WREATH THE BOWL. WREATH the howl With flowers of soul, The brightest Wit can find us Toward heaven to-night, The wreaths be hid, 'That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us, No danger fear, While wine is near, We'll drown him if he stings us Then, wreath the bowl Toward heaven to-night, And leave dull carth behind us. 'Twas nectar fed His nectar too, The rich receipt's as follows: Around it well be blended, Then bring Wit's beam And there's your nectar, splendid! Say, why did Time, Fill up with sands unsightly, And sparkles far more brightly? And, smiling thus, The glass in two we'll sever, And fill both ends for ever! Then wreath the bowl Toward heaven to-night, IF THOU'LT BE MINE. Ir thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air, Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet, In our eyes-if thou wilt be mine, love! And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high, Like streams, that come from heavenward hills, Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie To be bathed by those eternal rills, Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love All this and more the Spirit of Love Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells That heaven, which forms his home above, He can make on earth, wherever he dwells, As thou'lt own--if thou wilt be mine, love! To ladies' eyes around, boy, We can't refuse, we cant't refuse, Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. For thick as stars that lighten Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers, The countless eyes that brighten This earth of ours, this earth of ours. But fill the cup-where'er, boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! Some looks there are so holy, They seem but given, they seem but given, As shining beacons solely, To light to heaven, to light to heaven. While some-oh! ne'er believe themWith tempting ray, with tempting ray, Would lead us (God forgive their !) The other way, the other way. But fill the cup-where'er, boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! In some, as in a mirror, Love seems portrayed, Love seems portrayed, But shun the flatt'ring error, "Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. Himself has fixed his dwelling In eyes we know, in eyes we know, And lips--but this is telling So here they go! so here they go! Fill up, fill up-where'er, boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE. THEY may rail at this life-from the hour I began it, In Mercury's star, where each moment can bring them In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendor, And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me! *Tous les habitans de Mercure sont vifs-Pluralite des Mondes. + La terre pourra étre pour Vénus l'étoile du berger et la mère des amours, comme Venus l'est pour nous.-Pluralite des Mondes 441 FORGET NOT THE FIELD. FORGET not the field where they perished, Those hearts as they bounded before, But 'tis past-and, though blazoned in story Which treads o'er the hearts of the free. Illumed by one patriot name, SAIL ON, SAIL ON. SAIL on, sail on, thou fearless bark- More sad than those we leave behind. Though death beneath our smile may be, Less cold we are, less false than they, Whose smiling wrecked thy hopes and thee." Sail on, sail on-through endless space— Through calm-through tempest-stop no more: The stormiest sea's a resting place To him who leaves such hearts on shore. ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. ST. SENANUS.' "OH! haste and leave this sacred isle, And I have sworn this sainted sod THE LADY. "Oh! Father, send not hence my bark, in a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from an old lkenny MS., and may be found among the Acta Sanctorum Hierniæ, we are told of his flight to the island of Scattery, and his esolution not to admit any woman of the party; and that he reused to receive even a sister saint, St. Cannera, whom an angel ad taken to the island for the express purpose of introducing her him. The following was the ungracious answer of St. Senanus, cording to his poetical biographer : “Cui Præsul, quid fœminis Commune est cum monachis? See he Acta Sanct. Hib., page 610. According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Seranus was no less a personage an the river Shannon; but O'Connor and other antiquarians deny e metamorphose indigna tly. 2 THE PARALLEL. YES, sad one of Sion,* if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling," Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. Like thee doth our nation lie conquered and broken, And fallen from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, And while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."t Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, Die far from the home it were life to behold ; Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning, Remember the bright things that blessed them of old. Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken," Her boldest are vanquished, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, Have tones 'mid their mirth like the wind over graves ! Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the morrow That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, Was shivered at once, like a reed, in thy sight. When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City And a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover,§ DRINK OF THIS CUP. DRINK of this cup; you'll find there's a spell in Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it; But would you rise above earth, till akin To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it, Send round the cup-for oh, there's a spell in Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality: Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Never was philter formed with such power To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing; Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. There having, by Nature's enchantment, been filled With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather, This wonderful juice from its core was distilled To enliven such hearts as are here brought together. So drink of the cup-for oh there's a spell in * These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews. "Her sun is gone down while it was yet day."--Jer. xv. 9. "Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken."-Isaiah, lxii. 4. 11 "How hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased !". Isaiah, xiv. 4. "Thy pomp is brought down to the grave..... worms cover thee."-- Isaiah xiv. 11. and the "Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms."Isaiah, xlvii. 5. OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME! OH for the swords of former time! Oh for the men who bore them, When armed, for Right they stood sublime, And tyrant's crouched before them: When free yet, ere courts begar. With honors to enslave him, The best honors worn by Man Were those which virtue gave him. Oh for the Kings who flourished then! The throne was but the centre, NE'ER ASK THE HOUR. NE'ER ask the hour-what is it to us The golden moinents lent us thus Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. If counting them o'er could add to their blisses, I'd number each glorious second : But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, Then fill the cup-what is it to us Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours, Set up, among his smiling flowers, A dial, by way of warning. But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun, As long as its light was glowing, Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on, THE FORTUNE-TELLER. Down in the valley come meet me to-night, And I'll tell you your fortune truly As ever was told, by the new moon's light, To a young maiden, shining as newly. But, for the world, let no one be nigh, Lest haply the stars should deceive me; Such secrets between you and me and the sky Should never go farther, believe me. If at that hour the heavens be not dim, What other thoughts and events may arise, To settle, ere to the stars and your eyes orning, between them. O'DONOHUE'S MISTRESS. Of all the fair months that round the sun In light-linked dance their circles run, Sweet May, shine thou for me: For still, when thy earliest beams arise, Of all the bright haunts where daylight leaves Fair Lake, thou'rt dearest to me: Of all the proud steeds that ever bore Who still, with the first young glance of spring, My love, my chief, to me. While, white as the sail some bark unfurls, When newly launched, thy long manet curls, Fair Steed, as white and free; And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers, Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, Which, under the next May evening's light, THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE. When friends are met, and goblets crowned, My soul, like some dark spot is haunted * Paul Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in some par of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear imme diately. †The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Donohue and his White Horse, may be found in Mr. Weld's Account of Killarney, of more fully detailed in Derrick's Letters. For many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is supposed to have been seen on the morning of May-day, gliding over the lake on his favorite white horse, to the sound of sweet unearthly music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring flowers in his path. Among other stories connected with this Legend of the Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beautiful girl whose imagination was so impressed with the idea of this visionary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love with him, and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a May-morning, threw herself into the lake. The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which come on a windy day, crestedth foam, "O'Donchue's white horses, How sweet the answer Echo makes When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, Yet Love hath echoes truer far, Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star, 'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, The sigh that's breathed for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear, Breathed back again! OH BANQUET NOT. Он banquet not in those shining bowers, More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. Or, while some blighted laurel waves Its branches o'er the dreary spot, We'll drink to those neglected graves, Where valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. IN yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite. As once, by moonlight, he wandered o'er The golden sands of that island shore, A foot-print sparkled before his sight 'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite! Beside a fountain, one sunny day, As bending over the stream he lay, He turned, but, lo, like a startled bird, Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite. Drew he once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite. "Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried A voice, low whispering by his side, "Now turn and see,"-here the youth's delight Sealed the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite. "Of all the Spirits of land and sea," Then rapt he murmured, "there's none like thee, "And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite !" SWEET INNISFALLEN. SWEET Innisfallen, fare thee well, May calm and sunshine long be thine! In memory's dream that sunny smile, 'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one, Far better in thy weeping hours Weeping or smiling, lovely isle ! And all the lovelier for thy tears- But, when indeed they come, divine-- QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. QUICK! We have but a second, Fill round the cup, while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we must away, away! Grasp the pleasure that's flying, For oh, not Orpheus' strain See the glass, how it flushes, If ever thou seest that day, Then, quick! we have but a second, FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. FAIREST! put on awhile These pinions of light I bring thee, In fancy let me wing thee. With only her tears to guard her. In grace majestic frowning; Like some bold warrior's brows That Love hath just been crowning. Islets, so freshly fair, That never hath bird come nigh them, But from his course through air He hath been won down by them ;Types, sweet maid of thee, Whose look, whose blush inviting, Never did Love yet see From Heaven, without alighting. Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,f And caves, where the gem is sleeping, Bright as the tears thy lid Lets fall in lonely weeping. Glens, where Ocean comes, To 'scape the wild wind's rancor, And Harbors, worthiest homes Where Freedom's fleet can anchor. Then, if, while scenes so grand, So beautiful, shine before thee, Pride for thy own dear land Should haply be stealing o'er thee, Oh, let grief come first, O'er pride itself victoriousThinking how man hath curst What Heaven had made so glorious! OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. Oн, the sight entrancing, When morning's beam is glancing With helm and blade, And plumes, in the gay wind dancing! That song, whose breath May lead to death, But never to retreating. Oh the sight entrancing, When morning's beam is glancing O'er files arrayed, With helm and blade, And plumes, in the gay wind dancing. Yet, 'tis not helm or feather- Could bring such hands Leave pomps to those who need 'em-- The gaudiest slaves That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. The sword may pierce the beaver, Worth steel and stone, That keeps men free for ever. Oh that sight entrancing, When the morning's beam is glancing, O'er files arrayed With helm and blade, And in Freedom's cause advancing! AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS. AND doth not a meeting like this make amends, For all the long years I've been wandering away- We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, That once made a garden of all the gay shore, So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. But, come, the more rare such delights to the heart, Her magic shall send it direct through the chain. "TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.‡ Twas one of those dreams, that by music are brought, The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those He listened-while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest, * "Jours charmans, quand je songe a vos heureux instans, Et mon cœur, enchante sur sa rive fleurie, The The same thought has been happily expressed by my friend Mr. Washington Irving, in his Bracebridge Hall, vol. i., p. 213 sincere pleasure which I feel in calling this gentleman my friend, is much enhanced by the reflection that he is too good an American to have admitted me so readily to such a distinction, if he had not known that my feelings toward the great and free country that gave him birth, have been long such as every real lover of the liberty and happiness of the human race must entertain. Written during a visit to Lord Kenmare, at Killarney. |