English

My scatterbrained nephew gave such an impression
Of being inept and half-witted,
He never was able to find a profession
For which he was properly fitted.
He's failed seven times for the Army, so far,
And his tutor, in language emphatic,
Declares that he hasn't the brains for the Bar
Nor the nous for the Corps Diplomatic.
This morning, however, my witless relation
Discovered at last a becoming vocation.

The work, so he tells me, is easy and pleasant,
The hours are too short to be wearing,

I.

How dark and dull is all the vaporous air,
Loaded with sadness as though earth would grieve
Whene'er the skirts of ancient grandeur leave
A place they once enriched forlorn and bare!
Man and the earth in mutual bonds have dwelt
So long together, that it were not strange
Old lights eclipsed and barren-hearted change,
Should be by sentient nature deeply felt.

II.

And with the motions of her outward shows,
Prophetic leadings, I would almost say,
Guiding the observant spirit on its way,

Hark to the tramp of the Young Guard of Eireann!
Firm is each footstep and erect is each head.
Soldiers of Freedom, unfearing and eager
To follow the teachings of her hero dead.

Chorus:

On for Freedom, Fianna Eireann!
Set we our faces to the dawning day —
The day in our own land when strength and daring
Shall end for evermore the Saxon sway.

Strong be our hands, like the Fianna Eireann,
Who won for her glory in the days that are gone;
Clean be our thinking and truthful our speaking,

I.

Gentle Love , this hour befriend me,
To my eyes , resign thy dart ;
Notes of melting musick lend me,
To dissolve a frozen heart.

II.

Chill, as mountain snow , her bosom!
Tho' I tender language use,
'Tis, by cold indiff'rence , frozen,
To my arms , and to my muse .

III.

See! my dying eyes are pleading,
Where a breaking heart appears:
For thy pity interceding,

TO FLAVIA

See! F LAVIA , see! that flutt'ring Thing
Skim round yon' flower with sportive wing,
Yet ne'er its sweets explore;
While, wiser, the industrious Bee
Extracts the honey from the tree,
And hives the precious store.

So You, with coy, coquettish art,
Play wanton round your Lover's heart,
Insensible and free:
Love's balmy blessing would you try,
No longer sport a Butterfly,

I.

When Jacob 's muse re-strings the slacken'd lyre ,
And, sweetly pensive, sounds the meaning strain,
Why does his fruitless modesty , in vain,
Conceal his name , yet, not conceal his fire :
Since sentiments alone the soul explain,
Keep your thoughts hid, or think not you retire .

II.

Rare, and soon-mark'd, in this receiving age,
Strait, to its spring , unvenal verse is trac'd;
Its course far shining, tho' its banks defac'd!
'Twas needless to subscribe the speaking page,

I.

Pope, in absence of his pain ,
Easy, negligent, and gay,
With the fair , in am'rous vein,
Lively, as the smiling day ,
Talk'd, and toy'd, the hours away.

II.

Tuneful, o'er Belinda 's chair,
Finely cag'd, a Linnet hung;
Breath'd its little soul in air,
Flutt'ring round its mansion sprung;
And its carrols sweetly sung.

III.

Winding, from the fair one's eye ,

I.

When Bacchus , jolly God, invites
To revel in his ev'ning rites,
In vain his altars I surround,
Though with Burgundian incense crown'd:
No charm has Wine without the Lass;
'Tis Love gives relish to the Glass.

II.

Whilst all around, with jocund glee,
In brimmers toast their fav'rite She;
Though ev'ry Nymph my lips proclaim,
My heart still whispers Chloe 's name;
And thus with me, by am'rous stealth,
Still ev'ry glass is Chloe 's health.

I.

I spoke by chance of modest flowers,
And how, in all the banks and bowers
Of vernal Bagley's greenwood ways,
They ever added to my store
Of festal joys, a charm the more
To Christian holidays.

II.

A kind heart, little known to me,
Amid the various company
That night this random mention heard.
I spoke with truth, but never thought
What welcome service would be wrought
For me by that stray word.

III.

Yet when we utter what we fee,

Long, Roger in vain
Strove Cic'ley to gain,
And that Something he wanted she knew;
Yet still she reply'd,
First make me your Bride,
Or — I wish I may die if I do.

Quoth Roger , Next Fair
I'll deck out your hair
With a Top-knot, green, yellow, or blue.
No Top-knot, pray, bring
Without the Gold-Ring,
Or — I wish I may die if I do.