The Bard Of Erin'S Lament

By T- M-EE, Esq.

Oh,weep for the hours, when the little blind boy Wove round me the spells of his Paphian bower; When I dipped my light wings in the nectar of joy, And soared in the sunshine, the moth of the hour! From beauty to beauty I passed, like the wind; Now fondled the lily, now toyed with the rose; And the fair, that at morn had enchanted my mind, Was forsook for another ere evening's close.

I sighed not for honour, I cared not for fame, While Pleasure sat by me, and Love was my guest; They twined a fresh wreath for each day as it came, And the bosom of Beauty still pillowed my rest: And the harp of my country--neglected it slept-- In hall or by greenwood unheard were its songs; From Love's Sybarite dreams I aroused me, and swept Its chords to the tale of her glories and wrongs, but weep for the hour!--Life's summer is past, And the snow of its winter lies cold on my brow; And my soul, as it shrinks from each stroke of the blast, Cannot turn to a fire that glows inwardly now.

No, its ashes are dead--and, alas! Love or Song No charm to Life's lengthening shadows can lend, Like a cup of old wine, rich, mellow, and strong, And a seat by the fire tête-à-tête with a friend.