BY GERALD GRIFFIN.

      The joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide,
      The fresh wind is singing along the seaside;
      The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers,
      And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers

      Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum! 
      ’Mid greetings of pleasure in splendour they come! 
      The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide,
      For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride.

      What years, ere the latter, of earthly delight,
      The future shall scatter o’er them in its flight! 
      What blissful caresses shall fortune bestow,
      Ere those dark-flowing tresses fall white as the snow!

      Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed: 
      With accents that falter her promise is made—­
      From father and mother for ever to part,
      For him and no other to treasure her heart.

      The words are repeated, the bridal is done,
      The rite is completed—­the two, they are one;
      The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart,
      That must not be broken till life shall depart.

      Hark!  ’Mid the gay clangour that compassed their car,
      Loud accents in anger come mingling afar! 
      The foe’s on the border! his weapons resound
      Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found!

      As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold,
      When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold,
      So rises already the chief in his mail,
      While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale.

      “Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife,
      For sister and mother, for children and wife! 
      O’er hill and o’er hollow, o’er mountain and plain,
      Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain!”

      Farrah! to the battle!—­They form into line—­
      The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine! 
      Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue—­
      On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do!

      The eve is declining in lone Malahide;
      The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride;
      She marks them unheeding—­her heart is afar,
      Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war.

      Hark!—­loud from the mountain—­’tis victory’s cry! 
      O’er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky! 
      The foe has retreated! he flees to the shore;
      The spoiler’s defeated—­the combat is o’er!

      With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come—­
      But why have they muffled the lance and the drum? 
      What form do they carry aloft on his shield? 
      And where does he tarry, the lord of the field?

      Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay! 
      In bridal adorning, the star of the day;
      Now, weep for the lover—­his triumph is sped,
      His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead!