SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, Every note which he loved awaking;-- Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.

He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own loved island of sorrow.

BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear; No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sun-flower turns on her G.o.d, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM

Oh, the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove; When my dream of life from morn till night Was love, still love.

New hope may bloom, And days may come Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream; No, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.

Though the bard to purer fame may soar, When wild youth's past; Though he wins the wise, who frown'd before, To smile at last; He'll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And, at every close, she blushed to hear The one loved name.

No--that hallowed form is ne'er forgot Which first love traced; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory's waste.

'Twas odour fled As soon as shed; 'Twas morning's winged dream; 'Twas a light there ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream: Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream.

THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

'Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, To give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie withered And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?

THE MINSTREL-BOY

The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.-- 'Land of song!' said the warrior-bard, 'Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!'

The Minstrel fell--but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its cords asunder; And said, 'No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery!

Thy songs were made for the brave and free, They shall never sound in slavery!'

THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING

The time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing.

Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the lore she brought me, My only books Were women's looks, And folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him the Sprite Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted.

Like him, too, Beauty won me; But while her eyes were on me, If once their ray Was turned away, Oh, winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?

And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing?

No--vain, alas! th' endeavour From bonds so sweet to sever;-- Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever.

THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS

Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!

Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.

When I remember all The friends so link'd together, I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled Whose garlands dead And all but he departed!

Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

LORD BYRON

The a.s.syrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.