ERE AROUND THE HUGE OAK.

ERE around the huge oak that o'ershadows yon mill,
The fond ivy had dar'd to entwine;
Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill,
Or a rook built his nest on the pine.

Could I trace back the time to a far distant date,
Since my forefathers toil'd in this field;

And the farm I now hold on your honour's estate
Is the same that my grandfather till'd.

He, dying, bequeath'd to his son a good name,
Which unsullied descended to me;

For my child I've preserv'd it, unblemish'd by shame,
And it still from a spot shall be free.*

CATHERINE OGHEE.

TUNE" Katharine Ogie."

WHERE Weeps the willow o'er the stream,
Thy silver stream, O Lucan!
And sighs, as autumn's evening breeze
Blows cold upon thy bosom;
Beneath thy verdant bank, inlaid

With wild-flowers, sweetest nosegay;
The sweetest flower of all the vale

There sleeps-my Catherine Oghee.

*There is a piety in these lines worthy of the virgin muse: amid the burning recollections of friends and circumstances that must be mutable, the mind sympathises with every object coeval with their once real existence; and, full of their relations to the "days of other years," makes the pious resolution to pursue that line of conduct which will render them ever unalienable.

How oft, alas! at evening star,
We mark'd thy clear face dimple;
How oft, beneath the moon's bright beam,
We mark'd thy waters wimple!
And whilst her bosom's dazzling snow
My glowing cheek did pillow,

Ah! what could match my joys beneath
The hoar-leaf weeping willow?

I drank the music of her tongue,
Inhal'd her balmy kisses;

I hung around her ivory neck,
Dissolv'd in chastest blisses:
But, woe is me! that beam of love,
The valley's sweetest nosegay,
Now sleeps beneath thy primrose bank-
My angel, Catherine Oghee.

Accurs'd the fiend, whose ruffian hand
Did tear that beauteous blossom;
Remorse with scorpion stings corode
And canker in his bosom.

For me remains the mournful joy,

With wild-flowers, sweetest nosegay, When twilight comes, to deck the grave Where sleeps my Catherine Oghee.

And when young spring the sprouting lawn Shall star with amber showers,

I'll seek the spot at early dawn,

And plant the sweetest flowers;
And when they hang their pensive heads
Beneath the sultry sun's ray,

My tears shall make them bloom again
Their sweets round Catherine Oghee.

C 3

TASTE LIFE'S GLAD MOMENTS.

Taste life's glad moments,

Whilst the wasting taper glows;
Pluck, ere it withers,

The quickly fading rose.

MAN blindly follows grief and care,
He seeks for thorns, and finds his share;
Whilst violets to the passing air
Unheeded shed their blossoms.
Taste life's, &c.

When tim'rous nature veils her form,
And rolling thunder spreads alarm,
Then, ah! how sweet, when lull'd the storm,
The sun smiles forth at even.
Taste life's, &c.

How spleen and envy anxious flies,
And meek content, in humble guise,
Improves the shrub, a tree shall rise,
Which golden fruits will yield him.
Taste life's, &c.

Who fosters faith in upright breast,
And freely gives to the distress'd,

There sweet contentment builds her nest,
And flutters round his bosom.

Taste life's, &c.

And when life's path grows dark and strait,

And pressing ills on ills await,

Then friendship, sorrow to abate,

The helping hand will offer.
Taste life's, &c.

She dries his tears, she strews his way,
E'en to the grave, with flow'rets gay;
Turns night to morn, and morn to day,
And pleasure still increases.
Taste life's, &c.

Of life she is the fairest band,
Joins brothers truly hand in hand;
Thus onward to a better land
Man journeys light and cheerly.
Taste life's, &c. *

WOES MY HEART THAT WE SHOU'D SUNDER.

WITH broken words and downcast eyes,
Poor Colin spoke his passion tender;
And parting with his Lucy, cries,

Ah woes my heart that we shou'd sunder.
To others I am cold as snow,

But kindle with thine eyes like tinder;
From thee with pain I'm forc'd to go;

It breaks my heart that we should sunder.

Chain'd to thy charms, I cannot range;
No beauty new my love shall hinder;
Nor time, nor place, shall ever change

My vows, tho' we're oblig'd to sunder.

* The poet here, by the most enchanting imagery, awakens us to those immediate enjoyments which are always within our reach, by listening to the simple dictates of nature, reprobating that blind fatuity in man which urges him to sacrifice the pleasure of the moment to vague illusion, creating innumerable anxieties to himself, as if determined, since the nature of things will not admit his being entirely happy, to make himself perfectly miserable.

Ye powers, take care of my dear lass,
That as I leave her I may find her:
When that bless'd time shall come to pass,
We'll meet again, and never sunder.

The image of thy graceful air,

And beauties which invite our wonder;
Thy lively wit, and prudence rare,

Shall still be present, tho' we sunder.
Dear nymph, believe thy swain in this,
You'll ne'er engage a heart that's kinder;
Then seal a promise with a kiss,

Always to love me, tho' we sunder.

THE FAITH ON HER LIP I HAVE SWORN.

THE shadows of eve 'gan to steal o'er the earth,
To Eliza my heart I confess'd;

Love sanction'd the moment to hope that gave birth;
On her lip a soft kiss I impress'd.

I saw her warm cheek like heav'n's canopy glow,
When Aurora empurples the morn.

She loves me!-oh Heaven!-let me never forego
The faith on her lip I have sworn.

This bosom, tho' fervid with youth and with health,
In all else shall persuasion control:

Bid me fly from the charm of ambition or wealth,
Or the joys of the bright sparkling bowl!
But Eliza, dear maid! till in earth I'm laid low,
In my heart shall her image be borne:

While she loves me, by Heav'n! I will never forego
The faith on her lip I have sworn.