Chapter 3

Oh! sometimes when our hearts are gay, And Pleasure round us smiles, Too soon the hours may pass away That rosy Mirth beguiles; And we may feel a tinge of pain Amid the festal cheer, And pause to ask, "When, when again, Shall all be gathered here?"

But ah! the future's dusky veil Hides coming years from view; And still our yearning eyes must fail To pierce its darkness through. But Memory can hold the past That we have loved so well; And, like a halo round it cast, Affection's light may dwell.

And thus, my friends, though call'd away To join another scene, My thoughts shall often backward stray To all that once has been. And bygone hours shall come again-- The cherished times and dear. And bring the moments in their train When I was with you here.

And as sweet flowers, tho' sere and dead, Can by their fragrance bring Remembrance of the days long fled Again on Memory's wing. So many a kindly smile I'll mourn With deep and fond regret; For though I never may return, I never can forget.

SOLITUDE.

"Solitude delighteth well to feed on many thoughts; There, as thou sittest peaceful, communing with Fancy, The precious poetry of life shall gild its leaden cares" --TUPPER

Come, Solitude! best soother of my mind-- The sole companion of my happiest hours; The spell, all potent, of thy gentle powers Here in this lovely spot, I come to find.

Below yon mountains, in the sunset beams, Lough Neagh's glassy waters widely spread; And through the distance, like a shining thread, The "Silver Bann" along the valley gleams.

Lough Neagh! often in the evening light I've watched the golden sunset kiss thy breast, Then, as it died on many a wavelet's crest, Homeward, unwilling, turned, with fond "Goodnight."

The bare trees in the planting moan and sigh; I've watched their leaves from buds, till they had grown To vernal beauty. Withered now and strewn Upon the walks, all sere and dead they lie.

And in the Spring, when the young leaves came first, Here, often in my lone imaginings, What golden dreams I knew of glorious things; Visions my willing mind too fondly nurse.

Visions that, like the leaves, to beauty grew, Gladdening my heart thro' sunny summer hours; Clad in bright garlands, woven from Fancy's bowers Radiant with Hope's fair light of mellow hue.

And are they withered too? All those swept dreams That I had hoped in future years to see Around me bloom, in living, grand reality; No longer far-off things, or misty, meteor gleams.

Some like these leaves, have fallen by the way, Never again in spring to wake to birth; While some are mine e'en now, whose priceless worth Shall bloom and ripen, knowing no decay!

Round me the shadows deepen; and I see My dead dreams in a phantom band draw near. And dim Æolian strains fall on my ear, like some wild mystic requiem's fitful melody!

Oh! Solitude! thou canst alone restore The buried bygone, till the haunted isles Of memory's chambers shine in moonlight smiles Shadows of sunlight from the days of yore.

Oh! Solitude! come often for my guest! Still, when I meet thee in sequestered glade, I feel thy presence lasting peace has made; Of life's sweet things, I hold thee first and best!

WITH A WHITE ROSE.

Long ago, in ages olden, When our world was new; When old Time was young and golden, When men's hearts were true; Fairer flowers than now are growing Blossom'd everywhere-- Beauty to the earth bestowing, Sweetness to the air!

Well men loved them, fondly dreaming They were not of earth; In their glorious beauty seeming Of a higher birth. And in those Elysian bowers, In the days of old, Speaking all their thoughts in flowers, Thus their love they told:--

One alone, of purest whiteness, Of them all was queen; Sweeter than their hues of brightness Was its snowy sheen.

If this flower as pledge were given By true hearts in love, Though on earth by sad doubts driven, Yet their life above Would be one in joy unending, Undivided there, Soul with soul in glory blending In that kingdom fair.

This the legend I have told thee Of the flower I send. Oh, may its sweet leaves unfold thee Hope, with such an end!

"THE EXILE'S REVERIE."

It is sweet to dream of the vanished times, in this changing land of ours, When we touch the hidden spring of thought, with the wand of mystic powers, That Remembrance yields to our yearning hearts, that are lonely left, and pine For the loves once ours, till shadowy forms come round us, and flit and shine.

