JUVENILE POEMS.

Is not more true than the love which dwells In an Irish heart’s ten hundred cells.

There is not one who roams the land, From Kenbaan’s cliffs unto the Lee, But owns a valiant heart and hand, A spirit panting t0 be free; And by our sainted fathers’ graves, They shall no longer live like slaves !

Thus from the founders of their kind, Courage and truth descend to them; And who in majesty of mind, Outsoars the sons of those ancient men? My native land, rejoice I once more Thy sons shall be as their sires of yore!

LINES

ADDRESSED TO MR. A. M‘EVOY, OF BOSTON, ONE OF THE AUTHOR,S FIRST FRIENDS IN AMERICA.

I

EACH morn that dawns, each closing hour of day,

I’ll teach my soul for thee and thine to pray,

That thy kind, generous heart may pass through life Unverfid by care, unknowing woe or strife ;

That thou may’st know that peace, best boon of Heav’n, Unto the righteous man in mercy given ;

That o’er the setting of thy mortal sun

The angel choirs may join in orison ;

And thou, by them, be thron’d amongst the good-

So prays an Irish heart in friendship’s mood!

O1 @ U l