THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY
In rapt, roused Erin, who does not behold
A Venus, rising from the sea of tears,
Up to her native, Earth-illuming spheres?
Her hair, long matted, is a flow of gold
Which even the Sun might wear and feel not cold;
And, oh, her heavenly smile at doubts and fears,
As when she, at all depths, raised to her ears,