Through the gloom that wraps the earth-tired soul, that drifts on life's sea apart, Missing the clasp of a kindred hand, or thrill of heart to heart. Alone! alone! on the wide, wide world, where hope can console no more; Alone! alone! on the friendless waste, strange, on a stranger shore.

Oft times when the gloaming gathers round, and the night wind moans on the hill Like a ghostly voice from the buried dead, when all around is still, In the midnight darkness and silence, I call through the mist and maze, To the sunny joys of the glad, bright dream, of the golden, bygone days.

Then the poem of the wakened long-ago, to the music of memory flows, Now filled as with bridal gladness, now wailing out dirge- like woes; Through sunshine and summer glories, through brightness and fragrant blooms, Through howling storms, 'neath winter skies, through weeping and murky glooms.

And then, when the weird strain ceases, and the fitful music is done, The pictures I love to gaze on, rise slowly, one by one Through the mist of the past slow coming, they give to our eyes once more, What Death has stolen from me, and Death can alone restore.

Again, as in early childhood, I feel the fond caress Of my mother's lips, or I hear the tones of my father's voice that bless His child in its gleeful gambols; Oh! happy and peaceful hours! Ye come in visions of golden noons, and sunshine, and shady bowers!

And the low-breathed prayer when the sunset glow'd crimson in the West, And the sweet "Good-night," and the tender kiss, ere I sank to tranquil rest; Mother! that prayer still haunts me, adown the dreary years, And the earnest tones of thy gentle voice, can steep my soul in tears.

My brothers! faithful hearted! strong in your love, and true; Oh! breaking heart, do you mock me? Can _they_ have perished too? In their morning time, when they shared my dreams of a Crown and a Life-fight won, Thank God, it was their's so early, when my fight had but begun!

Oh, darling, best-beloved! keen now is the aching smart, As when Death's chill touch on our clasped hands fell, when he breathed the hard word "part," Only for earth's short span, my sweet, for love can never die, And the spirit bond but strengthens, as Time's wild waves sweep bye.

Mine! by the vows soft-whispered, where hand in hand we strayed In twilight hours, through summer lanes, or roamed in the lonely glade; But the dream in its glory perished, and earth's brightest hope was fled, And light from my life was faded, when they laid thee with the dead!

Elsie! my bright-haired sister! tender blossom and pure! You drooped in that last storm's fury, too fragile its might to endure; And then I left the home-nest when my last sweet dove had flown, And sought to forget, amid stranger scenes, the sorrows my soul had known.

It's thus the shadowy phantoms come back from the spirit- shore,

When I cry in my lonely anguish for the joys now mine no more. I thrill with a passion'd yearning for the fuller life to be, When my tired soul faints in wonder, lost in earth's mystery!

CHURCH ISLAND, COUNTY DERRY.

"Oh, search with mother-love the gifts Our land can boast; Fair Erna's isles--Neagh's wooded slopes-- Green Antrim's coast."--MACCARTHY.

In peerless beauty, flushing, glowing, O'er broad Lutigh Neagh's breast, The sunset banner hovers, throwing Its glory over the West. And varied banks of glen and wood, That smile round Neagh's smiling flood, In this sweet hour seem fitting theme For Poet's song or artist's dream.

Round the horizon, sternly frowning, The mountains like a barrier rise, The purple range, Slieve Gallion crowning, Towers grimly to the western skies. Northward Losgh Beg's bright waters play Round the Church Isle, where, lone and grey. The ruined pile with ivied walls To present days the past recalls.

On many a grave the sunset gleams, Where calmly rest the sleeping dead-- Tired mortals, done with mortal dreams In other life, whetted they have fled. E'en now they live! Oh! if tonight One soul might earthward take its flight, In awful tones methinks t'would say-- "Prepare for death, oh child of clay!"

Oh, time-worn walls! full many a word Ye echoed in the Sabbath calm; Love, warning, blessing, oft ye heard, And solemn prayer, and chanted psalm; And funeral dirge, as wild and high' Rose on the gale the _caione_-cry, Borne far and wide, o'er fern and brake, As passed the cortege o'er the lake.

