| |
| ONCE again—but how changed since my wanderings began— | |
| I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann, | |
| And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar | |
| That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. | |
| Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn! | 5 |
| With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return? | |
| Can I live the dear life of delusion again, | |
| That flowed when these echoes first mixed with my strain? | |
| |
| It was then that around me, though poor and unknown, | |
| High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown; | 10 |
| I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire | |
| At the rush of their verse and the sweep of their lyre: | |
| To me ’t was not legend, nor tale to the ear, | |
| But a vision of noontide, distinguished and clear. | |
| |
| Ultonia’s old heroes awoke at the call, | 15 |
| The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew, | |
| The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. | |
| And renewed the wild pomp of the chase and the hall; | |
| And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on high, | |
| Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh. | 20 |
| It seemed that the harp of green Erin once more | |
| Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore,— | |
| Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou burn? | |
| They were days of delusion and cannot return. | |
| |
| But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by, | 25 |
| And listed my lay, while she turned from mine eye? | |
| Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view, | |
| Then dispersed in the sunbeam or melted to dew? | |
| O, would it had been so,—O, would that her eye | |
| Had been but a star-glance that shot through the sky, | 30 |
| And her voice, that was moulded to melody’s thrill, | |
| Had been but a zephyr, that sighed and was still! | |
| |
| O, would it had been so,—not then this poor heart | |
| Had learned the sad lesson, to love and to part; | |
| To bear, unassisted its burthen of care, | 35 |
| While I toiled for the wealth I had no one to share. | |
| Not then had I said, when life’s summer was done, | |
| And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on, | |
| “Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train, | |
| And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again.” | 40 |
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