And that before a chieftain's death,
On moonless nights, by lightning shown,
How oft they saw the water-wraith,
And heard the weeping banshee's groan.
How many a barque, at midnight toss'd
And in the angry waters lost,
In the gray dawn-light seemed to glide
In phantom-beauty o'er the tide.
But ah! the past and all its lore
Is fading from our hearts away,
And memories of the times of yore
Are all forgotten in to day!
And now, 'tis but by peasants old
These cherished legends can be told;
For Erin's harp is mute and still,
Its mystic notes no heart can thrill!
Once minstrel hearts awoke its strain,
And swept its chords with master-hand;
But who can wake these lays again
In songs of love and fatherland?
Oh! when again shall such as they
Wake passion'd song and warrior's lay?
Till Erin's vales once more resound
With harp-notes long in silence bound!
LIVINGSTONE.
At last thou art resting; thy life-work is ended—
Thy life-work so nobly and faithfully done;
And thy name, with the names of the mightiest blended,
Shall be honored and loved as the ages roll on!
Far away in the wilds, as thy life-scene closed slowly,
How thy soul must have pined for one home-voice to cheer;
But the God, ever kind, of the high and the lowly,
With blessings and strength to thy spirit was near!
How sweet to thy tired soul that glorious light breaking
In beauty untold o'er the land of the blest,
As thou heard'st, in the hour of that wond'rous awaking—
"Well done, faithful servant, now enter thy rest!"
Great Britain's Columbus—her son and our glory!
Her true hearts with love shall beat high at thy name;
Thou shalt stand 'mong the first in our country's proud
story,
And be graven with fire on the Temple of Fame!
Oh! that some minstrel soul, from the days long departed
Would awake, a meet requiem o'er thee to sing—
And tell of thy brave deeds—the high, lion-hearted—
Till the listening nations their homage would bring!