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How light my youthful visions shone, when spann'd by Fancy's radiant

form;

But now her glittering bow is gone, and leaves me but the cloud and storm. With wasted form, and cheek all pale with heart long seared by grief

and pain;

Dunroe, I'll seek thy native gale, I'll tread my mountain glens again.

Thy breeze once more may fan my blood, thy valleys all are lovely still;
And I may stand, where oft I stood, in lonely musings, on thy hill.
But, ah! the spell is gone; no art in crowded town, or native plain,
Can teach a crush'd and breaking heart to pipe the song of youth again.

87.-THE ERL-KING.-(Goëthe) Galvan.

Who rides so late in the midnight wild?
The Father it is, and his darling child:
He holds the dear boy close under his arm,
He grasps him tight, and he keeps him warm.

"My son, why cowerest thou thus in fear ?”

-“Oh, seest thou not, father, the Erl-King near?
The dread Erl-King, with his crown and his tail ?"
"Tush, tush, my son! 'tis yon cloud's passing sail.”
"Thou lovely child, come, O come with me—
Such pretty plays I will play with thee!
The spring-flowers are painted of many a hue-
As many gold vests has my mother for you."

"Oh, father! oh, father! say canst thou not hear
What the Erl-King softly pours in my ear?"

-"Hush, darling! hush, darling! and fret not thy mind;
'Tis the dry leaves that dance in the passing wind."

"My darling boy, wilt thou go with me?
My daughters fair all shall wait on thee;
My daughters their midnight dances keep;

They shall rock thee, and dance thee, and sing thee to sleep."

"Oh, father! oh, father! say, seest thou not
The Erl-King's daughters on yon dark spot ?"

"My son! my dear son! I see nothing there
But the willow that waves in the midnight air."

"I love thy fair form, my beauteous boy;
If thou come not with me, I must force employ."
“Oh, father! dear father! still hold me, still—
For the dread Erl-King he hath worked me ill."
The father shook!-he rode fast and wild-
He grasped in his arms the moaning child;
He reached his home in sorrow and dread;
-For, alas! in his arms his child lay dead!

88.-THE FISHERMAN.-(Goëthe) Mangan.

The waters rush, the waters roll: a Fisherman sits angling by;
He gazes o'er the glancing floor with sleepy brow and listless eye;
And while he looks, and while he lolls, the flood is moved as by a storm,
And slowly from its heaving depths ascends a Woman's humid form.

She sings, she speaks:-"Why lure, why wile, with human craft and human snare,

My little ones, my helpless brood, to perish in this fiery air?

Ah! couldst thou guess the dreamy bliss we feel below the purple sea, Thou wouldst forsake the earth and all to dwell beneath with them and me.

"The moon, the sun, their travel done, come down to sleep in Ocean's caves;
They re-ascend their glorious throne, with doubled beauty from the waves.
Ah! sure, the blue ethereal dew, the shining heaven these waters show,
Nay, even thine own reflected face, must draw thee, win thee, down below!"

The waters rush, the waters roll: about his naked feet they move;
An aching longing fills his soul, as when we look on one we love.
She sings to him, she speaks to him!-alas! he feels that all is o'er:
She drags him down-his senses swim-the Fisherman is seen no more!

89. THE FIRESIDE.-M'Carthy.

I have tasted all life's pleasures, I have snatched at all its joys,

The dance's merry measures and the revel's festive noise;

Though wit flash'd bright the live-long night, and flowed the ruby tide,

I sighed for thee, I sighed for thee, my own fireside!

In boyhood's dreams I wandered far, across the ocean's breast,
In search of some bright earthly star, some happy isle of rest;
I little thought the bliss I sought in roaming far and wide,
Was sweetly centred all in thee, my own fireside!

dow sweet to turn at evening's close from all our cares away,
And end in calm, serene repose, the swiftly passing day!
The pleasant books, the smiling looks of sister or of bride,
All fairy ground doth make around one's own fireside!

"My Lord" would never condescend to honour my poor hearth;
"His Grace" would scorn a host or friend of mere plebeian birth,
And yet the lords of human kind, whom man has deified,
For ever meet in converse sweet around my fireside!

