Seest thou the sunbeam’s yellow glow, 5
That robes with liquid streams of light;
Yon distant Mountain’s craggy brow. 
And shows the rocks so fair,—­so bright—­

Tis thus sweet expectation’s ray,
In softer view shows distant hours, 10
And portrays each succeeding day,
As dressed in fairer, brighter flowers,—­

The vermeil tinted flowers that blossom;
Are frozen but to bud anew,
Then sweet deceiver calm my bosom, 15
Although thy visions be not true,—­

Yet true they are,—­and I’ll believe,
Thy whisperings soft of love and peace,
God never made thee to deceive,
’Tis sin that bade thy empire cease. 20

Yet though despair my life should gloom,
Though horror should around me close,
With those I love, beyond the tomb,
Hope shows a balm for all my woes.

AUGUST, 1810.

8.  SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

Oh! what is the gain of restless care,
And what is ambitious treasure? 
And what are the joys that the modish share,
In their sickly haunts of pleasure?

My husband’s repast with delight I spread, 5
What though ’tis but rustic fare,
May each guardian angel protect his shed,
May contentment and quiet be there.

And may I support my husband’s years,
May I soothe his dying pain, 10
And then may I dry my fast falling tears,
And meet him in Heaven again.

JULY, 1810.

9.  SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear,
If vengeance and death to thy bosom be dear,
The dastard shall perish, death’s torment shall prove,
For fate and revenge are decreed from above.

Ah! where is the hero, whose nerves strung by youth, 5
Will defend the firm cause of justice and truth;
With insatiate desire whose bosom shall swell,
To give up the oppressor to judgement and Hell—­

For him shall the fair one twine chaplets of bays,
To him shall each warrior give merited praise, 10
And triumphant returned from the clangour of arms,
He shall find his reward in his loved maiden’s charms.

In ecstatic confusion the warrior shall sip,
The kisses that glow on his love’s dewy lip,
And mutual, eternal, embraces shall prove, 15
The rewards of the brave are the transports of love.

OCTOBER, 1809.

10.  THE IRISHMAN’S SONG.

The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light
May sink into ne’er ending chaos and night,
Our mansions must fall, and earth vanish away,
But thy courage O Erin! may never decay.