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IRISH MELODIES. |
Ill |
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Might hope to rest, and find in thee
A gloom like Eden's on the day-He left its shade, when every tree,
Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way.
"Weeping or smiling, lovely isle!
And all the lovelier for thy tears — For, tho' but rare thy sunny smile,
'Tis heav'n's own glance when it appears
Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, But, when indeed they come, divine —
The brightest light the sun e'er threw Is lifeless to one gleam of thine. |
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'T WAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS. *
'T was one of those dreams that by music are brought, Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thought— When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone.
The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those He had taught to sing Erin's dark bondage and woes, And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er From Dinis' green isle to Glena's wooded shore. |
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Written during a visit to Lord Kenraare, at Killarney. |
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