is not the tear at this moment shed,
"When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. "Pis the tear, thro' many a long day wept,
'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded ; 'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept,
When all lighter griefs have faded.
Thus his memory, like some holy light,
Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he liv'd but to love them. And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume
Where buried saints are lying, So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom
From the image he left there in dying! |
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THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP.
'Tis believ'd that this Harp, which I wake now for thee, Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea ; And who often, at eve, thro' the bright waters rov'd, To meet on the green shore a youth whom she lov'd. |
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* These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near and dear relative, who died lately at Madeira. |
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