And legends of the days gone by Tell that if, when a funeral train Passed there, dark clouds swept over the sky, And howled the wind and sobbed the rain, Such storm was still an omen blest, And told the spirit's happy rest. If all were calm--then woe the dead! Sad rose their wailing, weird and dread!

And that before a chieftain's death, On moonless nights, by lightning shown, How oft they saw the water-wraith, And heard the weeping banshee's groan. How many a barque, at midnight toss'd And in the angry waters lost, In the gray dawn-light seemed to glide In phantom-beauty o'er the tide.

But ah! the past and all its lore Is fading from our hearts away, And memories of the times of yore Are all forgotten in to day! And now, 'tis but by peasants old These cherished legends can be told; For Erin's harp is mute and still, Its mystic notes no heart can thrill!

Once minstrel hearts awoke its strain, And swept its chords with master-hand; But who can wake these lays again In songs of love and fatherland? Oh! when again shall such as they Wake passion'd song and warrior's lay? Till Erin's vales once more resound With harp-notes long in silence bound!

LIVINGSTONE.

At last thou art resting; thy life-work is ended-- Thy life-work so nobly and faithfully done; And thy name, with the names of the mightiest blended, Shall be honored and loved as the ages roll on!

Far away in the wilds, as thy life-scene closed slowly, How thy soul must have pined for one home-voice to cheer; But the God, ever kind, of the high and the lowly, With blessings and strength to thy spirit was near!

How sweet to thy tired soul that glorious light breaking In beauty untold o'er the land of the blest, As thou heard'st, in the hour of that wond'rous awaking-- "Well done, faithful servant, now enter thy rest!"

Great Britain's Columbus--her son and our glory! Her true hearts with love shall beat high at thy name; Thou shalt stand 'mong the first in our country's proud story, And be graven with fire on the Temple of Fame!

Oh! that some minstrel soul, from the days long departed Would awake, a meet requiem o'er thee to sing-- And tell of thy brave deeds--the high, lion-hearted-- Till the listening nations their homage would bring!

A DREAM AT SUNRISE.

Sapphire and rosy brightness in the East; Fresh, light-winged zephyrs o'er the hilltops stray And through the valleys roam, through glens and woods Waking the leaves and flowers to morning life, Seeming to tell to all--"The sun is near!" Slow--brightening now, the rose-light deeper grown The sapphire flames in wondrous golden maze, And, all unrivalled, the great King of Day, In dazzling glory, mounts his regal throne!

To me a vision down the sunbeams came, When wrapt in wonder by the beauty-spell, My soul, entranced, afar from earth did soar, Unshackled, free, and drank the grandeur of the hour Brightest and fairest hour of all the day, When new life thrills the veins as when of old The morning stars their high thanksgivings raised, And all the sons of God did shout for joy! Wondering, I cried, "Oh, Earth is very fair! I cannot see the shadow of man's fall On aught around me--sin has left no trace: Oh! for a bower in such a scene as this, Where Love and Beauty, blessed by Peace, might dwell!"

Then round me, on the light wind softly borne, I heard the numbers of an unseen harp, And turning, saw an angel near me stand. He sang of earthly love, and the soft tones Of his sweet harp were like Aeolian strains Far breathing o'er some blissful Eden world! And as I listened, all my holiest dreams Of harmony, ideal, grand, and high, Seem'd discord. Then methought I saw, Upon the morning hills, a bower arise. Bright flowers of wondrous hues around it bloomed, All, all of beauty that the heart could dream Was there; and, lov'lier far than all, A sweet-eyed maiden, twining rose-wreaths fair!

Dark clouds arose and dimmed the glowing sky; The lightnings flashed, and fearful thunder pealed; And, as they shook the bower, I hid mine eyes, Fearing to see the beauteous visions fade.

The fierce storm ceased. I raised mine eyes again, And saw the wreck of what was once so fair; The flowers had perished, and the maiden wept-- Then all the picture melted into air!

"This shows," the angel said, "what sin has done; Death and decay must fall on earthly things. See that you read God's mighty Teacher right-- The Book of Nature wide before you spread. 'Twas given for man to look on, love, and learn; But men have eyes, and will not read its lore-- Ears, and the God-sent teachings will not hear! Earth's glories and her brightness all must fade; Yet, while they linger, still they say, 'Prepare.'"

