Lo! I knock the spurs away;

Lo! I loosen belt and brand;
Hark! I hear the courser neigh
For his stall in Fairy-land.

Bring the cap, and bring the vest;
Buckle on his sandal shoon;
Fetch his memory from the chest
In the treasury of the moon.

I have taught him to be wise
For a little maiden's sake ;-
Lo! he opens his glad eyes,
Softly, slowly Minstrel, wake!

661.

SARA COLERIDGE

O sleep, my Babe

1802-1850

SLEEP, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,
Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling'ring strays
To drink thy balmy breath,

And sigh one long farewell.

Soon shall it mourn above thy watʼry bed,
And whisper to me, on the wave-beat shore,
Deep murm'ring in reproach,

Thy sad untimely fate.

Ere those dear eyes had open'd on the light,
In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold,
O waken'd but to sleep,

Whence it can wake no more!

A thousand and a thousand silken leaves
The tufted beech unfolds in early spring,
All clad in tenderest green,

All of the self-same shape:

A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet,
sends forth, yet every mother views
Her last not least beloved

Each year

Like its dear self alone.

No musing mind hath ever yet foreshaped
The face to-morrow's sun shall first reveal,
No heart hath e'er conceived

What love that face will bring.

O sleep, my babe, nor heed how mourns the gale
To part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath,
As when it deeply sighs

662

2246

O'er autumn's latest bloom.

The Child

SEE yon blithe child that dances in our sight!

Can gloomy shadows fall from one so bright?
Fond mother, whence these fears?

While buoyantly he rushes o'er the lawn,

Dream not of clouds to stain his manhood's dawn,
Nor dim that sight with tears.

No cloud he spies in brightly glowing hours,
But feels as if the newly vested bowers
For him could never fade:

Too well we know that vernal pleasures fleet,
But having him, so gladsome, fair, and sweet,
Our loss is overpaid.

Amid the balmiest flowers that earth can give
Some bitter drops distil, and all that live

A mingled portion share;

But, while he learns these truths which we lament, Such fortitude as ours will sure be sent,

664.

Beauty must fade away,

Eileen Aroon!

Castles are sack'd in war,
Chieftains are scatter'd far,
Truth is a fixèd star,—

Eileen Aroon!

1803-1840

JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN

Dark Rosaleen

MY Dark Rosaleen,

Do not sigh, do not weep!

The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There's wine from the royal Pope,

Upon the ocean green;

And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen !

Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,

Shall give you health, and help, and hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!

Over hills, and thro' dales,

Have I roam'd for your sake;
All yesterday I sail'd with sails

On river and on lake.

The Erne, at its highest flood,

I dash'd across unseen,

For there was lightning in my blood,
My Dark Rosaleen!