COME, SUNSHINE, COME ! FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES VINCENT. Come, Sunshine, come! thee Nature calls! Give to the grape its vermeil hue, Dispel the frost, the cloud, the storm,Come, Sunshine, come! the year renew! The grain lies dormant in the soil, The bird sings from the withered tree, The ice-bound brook, the buried flowers, Tarry, and watch, and long for thee. Come, Sunshine, come! the torpid Earth Beneath thy kisses will awake; Her blush, her bloom, shall truly tellShe loves thee, for thy own love's sake. Lo, at the opened sash, the Poor! Waiting for thee, their being's sum! Cold their abode, aud scant their storeCome and relieve them, Sunshine, come! Mountain, and vale, and desert waste, Come, Sunshine, come: we yearn for Spring! WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. ANONYMOUS (AMERICAN-19TH CENTURY). When the grass shall cover me Head to foot where I am lying, When not any wind that blows, Close above me as you pass, When the grass shall cover me, Holden close to earth's warm bosom, While I laugh, or weep, or sing, Nevermore for anything,You will find in blade and blossom, Sweet small voices, odorous, Tender pleaders of my cause, That shall speak me as I was,When the grass grows over me. My deep wound burns; my pale lips quake in death; That my young spirit prized all else above, THE GOING OF MY BRIDE. ANONYMOUS (BRITISH-19TH CENTURY). By the brink of the river our parting was fond, Was to go from our shore, with its headland of years, On a water whose depths were untold; At the thought of the past the tears gush from her eyes, And the pulse of her heart makes her white bosom rise. O sons of green Erin! lament o'er the time When the int'rest of State wrought the general woe, And the boat was to float on this River of Tears, The stranger a friend, and the native a foe; Till it blent with an ocean of gold. Our farewell was brief as the fall of a tear- When my bride whispered low that a shallop drew near, And the beck of the boatman she knew. Then I spoke in one kiss all the passion of years, But I caught the faint gleam of an outdrifting sail, And the dip of a silver-tipped oar; And knew, by the low, rustling sigh of the gale, That a spirit had gone from the shore. All alone in my grief, I now sit on the sand, ERIN. Dr. William Drennan (1754–1820), author of “Glendalloch, and other Poems" (1815), was one of the ablest writers among the United Irishmen. He was the first to bestow on Ireland the title of "The Emerald Isle." It occurs in the subjoined poem of Erin," esteemed by Moore as "among the most perfect of modern songs." When Erin first rose from the dark swelling flood, God blessed the dear island, and saw it was good; The emerald of Europe, it sparkled and shone In the ring of the world the most precious stone. In her sun, in her soil, in her station thrice blessed, With her back toward Britain, her face to the West, Erin stands proudly insular, on her steep shore, And strikes her high harp 'mid the ocean's deep roar. But when its soft tones seem to mourn and to weep, The dark chain of silence is thrown o'er the deep; While the mother rejoiced o'er her children op pressed, And clasped the invader more close to her breast; When with pale for the body, and pale for the soul, Church and State joined in compact to conquer the whole; And as Shannon was stained with Milesian blood, Eyed each other askance and pronounced it was good. By the groans that ascend from your forefathers' grave, For their country thus left to the brute and the slave, Let my sons like the leaves of the shamrock unite, Alas for poor Erin! that some are still seen Who would dye the grass red from their hatred to green; Yet, oh! when you're up and they're down, let them live, Then yield them that mercy which they would not give. Arm of Erin, be strong! but be gentle as brave! And uplifted to strike, be still ready to save! Let no feeling of vengeance presume to defile The cause of, or men of, the EMERALD ISLE. The cause it is good, and the men they are true, And the green shall outlive both the orange and blue! And the triumphs of Erin her daughters shall share, With the full-swelling chest and the fair-flowing hair. Their bosom heaves high for the worthy and brave, But no coward shall rest in that soft-swelling wave; Men of Erin! arise and make haste to be blest,— Rise-Arch of the Ocean, and Queen of the West! LINES ON A SKELETON. The MS. of the following piece was found in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, London, placed near one of the skeletons, about the year 1807. The secret of its authorship has not been divulged, though a reward was offered for it. Behold this ruin! Twas a skull, Beneath this mouldering canopy SONNET: THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN.1 It is a spectral show-this wondrous world- Its atoms teem with tinier atoms whirled 1 From "Light Leading unto Light." |