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HYLAND'S MAMMOTH |
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Even now, though youth Its bloom has shad,
No lights of age adorn thee; The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee. Thy midnight cup Is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreathe It; The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank, cold hearts beneath it.
Go—go—though worlds were thine, I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine For all thy guilty splendor! |
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WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE.
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh, how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, , "When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame She saw History write, with a pencil of light That illumln'd the whole volume, her Wellington's nam*.
"Hall, Star of my Isle!" said the Spirit, all sparkling
With beams such as break from her own dewy skies— "Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling,
I've watched for some glory like thine to arise. For though heroes I've numbered, unblest was their lot,
And unhallowed they sleep in the crossways of Fame— But oh, there is not one dishonoring blot
On the wreath that encircles,my Wellington's name!
Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The grandest, the purest, even thou hast yet known; Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,
Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. At the foot of that throne for whose weal thou hast stood,
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame— And, bright o'er the flood of her tears and her blood,
Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name!" |
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WEEP ON, WEEP ON.
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past,
Your dreams of pride are o'er; The fatal chain Is round you cast,
And you are men no more! In vain the Hero's heart hath bled,
The Sage's tongue hath warned in vain; Oh! freedom, once thy flame hath fled,
It never lights again.
Weep on, perhaps in after years
They'll learn to love your name, And many a deed may wake in praise
That long hath slept in blame! And when they tread the ruined Isle
Where rest at length the lord and slave, They'll wondering ask how hands so vile
Could conauer hearts so brave.
" 'Twas fate," they'll say, "a wayward fate,
Your web of discord wove; And while your tyrants Joined in hate
You never joined in love. But hearts full of that ought to twine
And man profaned what God hath given, Till some were heard to curse the shrine
Where others knelt to Heav'n!" |
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