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IRISH MELODIES. |
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Sail on, sail on — through endless space —
Through calm—through tempest—stop no more: The stormiest sea's a resting-place
To him who leaves such hearts on shore. Or — if some desert land we meet,
Where never yet false-hearted men Profan'd a world that else were sweet, —
Then rest thee, bark, but not till then. |
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THE PARALLEL.
Yes, sad one of Sion* — if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart —
If drinking deep, deep of the same " cup of trembling" Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.
Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken, And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown;
In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, And, "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."f
Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, Die far from the home it were life to behold ;
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning, Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old.
* These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews.
f " Her sun is gone down while it was yet day." — Jeb. xv. 9.
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