| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
IRISH MELODIES. |
||
|
Like him, too, Beauty won me, But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray
"Was turn'd away, O ! winds could not outrun me.
And are those follies going ? And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing ? No-—vain, alas! th' endeavour From bonds so sweet to sever; -
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance Is now as weak as ever. |
||
|
OH, WHERE'S THE SLAVE.
Oh, where's the slave so lowly, Condemn'd to chains unholy,
Who, could he burst
His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly ?
upon him, he is fixed, and in your power; but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing some inducement) he vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite which we call the Leprechaun ; but a high authority upon such subjects, Lady Morgan (in a note upon her national and interesting novel, O'Donnel), has given a very different account of that goblin. |
||