Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1879-03-11
6Iaa1.t
PO ET r Y
MANS MORTALITY.


[The following beautiful poem is justly con
sidered a poetical gem of the highest ORDER
The original is found in an Irish MS in Trinity
College, Dublin. There is reason to think thai
the poem was written by one of those primitive
Christian bards in the reign of King Diarmid
about the year 35i, and was sung or chanted a.
the last grand national assembly of Kings
and Bards ever held in the famous
Halls of Tara. The translation is by the learn
ed Dr. O'Donnovan:-]
Like as the damask rose you see,
Or like a blossom on a tree,
Or like dainty flower in May,
Or like the morning to the day,
Or like the sun, or like the shade,
Or like the gourd which Jonah had
Even such is man, whose thread is spun,
Drawn out and out, and SO is done.
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth,
The flower fades, the morning hasteth,
The sun sets, the shadow flies.
The gourd consumes, the mamie dies.
Like to the grass that's newly sprung.
Or like tale that's new begun,
Or like the bird that's here to-day,
Or like the pearled dew in May,
Or like the singing OF swan
Even such is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The grass withers. the tale is ended.
The bird is flown, the dew's ascended,
The hour is short, the span not long,
The swans near death, mans life is done
Like to the bubble in the brook.
Or in a glass much like look,
Or like the shuttle in weaver's hand;
Or like the writing on the sand,
Or like thought or like dream.
Or like the gliding of the stream
Even such is man, who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The bubbles out, the look forgot,
The shuttle's flung, the writings blot,
The thought is past, the dream is gons
The waters glide, mans life is done.
Like to an arrow from the bow,
Or like swift course of water flow,
Or like that time 'twixt flood and ebb.
Or like the spiders tender web.
Or like race, or like goal,
Or like the dealing OF dole
Even such is man. whose brittle state
Is always subject unto fate
The arrow shot, the flood soon spent.
The time no time, the web soon rent.
The race sacn run, the goal soon won,
The dole soon dealt. mans life soon done
Like to the lightning from the sky,
Or like a post that quick doth HE,
Or like a quarter in song,
Or like a journey three days long,
Or like the snow when Summers come,
Or like the pear, or like the plum
Even such is man, who heaps up sorrow,
Lives but this day, and dies tomorrow.
The lightning's past. the post must go,
The song is short, the journey SO,
The pear doth rot, the plum doth fall,
The snow dissolves, and SO must all.
For the SPECTATOR.
DILUCULUM.
BY THOMAS HUNTER FAUvER.
-'The point of one white star is quiverinl
still
Deep in the orange light of widening morn
Beyond the purple mountains"
Welcome, welcome, sweet Aurora;
Part the lunar mists asunder!
Lovelier thine than brow Of Flora
When in sleep recumbent. under
Chosen bower Of Orient roses,
With ZephyruS she repOSeS.
Shake the dew from off thy tresses,
Set thy gorgeous car in motion,
Let thy smiles and warm caresses
Be to us as magic lotion;
Breathe on darkness still defying.
Lend a balm to soothe the dying!
Gently with thy rosy fingers
Touch the gates of light; and morning.
Which for thy soft bidding fingers,
Then will rise, all earth adorning,-
Goddess, bathe the golden portal
With thy fragrant breath. immortal.
AS when Hope is dimiy cleaning
Ger the neither depths of SORROW
Tenderly and fondly beaming,-
Op'ning up glad tomorrow
For the soul whose lot was anguish,
But, which hopes no more to languish -
So. refulgent comes the dawning,
Borne upon the breast of Eurus,
Fring'd around with twilight's awning
Like enchantment to allure us
From the darker haunts of sadness,
And to fill the land with gladness.
Soon those rays will flow together,
AS the rivers meet the ocean;
And across the silent heather
Then shall sigh the breeze, in notion
Natures sweetest music waking
While the rosy dawn is breaking.