THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH. THERE are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing And, see the lamps still livelier glitter, Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, their laughing eyes, the while, concealing, Led Freedom's Bard their slave at last. For the Poet's heart, still prone to loving, Was like that rock of the Druid race,* Which the gentlest touch at once set moving, But all earth's power couldn't cast from its base. The Rocking Stones of the Druids, some of which no force is able to dislodge from their stations. OH! ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORE OH! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, And of those days when, by thy shore, How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs, That Eden where th' immortal brave Dwell in a land serene, Whose bow'rs beyond the shining wave, At sunset, oft are seen. "The inhabitants of Arranmore are still persuaded that, in a lear day, they can see from this coast Hy Brysail, or the Enchanted Island, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and concerning which they relate a number of romantic stories."- Beaufort's Ancient Topography of Ireland. Ah dream too full of sadd'ning truth! Are like the hopes I built in youth,- LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE. LAY his sword by his side,* it hath served him too well Not to rest near his pillow below; To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell, Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave, — That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath, And himself unsubdued in his grave. Yet pause for, in fancy, a still voice I hear, As if breathed from his brave heart's remains ;Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear, Once sounded the war-word, " Burst your chains!" And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep, "Tho' the day of your Chieftain for ever hath set, It was the custom of the ancient Irish, in the manner of the Scythians, to bury the favourite swords of their heroes along with them. "Oh leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep, "It hath victory's life in it yet! "Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield, "Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword, "Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd, "Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord. "But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd the proud use "Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain, "Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose, “Leap forth from thy dark sheath again!” OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS. Он, could we do with this world of ours What a heaven on earth we'd make it Like those gay flies that wing thro' air, So, in this world I'd make for thee, Break forth whenever we choose it. While ev'ry joy that glads our sphere Such shadows will all be omitted: - THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING. THE wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall,* • The Palace of Fin Mac-Cumhal,(the Fingal of Macpherson) in Leinster. It was built on the top of the hill, which has retained from thence the name of the Hill of Allan, in the county of Kildare. The Fenians, or Fenii, were the celebrated National Militia of Ireland, which this Chief commanded. The introduction of the Danes in the above song is an anachronism commo to most of the Finian and Ossianic legends. |