Now on each arm's unyielding valour hung,
Unseemly then it were had Danger flung
The shades of terror round the martial band;
In firm collected fortitude they stand,
And front th' advancing foe with equal rage.
As when contending storms their fury wage
Against some mountain's high embattled towers,
Whither, when Desolation swept the vale,
For safety fled a melancholy train
Of trembling females, Childhood, timid Age,
And the wide ruin from above bewail;
But when fair Peace restored her golden reign,
Deserted then those walls whose massy powers
Now undisturb'd the tempest's force sustain :
'Tis thus Ierne's sons th' assault repell.
Now in the ruddy East the star of day,
His wide-illuming lustre 'gan disclose,
When soon the dreadful shouts of War arose,
And on the morning gale terrific swell;
Loud was the trumpet's fight-provoking knell,
And shock of squadrons met in dire affray;
The din of trampling steeds, and clashing arms,
With cries of rage, and many a mortal groan
Immingling, form a tumult of alarms,
And wild confusion; o'er the rocking ground
The sanguine tide of havock sweeps away,
In shuddering heaps tremendous overthrown,
Both dead and dying, men and coursers mixt,
The mangled hecatombs of fierce turmoil;
While from their caves, mid Hela's shadows fixt,
The Demons of Destruction range the plain,
(Like vultures swooping to the weltering spoil,)
Vengeance stern-ey'd, and Slaughter, ghastly twain,
With Horror, murder born, and spread around
Each shape of death that can the soul dismay.
The victory hung in oft relapsing scale,
Uncertain long:-now to th' exulting Danes
Inclining now Ierne's sons prevail,
And proud advantage on their side remains.
Thro' Scandinavia's iron ranks they pour
In fierce irruption, and resistless might,
Against such force what prowess could avail?
The blood of many a dying soldier stains
The sandy beach-the Danes are driven to flight.
As in the mildness of the evening hour,
When curls the smoke above the peasant's shed, 220
In azure volumes up the elm's green head;
If from the summer cloud descends a show'r,
Broke by the rapid rain, the vapours spread
Their grey mist o'er the roof: thus wide dispers'd
The vanquish'd men of Denmark trembling fly; 225
Or mow'd beneath the ruthless sword they die,
Or perish in the sable waves immers'd.
Thus far Ierne's triumph was complete.
So should it be whene'er th' invading foe,
By Conquest madden'd, and o'erweening Pride, 230
Would seek t' enthral some happy free-born state,
And base restraint, for liberty, bestow.
So will it ever be-save when at home,
From inward sources flows Oppression's tide;
When foul Corruption bids the virtues roam
In keen affliction from their native isle ;
When shameless Vice and Luxury preside,
And Worth laments, while Parasites revile;
There shall th' indignant men, with anger fill'd,
To hostile steps a willing entrance yield.
Now well-deserv'd success the brave has crown'd, Give the glad hours to joy, bring forth your King,
Conduct the venerable man around
The field, dear purchase by your valour made.
Be perils all forgot, and let the minstrels sing
The deeds to ancient time your Sires display'd,
While your proud hearts re-echo to the sound,
That no degenerate race their sons are found.
The pomp advances--not in joyful weeds,
The songs are heard, attun'd to mournful airs, 250
And for the heralds of triumphant deeds,
A solemn, sad, funeral train appears.
Whom do they mourn, for whom those rolling tears?
Why burst those sighs from many a troubled breast?
Whose is yon corse in regal habit drest,
Which marr'd by savage hands profusely bleeds?
"Tis Borom's blood-for him the tears descend. O! human glory, impotent and vain.
O! mortal greatness, brittle as the ice.
O! Borom, Prince beloved, is this the end,
Which bounds the labours of thy patriot reign:
For him, whose frowns appal'd presumptuous Vice,
The foe of Guilt, and Virtue's ardent friend;
For him, long shielded from th' impatient grave,
By an whole nation's pray'rs to list'ning Heaven, 265
Was then no guardian power on wing to save,
And stay that blow by hands remorseless giv'n ?
Alas! no aid was nigh, and in his tent,
When the invading foe to flight was driven,
While slumb'ring on his couch the monarch lay,
By toil o'erwearied, and with care o'erspent ;
A band of Danes (whose basty footsteps bent
Far from Ierne's sword their trembling way)
Came where he slept, and in accursed mood,
Bath'd their keen weapons in his sacred blood;
Then fled fear-pinion'd-thus the dire presage,
Of the perfidious demon was fulfill'd :
O'er Denmark's prostrate sons Ierne stood
Victorious, while beneath th' assassin's rage
The old, majestic Borom, was subdued.
Such various scenes attend this mortal stage,
No lasting joy its shifting transits yield,
Th' uncertain sunshine of an April day-
It is the will of Heaven-let all that will obey.
WHEN Julia smiles, the face of day
Is drest in sweets, like genial May;
The lustre of her azure eye,
Her peachy cheek, of rosy dye,
Thrill my fond breast with soft desire,
And heavenly languishment inspire.
When Julia frowns, how glooms the sky,
The lilies droop, the roses die ;
A gloomy hue invests the trees,
No scene delights, no beauties please;
My sickening soul delights to view,
The silent tomb-the mournful yew!
TELL me, Syren of my soul,
What the spell, whose dear controul
Every hill and vale adorns ?
Lovelier light than Summer morns!
Laura, say, and tell me too
Have I ever liv'd till now?
Tell me, Syren of my soul!
Oft I saw the rosy.
Deck the hill, the vale, the lawn;
Pleas'd I found them fair, and warm;
Fair, but not with magic charm;
Love only can that charm bestow!
Ah! I never liv'd till now,
Never, Syren of my soul!
Thy sweet smiles, thy glances bright
Shed the soft, the golden light;
Light, that thro' all Nature beams,
Light, that thro' my bosom streams}
Then, my Laura, hear the vow
That I never liv'd till now!
Hear it, Syren of my soul!
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