Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love?
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?

THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING

ΤΗ

HE time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light that lies

In woman's eyes

Has been my heart's undoing.
Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the love she brought me,
My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly all they taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the Sprite,

Whom maids by night
Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me;
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray

Was turn'd away,

Oh! winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold, or wise,

For brilliant eyes

Again to set it glowing?
No-vain, alas! th' endeavor

From bonds so sweet to sever-
Poor Wisdom's chance

Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever!

TH

THE YOUNG MAY MOON

HE young May moon is beaming, love,
The glowworm's lamp is gleaming, love,
How sweet to rove

Through Morna's grove,

While the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!-the heavens look bright, my dear !
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear!
And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star,
More glorious far,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear,

The sage's glass we'll shur, my dear,

Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW

HIS world is all a fleeting show,

TH

For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,

Deceitful shine, deceitful flow

There's nothing true but Heaven!

And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of even!

And love and hope and beauty's bloom
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb-
There's nothing bright but Heaven!

Poor wanderers of a stormy day!

From wave to wave we're driven,
And fancy's flash and reason's ray
Serve but to light the troubled way
There's nothing calm but Heaven!

THOSE EVENING BELLS

HOSE evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,

TH

Of youth, and home and that sweet time, When last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyous hours are passed away;
And many a heart, that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone;

That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

THOU ART, O GOD!

"The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun. the earth thou hast made 74: 16, 17.

Thou hast set all the borders of summer and winter."-Psalm

HOU art, O God! the life and light

TH

Of all this wondrous world we see ;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from thee.
Where'er we turn thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.

When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven -
Those hues that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume,
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes,—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

IS the last rose of summer,

'TIS Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes

Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!