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BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,

That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
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.

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE1.

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,

Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
'Here, at least,' he calmly said,
'Woman ne'er shall find my bed.'
Ah! the good Saint little knew,
What that wily sex.can do.

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,

Eyes of most unholy blue!

She had lov'd him well and long,

Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong.

1 This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of St. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the county of Wicklow.

Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot'nigh;
East or west, where'er he turn'd,
Still her eyes before him burn'd.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ;
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.

But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be:
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.

Fearless she had tracked his feet
To this rocky, wild retreat;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts!
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude, repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock.

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the saint (yet ah! too late,)
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said, 'Heav'n rest her soul!'
Round the Lake light music stole ;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling o'er the fatal tide.

LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.

Lesbia 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,
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies

In many eyes,

But Love in yours, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,

But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of beauty's mould

Presumes to stay where nature placed it. Oh! my Nora's gown for me,

That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free

To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear,
My simple, graceful Nora Creina,
Nature's dress

Is loveliness

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia hath 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?
Pillowed on my Nora's heart,

In safer slumber Love reposes-
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses.
Oh! my Nora Creina dear,
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
Wit, tho' bright,

Hath no such light,

As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina.

AT THE MID HOUR OF Night.

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we lov'd, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear!
When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,
I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,
How sweet to rove

Through Morna's grove,

When 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 shun, my dear,

Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

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

THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.

The 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 lore she brought me,
My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they've 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 turned away

O! 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' endeavour

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

Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever.

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