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104 |
IRISH MELODIES. |
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ECHO.
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night, When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes, And, far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light!
Yet Love hath echoes truer far,
And far more sweet, Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.
'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
And only then, — The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear,
Breath'd back again. |
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OH BANQUET NOT.
Oh banquet not in those shining bowers
Where Youth resorts — but come to me : For mine's a garden of faded flowers,
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. And there we shall have our feast of tears,
And many a cup in silence pour; Our guests, the shades of former years,
Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. |
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