No charms to such can fame impart, Where spread the dazzling files of war?— To claim their share, in ev'ry glorious day; Yes Erin, thou may'st claim, lov'd soil, Of Sage, unwearied, by the midnight oil, Of mighty Orator, with thunder arm'd : And tuneful Bards thy list'ning rocks have charm'd. See Usher Erin's mitre bears, And Berkely modest virtuous Sage. Her's was the Drapier's nervous Page; Her's Congreve's Wit, and Southern's Muse of Tears; Her Echos learn'd the tender Parnel's strain. Boast of our isle, immortal shade ! Lov'd native soil, and genial skies, The patriot throb that bids my bosom rise. For thee my fruitless sighs shall ever breathe And prayers for Erin dwell upon the tongue of Go then to Rome! and hope in Rome to find Those walls, those massive fragments, dark with rust, Those are thy Rome! See, frowning from the ground V. D'A. THE ARAB'S DAUGHTER. BY J. K. "TAKE courage, love, the burning breeze, "Beneath yon cliff a limpid rill "Flows sparkling from the desert cave, "And o'er the brink with living thrill "Their foliage the mimosas wave. "Soon shall thy languid beauties press "The moss, that cloathes the fountain's side, "And sleep beguiling thy distress "Through every nerve shall sweetly glide." With mournful softness Abra smil'd, To trace once more beyond the wild Their leaves had fanned her infant brow, Alive to pleasure's purest glow, Beneath their branches she had roved. "Tis just," she cried, " my fainting frame "Should languish mid the noontide beam, "I left my Sire to grief, and shame, "Entranced in passion's frantic dream, "But ere the evening tints decline, "This fevered pulse will beat no more, "Still thus to press my cheek to thine, "Breathes comfort on my dying hour. "Love whisper'd; I should bless thy youth "And, in misfortune's gloomy day, "My smile thy pensive heart would soothe, "Soft as the emerald's dewy ray. "Yet droop not thus in deep despair, "Nor, when these limbs to earth are given, "Think, thy poor Abra slumbers there, "But trace her 'mid the stars of heaven. "No terror chills my brow resigned, "As the death-angel hovers near; "His pinions rustle in the wind, "He frowns, and lifts the shadowy spear. "In darkness rolls my dizzy brain, 66 EPIGRAM. NED calls his wife his counter-part TO MISS BANNATINE. BY MR. J. THELWALL. MARY, if rightly in thy beaming eyes I read thy gentle heart, we were not form'd For foes; and had we met in happier hours→→→ When no discordant feuds had rent in twain The bonds of blest affiance that should link Man to his neighbour-in that blush I read, (That blush of sweet ingenuousness) how soon Our souls had sympathiz'd. Then had we held, Not transiently, as now, the boon of chance, This stinted converse, nor, with formal phrase, Imp'd the cold forms of courtesy; but, oft, In free communion, round the social hearth, Enjoy'd such gentle interchange of soul' As intellectual beings best beseems;Improving and improv'd. Then had we talk'd(Thy home observance with the glean'd remark Of my excursive wanderings oft compar'dPleasing diversity!) Then had we talk'd Of Scotia's towering hills, of Cambria's dells, Luxuriant Vecta, and the fertile plains Of southern Albion; of the lot of Man, Born to hard toil, or to aspiring state,To sufferance or infliction! and, perchance, Oft interweaving some disastrous tale Of undeserv'd misfortune, had digress'd To such sad strains of moral sympathy |