"LINES ON VISITING EARLY SCENES."

Oh! well-known scenes of childhood's days, Again ye meet my longing eyes; And still, as memory backward strays, A thousand tender visions rise; Of days when youth's all potent powers Could trace in light the coming hours, Of dreams that withered with the flowers That round my pathway sprung!

When fond Belief, unchill'd by Time, Built airy castles, high and grand; When fickle Fancy's dreams sublime Made Earth appear a fairyland! Yon school-house seems the same to day-- Each well-remembered turn and way Are there--yet, ah! how far away Are childhood's hours from me!

Still, still the same--the cherished scene, That ever thro' the varying years, Deep-graven on my heart has been, In morns of joy--in nights of tears. And oft in darksome times of pain, When hope seem'd dead, and comfort vain, Ye shone upon life's desert plain A friendly light, and true.

And often when the tide of care Beat strong against my fragile bark-- When stormy doubt loom'd everywhere, With nought to light the gloomy dark-- The faith I knew in early days, Ere yet I trod the world's hard ways, Led gently through the 'wildering maze, And whispered words of peace!

Sweet peace, amid the din and strife And holy thoughts and calm repose; The promise of a better life-- The joy that from _believing_ flows! As when amid these scenes I'd stray, And dream through all the golden day Of coming years, in bright array, Till earth would seem a heaven!

The Hand that led Youth's steps aright, The Love that blessed its careless hours-- Shall they not strengthen for the fight, Then wreathe the Victor's brow with flowers? Yes! and ere from these scenes I go, I've learned what all must come to know-- Earth's wisdom is but empty show-- "The child shall teach the man!"

IDOL WORSHIP.

Idol worship in these later ages, When the light of learning shines so clear, Golden sayings graved on million pages-- Wisdom's voices sounding far and near.

Idol worship, subtle and deceiving, Lives mis-spent and talents thrown away; Grim remorse, and after years of grieving-- Skeletons that haunt us night and day.

Idols have we manifold in number-- Idols worshipped both in age and youth; Visions that beguile life's fitful slumber, Soul-destroying, blinding us to truth.

All unreal dreams that fade and perish, Painted idols, rich in gilded shrines-- Airy phantoms that we blindly cherish, Clad in borrowed tints from Fancy's mines.

All the shining, glittering, worthless splendour-- All the brilliance of the earthly toy That we deck with careful hands and tender, Is not gold, but dross and foul alloy.

Earth-born idols, lovely but in seeming, Flitting round us in the moonlight hours On Love's holy shrine we place them dreaming, "Though all else may leave us, _this_ is ours!"

Oh! like meteor-flashings gleaming only Through the far-off vapours, dense and dark, Disappearing, leaves, misled and lonely 'Mid the angry waves, the storm-beat bark.

So our earthly idols, vain, deceiving, Come with promise fair for future years; Fill us with false hopes, forsake us, leaving Nought but memory's torture, gloom and tears.

Oh! may we, their many tempting scorning From earth's sceptres lift our yearning sigh To fadeless flowers the heavenly hills adorning That shall be ours when we have gained the high.

Not the joy whose end is gloom and sadness-- Withering flowers that deck the earthly sod Patience hath her crown--eternal gladness-- By the living "hid with Christ in God."

IN WINTER DAYS.

Spring, and Summer-time, and Autumn Now are flown- Dreamy noontides--mellow sunsets-- Balmy twilights--all are gone!

Hope's bright visions, carmine-tinted, Where are they? Dreams that mocked us in the sunlight Now in Winter pass'd away.

Joy shall reign when Spring returning Wakes the flowers That the tender Earth has guarded Safely thro' the Winter hours;

But the sad winds round me sighing Seem to sing She hath treasures in her bosom That she cannot yield in Spring!

And I weep in yearning sadness, Worse than vain, For the vanished joys that Summer Ne'er can bring to me again!

PARTED.

Slow lingering months with swifter pace move on-- Let this dark winter of my life be past; This cloud athwart the sky of summer thrown-- Whose gloom and darkness on my heart is cast.

