16
IRISH MELODIES.
But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd;
And the heart, that has slumber'd in friendship securest,
Is happy indeed, if 'twas never deceiv'd.
But send round the bowl, while a relic of truth
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,—
That the sun-shine of love may illumine our youth,
Arid the moon-light of friendship console our decline.
