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108 |
IRISH MELODIES. |
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Is there one who hath thus, through his orbit of life, But at distance observ'd him — through glory, through blame,
In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife,
Whether shining or clouded, still high and the same —
Oh no, not a heart that e'er knew him but mourns
Deep, deep o'er the grave where such glory is shrin'd—
O'er a monument Fame will preserve 'mong the urns Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind. |
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OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING.
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing! When hearts are all high beating, And the trumpet's voice repeating
That song whose breath
May lead to death, But never to retreating. Oh the sight entrancing, When morning's beam is glancing |
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