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
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