Whether hero, or lover, or else matters not,
“Other times—other men shall divine him;”
Let him rest with his love, by the world forgot,
We have hearts large enough to enshrine him.
MY EMMET’S NO MORE.
Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of Erin,
Appeared on the cliff of a bleak rocky shore,
Loose in the winds flowed her dark streaming ringlets
And heedless she gazed on the dread surge’s roar.
Loud rang her harp in wild tones of despairing,