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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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AVENGING AND BRIGHT.
Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin
On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed! For every fond eye he hath wakened a tear iu,
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade! By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,
When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping In gore— By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling.
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore— *We swear to revenge them!—no joy shall be tasted,
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed. Our halls shall be mute, and our fields sball lie wasted,
Till vengeance is wreaked on the murderer's head! Yes. monarch! though sweet are our home recollections,
Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections,
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! |
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AFTER THE BATTLE.
Night closed around the conqueror's way.
And lightnings showed the distant bill. Where those who lost that dreadful day
Stood, few and faint, but fearless still! The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,
Forever dimmed, forever crossed— Oh, who shall say what heroes feel.
When all but life and honor's lost! The last sad hour of freedom's dream
And valor's task moved slowly by, While mute they watched, till morning'3 beam
Should rise and give them light to die. There's yet a world where souls are free,
Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss; If death that world's bright opening be.
Oh, who would live a slave in this? |
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AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE WATERS MAY
GLOW.
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While tbe tide runs In darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm, suuny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting; Oh, this thought In tbe midst of enjoyment will stay. Like a dead, leafless branch In the summer's bright ray The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain; It may smile In his light, but it blooms not again. |
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AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT.
&t the mid hour df night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air. To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there. And tell me our love Is remembered, even In the sky! Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear, When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on tbe ear; And, as Echo far off through tbe vale my sad orison rolls, I think of my love! 'tis thy voice, from the kingdom of souls, Faintly answering still tbe notes that once were so dear. |
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