Page:Irish Melodies.djvu/66

44 , send round the wine, and leave points of belief
 * To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools;

This moment's a flower too fair and brief,
 * To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools.

Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue,
 * But, while they are filled from the same bright bowl,

The fool, who would quarrel for difference of hue,
 * Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul.

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side
 * In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?

Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried,
 * If he kneel not before the same altar with me?

From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly,
 * To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss?

No! perish the hearts, and the laws that try
 * Truth, valour or love by a standard like this!