The poet sings his deathless songs, the sage his lore repeats,
The patriot tells his country's wrongs, the chief his warlike feats;
Though far away may be their clay, and gone their earthly pride,
Each godlike mind in books enshrined still haunts my fireside.
Oh! let me glance a moment through the coming crowd of years,
Their triumphs or their failures, their sunshine or their tears;
How poor or great may be my fate, I care not what betide,
So peace and love but hallow thee, my own fireside!

Still let me hold the vision close and closer to my sight;

Still, still, in hopes Elysian, let my spirit wing its flight;

Still let me dream, life's shadowy stream may yield, from out its tide, A mind at rest, a tranquil breast, a quiet fireside!

90.-TO THE IRISH MINSTREL, O'CONNELLAN.-Ferguson.

Enchanter, who reignest supreme o'er the North,
And hast wiled the coy spirit of true music forth;

In vain Europe's minstrels to honour aspire,

When thy swift, slender fingers go forth on the wire.

There is no heart's desire can be felt by a king

That thy hand cannot snatch from the soul of the string,

By the sovereign virtue and might of its sway;

Enchanter, who steal'st from the fairies their lay!

Enchanter, I say; for thy magical skill

Can soothe every sorrow, and heal every ill;

Who hear thee, they praise thee, and weep while they praise,
For, charmer, thou stealest thy strain from the fays!

PART THIRD.

BALLAD AND MISCELLANEOUS POETRY

FOR

ADVANCED PUPILS.

1.-KING LEAR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.-Old Ballad.

King Lear once ruled in this land with princely power and peace; And had all things, with heart's content, that might his joys increase. Amongst those things that nature gave, three Daughters fair had he, So princely-seeming, beautiful, that fairer could not be.

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So on a time it pleased the king a question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace could show the dearest love:
"For to my age you bring content," quoth he; "then let me hear,
Which of three in plighted troth the kindest will appear."
To whom the Eldest thus began: "Dear father mine," quoth she,
"Before your face, to do you good, my blood shall render'd be:
And for your sake my bleeding heart shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age the smallest grief sustain."
"And so will I," the Second said: "dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities I'll gently undertake:

And serve your highness night and day, with diligence and love;
That sweet content and quietness discomfits may remove."

"In doing so, you glad my soul," the aged king replied;

"But what say'st thou, my youngest girl? how is thy love allied ?"

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"My love," quoth young Cordelia then, "which to your grace I owe, Shall be the duty of a child—and that is all I'll show."

"And wilt thou show no more," quoth he, "than doth thy duty bind ?

I well perceive thy love is small, when thus no more I find.

Henceforth I banish thee my court! thou art no child of mine;
Nor any part of this my realm by favour shall be thine.

MISCELLANEOUS POETRY FOR ADVANCED PUPILS.

"Thy elder sisters' loves are more than I can well demand;
To whom I equally bestow my kingdom, and my land,
My pompal state, and all my goods-that lovingly I may
With those thy sisters be maintain'd until my dying day."

Thus flattering speeches won renown to these two sisters here;
The third had causeless banishment, yet was her love more dear:
For poor Cordelia patiently went wand'ring up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid! through many an English town.

Until at last in famous France she gentler fortunes found;
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd the fairest on the ground:
Where, when the king her virtues heard, and this fair lady seen,
With full consent of all his court, he made her wife and queen.
Her father, old King Lear, this while with his two daughters stay'd:
Forgetful of their promis'd loves, full soon the same decay'd;
And living in Queen Regan's court,—the eldest of the twain,—
She took from him his chiefest means, and most of all his train.
For whereas twenty men were wont to wait with bended knee,
She gave allowance but to ten, and after scarce to three;
Nay, one she thought too much for him; so took she all away,
In hope that in her court, good king, he would no longer stay.

"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he, "in giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg for what I lately gave?
I'll go unto my Gonorill: my second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful, and will relieve my woe."

Full fast he hies then to her court; who, when she heard his moan,
Return'd him answer, that she griev'd that all his means were gone,
But no way could relieve his wants; yet, if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have what scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears, he made his answer then;
"In what I did, let me be made example to all men.
I will return again," quoth he, "unto my Regan's court;
She will not use me thus, I hope, but in a kinder sort."

But when he came she gave command to drive him thence away:
When he was well within her court (she said) he would not stay.
Then back again to Gonorill the woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have what scullion boys set by.

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