English

Now Night's sullen Noon spreads her mantle around,
And menacing thunders roll solemn in air,
Amanda's sad accents the woodlands resound,
Dark mountains re-echo these plaints of despair.

— See how the gloom deepens, the rude tempest roars,
— And loud the rough North-wind howls through the expanse,
— Old Ocean, hoarse murmuring, lashes the shores,
— While phantoms of night o'er the wild desert dance.

— The prominent cliff, that impends o'er the flood
— Responds to the ominous scream of the owl;

Almighty Power! The One S UPREME !
Our souls inspire, attune our lays
With hearts as solemn as our theme,
To sing hosannas to thy praise!

Then, while we swell the sacred song,
And bid the pealing anthem rise
May seraphim the strain prolong,
And hymns of glory fill the skies.

Thy word omnifick form'd this earth,
Ere time began revolving years —
Thy fiat gave to Nature birth
And tun'd to harmony the spheres.

When stern Oppression's iron hand,
Our pious fathers forc'd to roam,

So, 'tis over! Lift the dead
Bear him to his place of rest,
Broken heart, and blighted head:
Lay the cross upon his breast.

There be many die too late;
Here is one that died too soon;
'Twas not fortune — it was fate
After him that cast her shoon.

Toll the church-bells slowly: toll!
God this day is wrath with Eire:
Seal the book, and fold the scroll;
Break the harp, and burst the wire.

Lords and priests, ye talked and talked
In Kilkenny's council hall;
But this man whose game ye baulked

Behold, my fair, the ruddy morn
Anticipate the day:
What beauteous tints the sky adorn,
And gild the azure way!

The sombre mists, which gloomy night
Had gather'd in the vale,
Are born aloft, and wing their flight
Before the rising gale.

Now chang'd to clouds of varied hue,
In airy maze they dance;
Now sweep athwart the welkin blue,
And gem the gay expanse.

The plumy tenant of the grove
Is perch'd on yonder spray,
And serenades his little love
With sweetest roundelay.

I

Fair she stood — God's queenly creature!
Wondrous joy was in her face;
Of her ladies none in stature
Like to her, and none in grace.
On the church-roof stood they near her,
Cloth of gold was her attire;
They in jewell'd circle wound her —
Beside her Ely's king, her sire.

II

Far and near the green fields glitter'd
Like to poppy-beds in spring,
Gay with companies loose-scatter'd

IN THE GRACES .

 Say, fluttering heart,
Why after days of sweet delight,
 Where conscious innocence bore part,
Serene as smiling morn, peaceful as silver night,
Or gay as gaudy noon, when Phœbus' beams shone bright.

 Say, how one hour,
One little instant, could remove
 That vacant careless joy? what power
Inflict the torments we now prove;
Cynthia forbid it ever should be love.

 Dear goddess, for fair honour's sake,
 Relieve the torments we partake!
 Teach us to cure our am'rous fires,

Should one led up to death, or fearing worse,
Those tortures that make dying a release,
Anticipate the final boon of peace
By taking on himself the murderer's curse?

If with unwavering purpose arm'd, his hand
Could let the doomed captive from his breast,
And with one purple pang reconquer rest,
Were it not Roman, Brutus-worthy, grand?

No! by my faith in God, I would not spare
My flesh one blow prophetically due,
Nor snatch a respite, nor for mercy sue,
Lest I should wrong th' Omnipotence of prayer:

Sweet brooke, in whose cleare christall I mine eyes
Haue oft seene great in labour of their teares;
Enamell'd banke, whose shining grauell beares
These sad characters of my miseries;
High woods, whose mounting tops menace the spheares;
Wild citizens, Amphions of the trees,
You gloomie groues at hottest noones which freeze,
Elysian shades which Phebus neuer cleares;
Vaste solitarie mountaines, pleasant plaines,
Embrodred meads that ocean-wayes you reach,
Hills, dales, springs, all that my sad cry constraines

Falls there no lightning from yon distant heaven
To crush this man's potential impudence?
Shall not its outraged patience thunder: “Hence!
Forsake the shrine where Liberty was given!”

Shall he stand here, with this defiant face,
And clench the fist, and shake the matted hair,
As if his brutal prowess centred there,
Mocking at Justice, in her holy place?

See where he smiles! the sophism falls so pat!
Suits better with his ends than finer stuff—
Goes furthest, with the speech assured and rough—

To heare my plaints, faire riuer christalline,
Thou in a silent slumber seemes to stay;
Delicious flowrs, lillie and columbine,
Yee bowe your heades when I my woes display;
Forrests, in you the mirtle, palme, and bay,
Haue had compassion listning to my grones;
The winds with sighes haue solemniz'd my mones
'Mong leaues, which whisper'd what they could not say;
The caues, the rockes, the hills the Syluans' thrones,
As if euen pitie did in them appeare,
Haue at my sorrowes rent their ruethlesse stones;