O FRANCES BROWNE (1816-1879) O THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD! THE pleasant days of old, which so often people praise ! True, they wanted all the luxuries that grace our modern days: Bare floors were strewed with rushes, the walls let in the cold; O! how they must have shivered in those pleasant days of old! O those ancient lords of old, how magnificent they were ! They threw down and imprisoned kings,-to thwart them who might dare? They ruled their serfs right sternly; they took from Jew their gold,— Above both law and equity were those great lords of old! O the gallant knights of old, for their valour so renowned ! With sword and lance and armour strong they scoured the country round; And whenever aught to tempt them they met by wood or wold, By right of sword they seized the prize,-those gallant knights of old! O the gentle dames of old! who, quite free from fear or pain, Could gaze on joust and tournament, and see their champion slain; They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, which made them strong and bold,— O more like men than women were those gentle dames of old! O those mighty towers of old! with their turrets, moat and keep, Their battlements and bastions, their dungeons dark and deep. Full many a baron held his court within the castle hold; And many a captive languished there, in those strong towers of old! O the troubadours of old! with the gentle minstrelsie Of hope and joy, or deep despair, whiche'er their lot may be; For years they served their lady-loves ere they their passions told, O wondrous patience must have had those troubadours of old! O those blessed times of old! with their chivalry and state! I love to read their chronicles, which such brave deeds relate; I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear their legends told, But, Heaven be thanked! I lived not in those blessed times of old! THE LAST FRIENDS One of the United Irishmen, who lately returned to his native country after many years of exile, being asked what had induced him to visit Ireland, when all his friends were gone, answered, "I came back to see the mountains."-Author's note. I COME to my country, but not with the hope That brightened my youth like the cloud lighting bow; For the vigour of soul that seemed mighty to cope With time and with fortune hath fled from me now, And love that illumined my wanderings of yore Hath perished, and left but a weary regret For the star that can rise on my midnight no more,But the hills of my country they welcome me yet. The hue of their verdure was fresh with me still, When my path was afar by the Tanais' lone track; From the wide-spreading deserts and ruins that fill The lands of old story, they summoned me back; They rose on my dreams through the shades of the West, They breathed upon sands which the dew never wet; For the echoes were hushed in the home I loved best, And I knew that the mountains would welcome me yet. The dust of my kindred is scattered afar,— They lie in the desert, the wild, and the wave; For serving the strangers through wandering and war, The isle of their memory could grant them no grave. And I, I return with the memory of years Whose hope rose so high, though in sorrow it set; They have left on my soul but the trace of their tears, But our mountains remember their promises yet. O where are the brave hearts that bounded of old? And where are the faces my childhood has seen? For fair brows are furrowed, and hearts have grown cold, But our streams are still bright, and our hills are still green. Ay, green as they rose to the eyes of my youth, When brothers in heart in their shadows we met; And the hills have no memory of shadow or death, For their summits are sacred to liberty yet. Like ocean retiring the morning mists now Roll back from the mountains that girdle our land; And sunlight encircles each heath-covered brow For which time hath no furrow and tyrants no brand. O thus let it be with the hearts of the isle ! Efface the dark seal that oppression has set; WHAT HATH TIME TAKEN? HAT hath Time taken? WHA Stars, that shone On the early years of earth, Where a thousand streams had birth; With their long-unfading trees; And the halls of wealth, and the thrones of power He hath taken away the heart of youth, Like the summer sunshine o'er our path, Making the desert green; The shrines of an early hope and love, What hath Time left us? desolate And the lights of memory, lingering long, Treasures of science, thought, and song- He hath left us a lesson of the past, In the shades of perished years; He hath left us the heart's high places waste, But there's hope for the earth and her children still, And a heritage of rest for all, Thou hast left us these, oh Time! |