Yes, monarch! tho' sweet are our home re

collections,

Tho' sweet are the tears that from tender

ness fall;

Tho' sweet are our friendships, our hopes and affections,

Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all!

WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE

FLOW'RET.

AIR-"The yellow horse."

HE.

WHAT the bee is to the flow'ret,
When he looks for honey dew,
Through the leaves that close embow'r it
That, my love, I'll be to you.

SHE.

What the bank, with verdure glowing,
Is to waves that wander near,
Whisp'ring kisses, while they're going,
That I'll be to you my dear!

DUETTO.

What the bank, with verdure glowing
Is to waves that wander near,
Whispring kisses, while they're going,
That I'll be to you my dear!

SHE.

But, they say, the bee's a rover,
That he'll fly, when sweets are gone:
And, when once the kiss is over,

Faithless brooks will wander on!

HE.

Nay, if flowers will lose their looks,
If sunny banks will wear away,
'Tis but right, that bees and brooks
Should sip and kiss them while they may.

LOVE AND THE NOVICE.

AIR-Cean Dubh Delish."

HERE we dwell in holiest bowers,

Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend, Where sighs of devotion and breathing of flow

ers,

To heaven in mingled odour ascend.

Do not disturb our calm, oh Love!

So like is thy form to the cherubs above, It well might deceive such hearts as ours!”

Love stood near the novice, and listen'd,
And love is no novice in taking a hint ;

His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glis"ten'd,

IIis rosy wing turn'd to heav'n's own tint.

"Who would have thought," the urchin

cries,

"That love could so well, so gravely disguise

His wandring wings, and wounding eyes?"

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping,

Young novice! to him all thy orisons rise; He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs.

Love is the saint enshrin'd in thy breast, And angels themselves would admit such a guest,

If he came to them clothed in piety's vest.

deep;

Each billow, as brightly or darkly it flows, Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. So closely our whims on our miseries tread, That the laugh is call'd up ere the tear can be dried;

And as fast as the rain-drop of pity is shed,

The goose plumage of folly can turn it aside.

But pledge me the cup, if existence wou

cloy,

With hearts ever happy, and heads ev

wise,

Be ours the light Grief that is sister to Joy, And the short brilliant Folly, that flashes a dies.

When Hylas was sent with his urn to t fount,

Thro' fields full of sunshine, with heart fi

of play,

Light rambled the boy over meadow and mour'. And neglected his task for the flowers on the

way.*

Thus some who, like me, should have drav and have tasted

That fountain, that runs by philosophy

shrine,

Their time with the flowers on the marg have wasted,

And left their light urns all as empty as min. But pledge me the goblet-while Idlene

weaves

Her flow'rets together, if Wisdom can see One bright drop or two, that has fall'n on t leaves

From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient f

me.

*Proposito florem prætulit officio.—Proper; lib. 1. El. 20.

THE SHAMROCK.

AIR-"Alley Croker."

THROUGH Erin's isle,
To sport awhile,

As Love and Valour wander'd,
With Wit, and sprite,
Whose quiver bright

A thousand arrows squander'd;

Where'ere they pass,

A tripple grass*

Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,
As softly green,

As emeralds, seen

Through purest crystal gleaming. Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock;

Chosen leaf

Of bard and chief,

Old ERIN's native Shamrock!

Says VALOUR, "See,

They spring for me,

*"Saint Patrick is said to have made use of that species of trefoil, to which in Ireland we give The name of Shamrock, in explaining the doctrine of the Trinity to the pagan Irish. I do not know

there be any other reason for our adoption of of this plant as a national emblem,

"Hope, among the ancients, was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing upon tiptoes, and a trefoil or three coloured grass in her hand."