'Mid stars so bright,

On a lovely night,
In countless crowds;
Where the blue sheet lightning ever glances,
And with noiseless footstep quickly dances

Over the wave,

Where the moonbeams lave,
After tipping the snowy Magellan clouds;
They say e'en there,
Where all is fair,
And Nature smiles 'neath a sunny sky,
And only man seems to fade and die,
There is a bird of vulture aspect seen,
The Gallinaso, filthy and obscene,
That feeds on the putrid remains of the dead,
And will scoop them from out of their narrow bed;
It can scent its ill-savoured food from far,

it will sail, as to some bright star,
And return, when its odious meal is done,
To croak and to scream at the setting sun,
As if it would say, “ Ere thou leave the sea,
May another carcase be ready for me.”

This is a tale to make one's blood run chill,

And curdle even at the fountain's head;

But there are fiends more foul and fearful still,

By Anarchy in murd’rous phalanx led.

Art thou too sad, Hibernia?-do we see
Another Poland bleed again in thee?
Do men name thee and Poland in one breath,
And cite

ye both as images of death?

The daughter of Erin is bitterly weeping,
For on her are famine and pestilence creeping;
The smoke ascends from the mud shebeen, as it did

in days of yore, But mingling in sad concert with a sigh; And the hill tells the lough, “ I look on nought but

misery,” And verdant valleys plunged in sorrow sore. She seeth her sons depart to shun calamity,

Forsaking the green hills which gave them birth,

Forsaking the much-loved turf-lighted hearth,
In new found fairy lands to court prosperity.
Ah! had she learn'd the lesson Poland taught,

Had Poland seen her errors ere too late,
The cup of each had been with blessing fraught,

Erin and Poland had been free and great!


THERE is a fear, a fear of pain,

A fear of mortal woe,-
A dread of that appalling chain

Which fetters man below,
Which our sad fall has made the lot
Of hoary age and childhood's cot.

There is a fear, a deadly fear,

Of Death's approaching tread; But it may not in those appear

For whom Christ's blood was shed; To such his sting is snatched away, He leads them to eternal day.

There is a fear, an awful fear,

The fear of a guilty heart; 'Tis far more sick’ning than the fear

Of Death's destroying dart;

Its victim shudders if he sees

But a leaf quivering in the breeze,

There is a fear, a filial fear,

The fear of God on high, Which makes the pardoned soul draw near,

And “ Abba, Father,” cry; The sinner sings redeeming love, And soars to sinless seats above.


Joy comes of heavenly birth,

Sent from above,
No son of grovelling earth,

But sprung from love. 'Twill sweeten care,

'Mid social scenes delighted rove, And leave its choicest fragrance there.

'Round childhood's silken locks

'Twill blessings shed, Nor hoary hairs it mocks,

Nor manly head, Nor passes by

The fair, but follows in her tread, And revels in her bright blue eye.

Joy lies in sunny flowers;

The cowslip's bell,

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