Versos English Thomas Moore Rich And Rare Were The Gems She Wore.[1]

English poem

Rich And Rare Were The Gems She Wore.[1]

by

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Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; But oh! her beauty was far beyond Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand.

"Lady! dost thou not fear, to stray, "So lone and lovely through this bleak way? "Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, "As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm, "No son of Erin will offer me harm:-- "For though they love woman and golden store, "Sir Knight! they love honor and virtue more!"

On she went and her maiden smile In safety lighted her round the green isle; And blest for ever is she who relied Upon Erin's honor, and Erin's pride.

This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote:--"The people were inspired with such a spirit of honor, virtue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and a costly dress, undertook a journey alone, from one end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws and government of this Monarch made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt was made upon her honor, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels."--Warner's "History of Ireland," vol i, book x.

AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE WATERS MAY GLOW.

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes. To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting--

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay, Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright ray; The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.