THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

[From the same.]

'How sweetly,' said the trembling maid,
Of her own gentle voice afraid,

So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that tranquil flood-
'How sweetly does the moonbeam smile
To-night upon yon leafy isle!

Oft, in my fancy's wanderings,
I've wish'd that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bowers,

Were wafted off to seas unknown,
Where not a pulse should beat but ours,
And we might live, love, die alone!
Far from the cruel and the cold,-

Where the bright eyes of angels only Should come around us, to behold

A paradise so pure and lonely! Would this be world enough for thee?' Playful she turned, that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on; But when she marked how mournfully

His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; And, bursting into heartfelt tears, 'Yes, yes,' she cried, 'my hourly fears, My dreams, have boded all too rightWe part-for ever part-to-night!—

I knew, I knew it could not last

'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past! Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay;

I never loved a tree or flower,

But 'twas the first to fade away.

I never nursed a dear gazelle,

To glad me with its soft black eye,

But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!
Now too-the joy most like divine
Of all I ever dreamt or knew,

To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,—
Oh, misery! must I lose that too?
Yet go on peril's brink we meet ;—

Those frightful rocks—that treacherous sea-
No, never come again—though sweet,
Though heaven, it may be death to thee.
Farewell-and blessings on thy way,

Where'er thou go'st, beloved stranger!
Better to sit and watch that ray,
And think thee safe, though far away,

Than have thee near me, and in danger!'

WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE.

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind,

Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resigned?

Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;

For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;

In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live

The days of thy glory to see;

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

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 ador'd, 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 unprofan'd 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 lov'd never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE1.

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,

Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
'Here, at least,' he calmly said,
'Woman ne'er shall find my bed.'
Ah! the good Saint little knew,
What that wily sex can do.

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,

Eyes of most unholy blue!

She had lov'd him well and long,

Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong.

1 This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of St. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the county of Wicklow.

Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turn'd,
Still her eyes before him burn'd.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ;
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be :
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.

Fearless she had tracked his feet
To this rocky, wild retreat;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts!
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude, repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock.

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the saint (yet ah! too late,)
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said, 'Heav'n rest her soul!'
Round the Lake light music stole ;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling o'er the fatal tide.

LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.

Lesbia hath a beaming eye,

But no one knows for whom it beameth;

Right and left its arrows fly,

But what they aim at no one dreameth.

Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon

My Nora's lid that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light, surprises!
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear,
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies

In many eyes,

But Love in yours, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,

But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of beauty's mould

Presumes to stay where nature placed it. Oh! my Nora's gown for me,

That floats as wild as mountain breezes,

Leaving every beauty free

To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear,
My simple, graceful Nora Creina,
Nature's dress

Is loveliness

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd,

But, when its points are gleaming round us,

Who can tell if they 're design'd

To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
Pillowed on my Nora's heart,

In safer slumber Love reposes—
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses.
Oh! my Nora Creina dear,
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
Wit, tho' bright,

Hath no such light,

As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina.