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44 HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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OH, DOUBT ME NOT.
Oh, doubt me not!—the season
Is o'er when folly made me rove; And now the vestal, Reason,
Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. Although this heart was early blown,
And fairest hands disturbed the tree, They only shook some blossoms down-Its fruit has all been kept for thee. Then doubt me not—the season
Is o'er when folly made me rove; And now the vestal, Reason,
Shall watch the Are awaked by Love. And though my lute no longer
May sing of Passion's ardent spell, Yet trust me all the stronger
I feel the bliss I do not tell. The bee through many a garden roves
And hums his lay of courtship o'er; But, when he finds the flower he loves,
He settles there, and hums no more. Then doubt me not—the season ' Is o'er when folly kept me free; And now the vestal, Reason,
Shall guard the flame awaked by thee. |
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ARISE FROM THY SLUMBERS.
Arise from thy slumbers, oh, fairest of maids!
With me wilt thou wander to Truigha's green shades,
Where sorrel and bright rowan berries abound,
And nuts In rich clusters the branches have crowned.
A bed of fresh ivy to rest thee I'll bring,
The blackbirds and thrushes around us shall sing;
And there with unceasing attachment I'll prove,
How soothing the cares of affection and love. |
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ONE BUMPER AT PARTING.
One bumper at parting!—though many
Have circled the board since we met, The fullest, the saddest, of any
Remains to be crowned by us yet. The sweetness that pleasure hath in it
Is always so slow to come forth, That seldom, alas! till the minute
It dies, do we know half Its worth. But come—may our life's happy measure
Be all of such moments made up; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure—
They die 'midst the tears of the cup. As onward we journey, how pleasant
To pause and Inhabit awhile Those few sunny spots, like the present,
That 'mid the dull wilderness smile! But Time, like a pitiless master.
Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours— Ah, never doth Time travel faster
Than when his way lies among flowers! But come—may our life's happy measure
Be all of such moments made up; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure—
They die 'midst the tears of the cup.
We saw how the sun looked In sinking, The waters beneath him how bright;
And now let our farewell of drinking Resemble that farewell of light:
You saw how he finished, by darting His beam o'er a deep billow's brim— |
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