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94 IRISH MELODIES. |
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In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour,
At twilight so often we 've roam'd through the dew, There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. * But tho' they were even more bright than the queen
Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, As I never those fair young celestials have seen,
Why—this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.
As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation,
"Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,
Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we could spare. Oh! think what a world we should have of it here,
If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee, Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere,
And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me. |
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OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME!
Oh for the swords of former time !
Oh for the men who bore them, When, arm'd for Eight, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them!
* " La Terre pourra etre pour Venus l'etoile du berger et la mere des amours, comme Venus Test pour nous."—Pluralite des Mondes. |
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