The winds are hushed, the waves are still—
    All nature seems to catch the tone,
And calmly list the Clar’net’s thrill,
    And notes of days that now are gone. [Page 176]

Yes—I have heard, in happier hours,
    That sweet, that fairy breath of song,
While yet my path was strewed with flowers,
    My own, my native hills among.

And now, as o’er the water’s brim
    That little bark of pleasure steers,
Through time’s extended vista, dim,
    It wakes the joys of other years—

Joys, happy joys, that long have slept,
    Now memory’s page unfolds again,
And all the scenes o’er which I’ve wept,
    Seem half revived in music’s strain.

And I am sure, that heart and hand,
    So happily each soft note swelling,
Are not unknown to Erin’s land,
    And seem as if her sorrows telling! [Page 177]

For peace no longer crowns her hills—
    No shell of gladness cheers her hall—
No evening dance—by purling rills
    Her daughters led the festive ball.

Oh! there’s a pleasing sadness thrown—
    A melancholy bliss, that steals
Along the heart, and makes it own
    The power that melody reveals—

When thus, on Zephyr’s airy wing,
    Notes loved in boyhood reach the ear—
The notes my MARY joyed to sing,
    By LOUGHNEAGH’S banks when I was near.

But I have left my own dear lakes,
    My cottage maid and humble home,
To wander here, through woods and brakes,
    Where free as air the Indians roam. [Page 178]

Yet, ERIN! though we sadly part,
    My soul’s devotion bends to thee,
With all the fervour of a heart
    That pants to know that thou art free.

And when that foul, unholy chain
    The patriot-hand shall proudly break,
I’ll string my native harp again,
    And all its former songs awake. [Page 179]