我是艾琳的魔法师，你的魔法把我们捆绑在一起，你的魔杖让我们一时心醉神迷，它召唤着我们周围的幽灵，一听到你的名字就脸红起来。回忆的故事从睡梦中醒来，——我听见那首古老的歌曲，伴着温柔的叠句，在那些甜蜜的数字里隐藏着多么热烈的激情啊!每一株精致的花儿都散发着青春的芬芳!我童年的家像一个幻影一样出现了，——听!听!这是一个五月的早晨，空气是极乐的，丁香含苞欲放，丁香盛开，我们聚集在“克莱门蒂”钢琴的周围，——那时我们有六个人，现在有两个人，——她在唱歌——那个带着银色女高音的女孩——“山谷之主”是如何不守誓言的;“让艾琳记住”回声在呼唤;通过“牛油果之谷”，水翻滚着;《流亡者》在夜中哀鸣~露珠飘落;“生命的黎明”像从前一样再次出现。 But ah! those warm love-songs of fresh adolescence! Around us such raptures celestial they flung That it seemed as if Paradise breathed its quintessence Through the seraph-toned lips of the maiden that sung! Long hushed are the chords that my boyhood enchanted As when the smooth wave by the angel was stirred, Yet still with their music is memory haunted, And oft in my dreams are their melodies heard. I feel like the priest to his altar returning,-- The crowd that was kneeling no longer is there, The flame has died down, but the brands are still burning, And sandal and cinnamon sweeten the air. II The veil for her bridal young Summer is weaving In her azure-domed hall with its tapestried floor, And Spring the last tear-drop of May-dew is leaving On the daisy of Burns and the shamrock of Moore. How like, how unlike, as we view them together, The song of the minstrels whose record we scan,-- One fresh as the breeze blowing over the heather, One sweet as the breath from an odalisque's fan! Ah, passion can glow mid a palace's splendor; The cage does not alter the song of ths bird; And the curtain of silk has known whispers as tender As ever the blossoming hawthorn has heard. No fear lest the step of the soft-slippered Graces Should fright the young Loves from their warm little nest, For the heart of a queen, under jewels and laces, Beats time with the pulse in the peasant girl's breast! Thrice welcome each gift of kind Nature's bestowing! Her fountain heeds little the goblet we hold; Alike, when its musical waters are flowing, The shell from the seaside, the chalice of gold. The twins of the lyre to her voices had listened; Both laid their best gifts upon Liberty's shrine; For Coila's loved minstrel the holly~wreath glistened; For Erin's the rose and the myrtle entwine. And while the fresh blossoms of summer are braided For the sea-girdled, stream-silvered, lake-jewelled isle, While her mantle of verdure is woven unfaded, While Shannon and Liffey shall dimple and smile, The land where the staff of Saint Patrick was planted, Where the shamrock grows green from the cliffs to the shore, The land of fair maidens and heroes undaunted, Shall wreathe her bright harp with the garlands of Moore!