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1.-WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE.
he, who adores thee, has left but the
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
Of a life that for thee was resign'd ?
Thy tears shall efface their decree;
I have been but too faithful to thee.
With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.
The days of thy glory to see; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.
II. THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH
THE harp that once through Tara’s halls
The soul of music shed,
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
Its tale of ruin tells.
The only throb she gives,
To show that still she lives.
III.-THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene
'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near,
Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest
IV.-BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear,
To which time will but make thee more dear; No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.
V.-LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
H! the days are gone, when Beauty bright
My heart's chain wove;
Was love, still love.
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
As love's young dream :
As love's young dream.
Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;
To smile at last ;
In all his noon of fame,
His soul-felt flame,
The one lov'd name.
No,—that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot
Which first love trac'd ;
On memory's waste.
'Twas morning's winged dream; 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream:
On life's dull stream.
VI.-LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.
ESBIA hath a beaming eye,
But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth. Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid that seldom rises ; Few its looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light surprises !
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear!
In many eyes,
Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
But all so close the nymph hath lac'd it, Not a charm of beauty's mould
Presumes to stay where nature plac'd it. Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
To sink or swell as Heaven pleases !
Lesbia has a wit refin'd,
But, when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're design'd
To dazzle merely, or to wound us ? Pillow'd on my Nora's heart,
In safer slumber Love reposes-
Is but the crumpling of the roses.
Wit, tho' bright,
Hath no such light