No. 3.

AN ACROSTIC.

Written (Impromptu) for a Friend on Valentine's Day.

MILDLY beams that bright blue eye
As stars that gem the midnight sky;
Rich clusters on thy forehead fair
Your simply braided dark-brown hair;
Joy, youth, and beauty weave a spell
Around thee which no tongue can tell,
No eye, no hair, no shape like thine-
Enchantress, by my valentine.

No. 4.

LINES

Written in "Childe Harold" after receiving it from a young lady to whom I had lent it.

YES, I have wandered o'er those pages bright
In secret rapture, and with more delight
Than all whose eyes have glanced upon this page;

Or yet may wander till, with damp and age,
Each glowing line be blotted from the sight,
And book and owner be forgot alike.

For lovely as the scenes where Byron dwells,
In dark, wild mountains, or in shaded dells,
And wild and lovely as his Ianthe's eye,

"Now brightly bold, or beautifully shy!"

Yet, oh, there's one whose eyes have glanced on this, Whose fingers touched the characters I kiss,

Whose name with each fond scene shall be entwined,

Like Ianthe's name on Harold's page enshrined!

No. 5.

STANZAS

On the Very Rev. J. L. leaving Wexford.

I.

THERE are thoughts can ne'er be breathed,
There are feelings far too strong
And too darkly, deeply shaded,

Even to break forth in song;
But lie hid like gems of ocean

Far below the joyous waves,
Where the stormiest commotion
Scarcely stirs them in their caves.

II.

Thus we feel when ties are severed,
Which we thought would last for years,
And the fond heart still endeavoured
To cheat itself of its own fears;
Till the painful thought comes stealing
O'er the visions of the heart,
And we own with mournful feeling
That those links are torn apart.

III.

Ah! but yet the recollections
Of those ties can ne'er decay;
Deeply shrined in the affections,
They grow stronger day by day,
Like transparent spars descending
From the silent cavern's tears,
And with strength and beauty blending,
They get firmer still with years.

No. 6.

LINES

On visiting the sweetly romantic Valley of Brown's

Castle.

I.

As some fair azure isle that seems
To float upon the morning billow,
And sleeping in the orient beams
Of which it makes its halcyon pillow;

So brightly vision-like that vale

Which burst with all its beauty o'er me, And shines like childhood's fairy tale

Of geni-palace still before me.

II.

Sweet valley, while we lingering gaze,
Enraptured on thy sylvan splendour,
We fear, 'twould melt in silver haze,
So soft, so shadowy, and tender;
So full of all the heart deems fair,
Or poet dreamt of the ideal,

That though we stand admiring there,
We scarcely think thy beauties real.

III.

How oft, bright vale, shall memory dwell
Upon thy streams and bowers of roses,
Where sheltered in the verdant dell,
The still neglected loom reposes !
But, oh! if Nature's radiant smile
Could guard it from insult and danger
It ne'er would leave our ocean isle
To seek protection from the stranger.

No. 7.

WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT

In Ardcolm Churchyard, at the Grave of a Friend.

I.

THE moon shines sweetly on thy grassy grave,
The stars of God are burning bright above

thee,

All here is silent save the midnight wave,

And the low voice of him who ever loved thee.

II.

When youthful friendship her enchantments threw Around our hearts, and hope beamed bright before thee,

I little thought the pearly midnight dew

Would shine so soon on wild flowers blooming o'er thee.

III.

Thy gay, light heart, thy joyous laugh no more

Will cheer the festive board where friends oft met

thee,

Thy brilliant smile, thy song of love is o'er,

But who that knew thee once could e'er forget thee?