| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
||
|
|
||
|
Then should music, stealing. All the soul o£ feeling, To thy heart appealing,
Draw one tear from thee; Then let memory bring thee Strains I used to sing thee—
Oh! then remember me. |
||
|
|
||
|
I SAW FROM THE BEACH.
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining—
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. And such Is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. . Ne'er tell roe of glories serenely adorning
The close of our day, the calm eve of our night— Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning
Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light. Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning,
When passion first waked a new life through his frame, And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame! |
||
|
|
||
|
I SAW THY FORM.
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom away, Mary! Yet still thy features wore that light
Which fleets not with the breath; And life ne'er looked more truly bright
Than In thy smile of death, Mary! A3 streams that run o'er golden mines,
Yet humbly, ealmiy glide, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide! Mary, Sor veiled beneath the simplest guise,
Thy radiant genius shone, And that which charmed all other eyes
Seemed worthless in thine own, Mary! |
||
|
|
||
|
JOYS THAT PASS AWAY.
Joys that pass away like this,
Alas! are purchased dear, If every beam of bliss
Is followed by a tear. Fare thee well—oh, fare thee well! Soon, too soon, thou hast broke the spell.
Oh, I ne'er can love again The girl whose faithless art
Could break so dear a chain, And with It break my heart! Once, when truth was in those eyes,
How beautiful they shone! But now that lustre flies,
For truth, alas! Is gone. Fare thee well—oh, fare thee well! How I've loved my hate shall tell.
Oh, how lorn, how lost would prove Thy wretched victim's fate,
If, when deceived in love, He could not fly to hate. |
||