Farewell! thy life hath left surviving love Thus rests thy spirit still on those with whom WOMAN AND FAME. HAPPY-happier far than thou, Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame, A draught that mantles high, Away! to me-a woman-bring Thou hast green laurel leaves that twine For that resplendent gift of thine, Heroes have smiled in death. Thou hast a voice, whose thrilling tone But mine, let mine-a woman's breast, By words of home-born love be bless'd. A hollow sound is in thy song, A mockery in thine eye, For kindly looks to cheer it on, Fame, Fame! thou canst not be the stay Unto the drooping reed, The cool fresh fountain in the day Of the soul's feverish need: Where must the lone one turn or flee? Not unto thee, oh! not to thee! THE POETRY OF THE PSALMS. NOBLY thy song, O minstrel! rush'd to meet By that high strain, than by the thunder's tone, Than flashing torrents, or the ocean's roll; Jehovah spoke through the inbreathing fire, Nature's vast realms for ever to inspire With the deep worship of a living soul. Dublin, April, 1835. THE END. |