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OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS, &c.
Oh! think not my spirits are always as light,
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow;
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers Is always the first to be touched by the thorns! But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile;
May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile, And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear!
The thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows,
If it were not with friendship and love intertwined, And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind: But they who have loved the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believed; And the heart that has slumbered in friendship securest, Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived.
But send round the bowl-while a relic of truth
O heard ye yon pibrach sound sad in the gale,
Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
In silence they reached; over mountain and moor;
Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn :
Why speak ye no word ?-said Glenara the stern!
And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?
So spake the rude chieftain: No answer is made,
I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,'
O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
'I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul ! Oh, shame to thy children and thee! Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, How wretched thy portion shall be ! Derision shall strike thee forlorn,
A mockery that never shall die; The curses of hate, and the hisses of scorn, Shall burthen the winds of thy sky; And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurled The laughter of triumph, the jeers of the world!
Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,
The spirit that breathed in thy dead,
They groan from the place of their rest,
Go, look through the kingdoms of earth, From Indus, all round to the pole, And something of goodness, of honour, and worth, Shall brighten the sins of the soul.
But thou art alone in thy shame,
The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy name
Beyond the low reach of compare :— Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us through time A proverb, a bye-word for treachery and crime.
While conquest illumined his sword,
Thy praises still followed the steps of thy Lord,
Though tyranny sat on his crown,
And withered the nations afar,
Yet bright in thy view was the despot's renown,
Then, back from the chieftain thou slunkest away-
Forgot were the feats he had done,
The toils he had borne in thy cause; Thou turned'st to worship a new rising sun, And waft other songs of applause.