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What a union of all the affections and powers,
By which life is exalted, embellished, refined,
While its mighty circumference circled mankind.
Oh, who that loves Erin-or who that can see
Through the waste of her annals, that epoch sublimeLike a pyramid, raised in the desert, where he
And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time!
That one lucid interval, snatched from the gloom
And the madness of ages, when, filled with his soul, A nation o'erleaped the dark bounds of her doom,
And, for one sacred instant, touched liberty's goal !
Who, that ever hath heard him-hath drank at the source
Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force,
And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown
An eloquence, rich_wheresoever its wave
gave, With the flash of the gem, its solidity too.
Who, that ever approached him, when, free from the crowd,
In a home full of love be delighted to tread ’Mong the trees which a nation had given, and which
bowed As if each brought a new civic crown for his head.
That home where like him who, as fable hath told,
Put the rays from his brow, that his child might come
Every glory forgot, the most wise of the old
Became all that the simplest, and youngest hold dear.
Is there one, who hath thus, through his orbit of life,
Whether shining or clouded, still high and the same
Such a union of all that enriches life's hour,
Of the sweetness we love, and the greatness we praise, As that type of simplicity blended with power,
A child with a thunderbolt only portrays.com
Oh 10-not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns, Deep, deep o'er the grave where such glory is
O'er a monument Fame will preserve 'mong the wins Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind !
The sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,
As all its lessening turrets bluely fade;
And busy fancy fondly lends her aid.
Ah! now, each dear, domestic scene he knew,
Recalled and cherished in a foreign clime, Charms with the magic of a moonlight view,
Its colours mellowed, not impaired, by time.
True as the needle, homeward points his heart,
Through all the horrors of the stormy main ; This, the last wish that would with life depart,
To meet the smile of her he loves again.
When morn first faintly draws her silver line,
Or eve's grey cloud descends to drink the wave ; When sea and sky in midnight darkness join,
Still, still he views the parting look she gave.
Her gentle spirit, lightly hovering o'er,
Attends his little bark from pole to pole;
Whispers sweet hope to soothe his troubled soul.
Carved is her name in many a spicy grove,
In many a plantain forest, waving wide ; Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove,
And giant palms o'er-arch the golden tribe.
But lo, at last he comes with crowded sail ;
Lo, o'er the cliff what eager figures bend
In each he hears the welcome of a friend.
'Tis she, 'tis she herself! she waves her hand !
Soon is the anchor cast, the canvass furled ; Soon through the whitening surge be springs to land, And clasps the maid he singled from the world.
EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH.
The good man dies—it grieves us :
He dies--but, dying, leaves us
No sorrows now disturb him,