I Saw Thy Form in Youthful Prime
I saw thy form in youthful prime, Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of Time, And waste its bloom away, Mary! Yet still thy features wore that light, Which fleets
What the Bee Is To the Floweret
What the bee is to the floweret, When he looks for honey-dew, Through the leaves that close embower it, That, my love, I’ll be to you. She. What the bank, with verdure glowing, Is
The Legacy
When in death I shall calmly recline, O bear my heart to my mistress dear, Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine Of the brightest hue, while it linger’d here. Bid her not
When He Who Adores Thee
When he, who adores thee, has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was
Enigma
Come riddle-me-ree, come riddle-me-ree, And tell me, what my name may be. I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose; Though a dwarf in my
Omens
When daylight was yet sleeping under the pillow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, The last time she e’er was to press it
The Prince's Day
Though dark are our sorrows, today we’ll forget them, And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers: There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, More form’d to be grateful
Fly Not Yet
Fly not yet, ’tis just the hour, When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night, And maids who love the moon. ‘Twas
Oh! Arranmore, Loved Arranmore
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, How oft I dream of thee, And of those days when, by thy shore, I wander’d young and free. Full many a path I’ve tried, since then, Through pleasure’s flowery
War Song
Remember the Glories of Brien the Brave Remember the glories of Brien the brave, Though the days of the hero are o’er, Though lost to Mononia and cold to the grave, He returns to
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
On Music
When through life unblest we rove, Losing all that made life dear, Should some notes we used to love, In days of boyhood, meet our ear, Oh! how welcome breathes the strain! Wakening thoughts
Come, Rest in this Bosom
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o’ercast, And a heart
Sweet Innisfallen
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, May calm and sunshine long be thine! How fair thou art let others tell To feel how fair shall long be mine. Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell In memory’s
The Irish Peasant to his Mistress
Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer’d my way, Till hope seem’d to bud from each thorn that round me lay; The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn’d, Till