Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue,

But while they're both fill'd from the same bright bowl;

The fool who would quarrel for diff'rence of hue,

Deserves not the comfort they shed on the

soul.

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my

side

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds

agree?

Shall I give up the friend I have valued and

tried,

If he kneel not before the same altar with me?

From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly,
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox

kiss?

No! perish the hearts and the laws that try Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!

SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING,

SUBLIME was the warning which liberty spoke, And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke,

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain.

Oh! liberty! let not this spirit have rest, Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west;

Give the light of your looks to each sorrowing

spot,

Nor, oh! be the shamrock of Erin forgot,

While you
Spain!

add to your garland the olive of

If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their rights,

Give to country its charm, and to home its delights,

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain; Then, ye men of Iberia! our cause is the

same

And oh; may his tomb want a tear and a name, Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath For the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain!

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd

The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find

That repose which at home they had sigh'd for in vain,

Breathe a hope that the magical flame which you light,

May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright: And forgive even Albion, while with blushing she draws,

Like a truant, her sword, in the long slighted

cause

Of the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain!

God prosper the cause!-Oh! it cannot but

thrive

While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, Its devotion to feel and its rights to main

Then how sainted by sorrow its marters will die!

The finger of glory shall point where they lie! While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their grave

Beneath shamrocks of Erin and olives of Spain !

BELIEVE ME."

AIR-"My lodging is on the cold ground.”

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 would'st 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. Oh! 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.

ERIN! Oh, ERIN!

AIR" Thomanna Hulla."

LIKE the bright lamp that lay in Kildare's holy shrine,*

And burn'd through long ages of darkness and storm,

Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain,

Whose spirit out-lives them, unfading and

warm:

*The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare, which Giraldus mentions, "Apud Kilderiam occurrit ignis sanctæ, Brigidæ, quem inextinguibilem vocant; non quod extingui non possit, sed quod tam solicite moniales et sanctæ mulieres ignem, suppetente materia, fovent et nutriunt ut a tempore virgines per tot annorum curricula semper mansit inextinctus."-Girald, Camb. de Mirabil, Hibern. Dist. 2. c. 34.

Erin! oh, Erin! thus bright through the tears Of a long night of bondage thy spirit appears! The nations have fall'n, and thou still art young,

Thy sun is but rising when others are set; And though slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung,

The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.

Erin! oh, Erin! though long in the shade, Thy star will shine out, when the proudest shall fade.

Unchill'd by the rain, unwak'd by the wind, The lilly lies sleeping through winter's cold

hour,

Till the hand of spring her dark chain unbind, And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.*

Erin! oh, Erin! thy winter is past,

And the hope that liv'd through it shall blossom at last.

*Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lily, has applied this image to a still more important subject.