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IRISH MELODIES. |
105 |
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There, while the myrtle's withering boughs
Their lifeless leaves around us shed, We '11 brim the bowl to broken vows,
To friends long lost, the chang'd, the dead. Or, while some blighted laurel waves
Its branches o'er the dreary spot, We'll drink to those neglected graves,
Where valour sleeps, unnam'd, forgot. |
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THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE.
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee. When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, And smiles are near that once enchanted, Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame's high path could waken My spirit once is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee. Like shores by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries, resting never, Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark I know not, heed not, hastening ever To thee, thee, only thee. |
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