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IRISH MELODIES. |
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" Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
" The grandest, the purest, ev'n thou hast yet known ; " Tho' 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 stood; " 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 name !" |
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THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.
The time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing
The light that lies
In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorn'd the lore she brought me,
My only books
Were woman's looks, And folly's all they've taught me.
Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him the Sprite *
Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
* 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 |
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