Parted--Death's deep, dark river rolls between; Those talks and rambled when the day was done And now among the things that once have been, And I am left in sadness here alone!

Parted! Oh, me, he is for ever gone! How hopeless _now_ the sunset's golden ray; How far off seem those joys we both have known, How cheerless look the paths we used to stray!

Just when the autumn days grew short and chill, When all its sunny hours seemed past and o'er, And moaning winds swept wildly o'er the hill, Like some sere leaf he fell, to rise no more.

The spring shall come, and leaves grow green again, And vernal beauty to the earth return; Sunshine and flowers shall deck the hill and plane, And birds awake with song to greet the morn.

But he has flown far from our wintry sphere, Where fadeless summer glads the spring-bright clime; Not where the tempest clouds spread grief and fear, But safely moored beyond the waves of time!

Mine is the weeping--his the blissful change; Mine is the waiting--his the sighed-for peace; Mine through these dreary, lingering years to range, until I find a land where partings cease.

RETROSPECTIVE.

I'm free from the city's noises now, And the city cares that bound me; I chase their shadows off my brow, 'Mid the rural scenes around me.

And alone in the shadowy evening light, In the deepening gloom and sadness, I roam the paths of past delight Of youth's wild dream of gladness.

I see the panorama vast That to these eyes is giving The joyous scenes of that dead past Still in my bosom living.

I call those thoughts and memories back That stern-faced Toil has banished, And wander o'er the beaten track Of happy days long vanished.

The friends of youth for whom I sigh-- The true and tender-hearted; The happiness of days gone by, The pleasures long departed:

I see them all again to-night, They seem to come and linger Like pictures traced in truest light By Memory's artist finger.

Those happy times, to me how dear! Well loved, yet lost for ever; Those forms that I can fancy near, Can they return? Ah, never!

Grim Time's dark shadow of decay Falls on our hopes when brightest; A cloud may dim our sky of May When happy hearts beat lightest.

When golden sunbeams softly fall In light on shrub and flower, E'en then a storm to blight them all May in the distance lour!

But still when evening's shadowy light Steals round in gloom and sadness, I'll feel a thrill of old delight, Of youth's wild dream of gladness!

DUNLUCE.

In concert grand the tuneful waves Break wildly on the foam-girt shore, And through a thousand secret caves The shrill wind-voices loudly roar. Now are the harps of the Ocean waking, 'Mid the howling winds and the billows breaking!

The mermaid leaves her ocean home To sing her love-songs, soft and tender; The moonlight gilds the breaker's foam, And bathes the sea in silvery splendour; And the splashing spray on the White Rocks falling Sounds like lonely voices of Ocean calling.

Oh, lone Dunluce! looking o'er the sea, With tower and keep so grim and hoary, Do the waves' wild revels recall to thee The days of your long-departed glory-- When the wan, weird moonlight is round thee streaming, With the stars' pale light on your gray walls beaming?

Oh, stern old relic of bygone ages! Oh, stout old scorner of Time's rude hand! Your name shall live in our history's pages While a poet sings in our native land; And your fame shall be heard in old Erin's story When we tell of the days of her vanished glory.

Ah! many a tale not in history's keeping, Of lordly chieftain and lady fair, in the gloom of Oblivion now are sleeping, And can never be told in the twilight there; Who repose unremembered in graves unknown, Where the storms of past ages have o'er them blown.

I can almost fancy the winds are singing Those stories forgotten by all but thee, And the rolling waves in their turn are bringing Back mem'ries of olden chivalry; Wild minstrels around thee in darkness stealing The scenes of the long ago revealing

I hear in the distance their harp-notes swelling In a dirge-like wail o'er the moaning sea, And I think that their mournful strains are telling A thousand tales of the past to me. The echoing caves to their songs replying, As each fitful sound on the gale is dying.

Wild minstrels of Nature, whose poet-fire Rings out through her solitudes, wild and grand. Let your spirit rest on my feeble lyre, And I'll chain it there with a willing hand. And when Night hangs her myriad star-lamps shine Let me blend her notes with your wondrous chord.