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WHILE gazing on the moon's light,

A moment from her smile I turn'd
To look at orbs that, more bright,
In lone and distant glory burn'd.

But, too far,

Each proud star,
For me to feel its warming flame;

Much more dear

That mild sphere,
Which near our planet smiling came :
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own,

While brighter eyes unheeded play,
I'll love those moonlight looks alone,

Which bless my home and guide my way! The day had sunk in dim showers,

But midnight now, with lustre meek, Illumined all the pale flowers, Like hope, that lights a mourner's cheek

I said (while

The moon's smile
Play'd o'er a stream in dimpling bliss),

6. The moon looks

On many brooks,
The brook can see no moon but this ;"
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run,

For many a lover looks to thee,
While oh! I feel there is but one,

One Mary in the world for me.


Night closed around the conqueror's way,

And lightnings show'd the distant hill, Where those who lost that dreadful day

Stood, few and faint, but fearless still!

The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,

For ever dimm'd, for ever cross'd;
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,

When all but life and honour's lost !
The last sad hour of freedom's dream,

And valour's task, moved slowly by,
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam

Should rise, and give them light to die !
There is a world where souls are free,

Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ;
If death that world's bright opening be,

Oh! who would live a slave in this ?

Oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright

My heart's chain wove!
When my dream of life, from morn till night,

Was love, still love!
New hope may bloom,

And days may come

Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life

As love's young dream!
Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life

As love's young dream!
Though the bard to purer fame may soar,

When wild youth's past ;
Though he win the wise, who frown'd before,

To smile at last;
He'll never meet

A joy so sweet,

In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman's ear

His soul-felt flame,
And, at every close, she blush'd to hear

The one loved name!

Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot,

Which first-love traced;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot

On memory's waste!
'Twas odour fled

As soon as shed ;

'Twas morning's winged dream;
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again

On life's dull streamı !
Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again

On life's dull stream.


When twilight dews are falling soft

Upon the rosy sea, love!
I watch the star, whose beam so oft

Has lighted me to thee, love!
And thou too, on that orb so clear,

Ah! dost thou gaze at even,
And think, though lost for ever here,

Thou'lt yet be mine in Heaven?
There's not a garden walk I tread,

There's not a flower I see, love!
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,

Some joy I've lost with thee, love!
And still I wish that hour was near,

When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept through here,

May turn to smiles in Heaven!


The young May-moon is beaming, love!
The glow-worm'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 starwatch 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 shun, my dear!

Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!


The minstrel boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you'll find him ;
His father's sword he has girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.
“ Land of song !" said the warrior-bard,

“Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee !"

The minstrel fell! but the foeman's chain

Could not bring his proud soul under!
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;
And said, “ No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,

They shall never sound in slavery !”.


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 look'd more truly bright

Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden mines,

Yet humbly, calmly glide,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines

Within their gentle tide, Mary!
So, veil'd beneath the simplest guise,

Thy radiant genius shone,
And that which charm'd all other eyes

Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell above,

Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere;
Or, could we keep the souls we love,

We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meot,

Though sairest forms we see,
To live with them is far less sweet

Than to remember thee, Mary!


She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,

And lovers are round her sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,

For her heart in his grave is lying!

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