And loosed his storm-sprites from their mountain caves

To ply their pastime on Lough Derrig's waves,-
Oh, 'twas a joyous sight, at such a time,

To see M'Fillan brave the bitter clime,

Dispensing comfort, warmth, and kindly cheer,
And gracious words that made the gift more dear;
Till spite of frowns on Nature's brow that dwelt,
The glorious jubilee was kept and felt.

That morn beheld him in the house of prayer
Chain every eye, and spell-bind every ear,
Unfolding Heaven's sublimely simple plan,
Glory to God on high, good will to man!
To us, so long from Eden's portals driven,
To us a child is born,—to us a Son is given!
The mighty God, the Sire of endless days,

The Prince of peace, whose gentle sceptre sways
A realm that owns no bound, and knows no end,
O'er all the Sovereign, and of all the Friend!

Meekly, yet earnestly, that simple horde

Drank the deep waters of the Sacred Word;

E'en the poor Papist, doubting and in fear,
Crept to the well of life, and stole his share.

That eve, while grateful hearts assembled round,
The hall was lighted, and the board was crowned,
The pine tree spoils had left the mountain side,
And roared and crackled up the chimney wide;
On high, the carv'd oak tracery between,
Laurel and holly blent their deathless green;
Below, with temperate feast and guiltless sport,
The happy Pastor held his rustic court.

Who had not smiled to see those rugged kerne
Sleek the rough locks, and smooth the visage stern,
Proffering their thanks in that wild phrase and tone,
Which none may catch save Erin's genuine son:

"God bless your reverence, and your lady's grace !

66

God bless the darlings, bless each bonnie face;

"Grant each and all, in after years to prove

Worthy their father's care-their mother's love."

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE VIEW OF THE ALPS

AT

SUNRISE FROM THE RIGHI

ON THE BORDERS OF THE LAKE OF LUCERNE.

O GOD! upon the mountains, in the calm

And beauty of the morning, where each sound Seems like the accents of an holy psalm

Swept from the lyre of Nature, and the ground

Offers its matin incense wide around,

Oh God! upon the mountains is there one,

Whose heart receives not, like yon lake profound,

The imaged beauty,-sends not back a tone

With Nature's solemn voice in gentlest unison ?

Thy mighty Presence is around us,-felt,

Not in its terrors, earthquake, storm and fire,

In sights and sounds of harmony, that melt

Into the spirit's depths, 'till each desire

Rises to Thee; as yonder clouds aspire
To the huge mountains' summits, from below

Issuing in mist and dampness,-but as higher

They climb the everlasting peaks of snow,

Touched with the hues of heaven, and melting in its glow.

And there ye stand, majestic Alps! which never

By foot of man were trod,-ye stand, and smile

In calm derision at his weak endeavour

To touch the confines of each sky-girt isle;

'Tis well! albeit his chainless soul the while

Can make your peaks her stepping-stones to climb
Heights that look down upon your giant pile,
Where she shall rest immortally sublime,

When ye have crumbled down amid the wrecks of time.

THE EXECUTION OF A MURDERER.

THEY led him forth!-'tis not for words to speak

The horrid hue that settled on his cheek,

As all the blood that flushed that face of fear

Had gathered into blue stagnation there,

And left his lip and brow;-e'en death might fail

To paint thereon a tint more ashy pale.

A faintness fell upon him as he came

To that dark place of suffering and of shame;

For though he spake not aught, nor changed his look,

His weight fell heavier, and his strong frame shook. "Oh God!" he moaned, and darted his fierce eye

Up to the clouds that frowned along the sky,