Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate
Quick! We Have But a Second
Quick! we have but a second, Fill round the cup while you may; For time, the churl, hath beckon’d, And we must away, away! Grasp the pleasure that’s flying, For oh, not Orpheus’ strain
It Is Not the Tear At This Moment Shed
It is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o’er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that’s fled, Or how deep in our
Song of Innisfail
They came from a land beyond the sea, And now o’er the western main Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, From the sunny land of Spain. “Oh, where’s the isle we’ve seen in
Come O'er the Sea
Come o’er the sea, Maiden with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where’er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and
Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; But oh! her beauty was far beyond Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand. “Lady! dost thou
While Gazing on the Moon's Light
While gazing on the moon’s light, A moment from her smile I turn’d, To look at orbs that, more bright, In lone and distant glory burn’d. But too far Each proud star, For me
The Ghost of Miltiades
The Ghost of Miltiades came at night, And he stood by the bed of the Benthamite, And he said, in a voice, that thrill’d the frame, “If ever the sound of Marathon’s name Hath
She Sung of Love
She sung of Love, while o’er her lyre The rosy rays of evening fell, As if to feed with their soft fire The soul within that trembling shell. The same rich light hung o’er
The Fortune-Teller
Down in the valley come meet me to-night, And I’ll tell you your fortune truly As ever ’twas told, by the new-moon’s light, To a young maiden, shining as newly. But, for the world,
Though Humble the Banquet
Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee, Thou’lt find there the best a poor bard can command; Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee, And Love serve the feast
Oh, Ye Dead!
Oh, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live, Why leave you thus your graves, In far
Ode to the Goddess Ceres
Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients we know, (Among other odd whims of those comical bodies,) Adorn’d with somniferous poppies, to show, Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman’s Goddess. Behold in his best,
After the Battle
Night closed around the conqueror’s way, And lightnings show’d the distant hill, Where those who lost that dreadful day Stood few and faint, but fearless still. The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal, For ever
The Night Dance
Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high, And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean, Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye, Obey