Thus when the lamp that lighted
The traveller at first goes out,
He feels awhile benighted,

And looks round in fear and doubt.
But soon, the prospect clearing,

By cloudless starlight on he treads,
And thinks no lamp so cheering
As that light which Heaven sheds.

OH THE SHAMROCK.

THROUGH Erin's Isle,

To sport awhile,

As Love and Valor wander'd,

With Wit, the sprite,
Whose quiver bright

A thousand arrows squander'd.

Where'er they pass,

A triple grass

Shoots

up,

with dew-drops streaming,

As softly green

As eineralds seen

Through purest crystal gleaming.

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shainrock!

Chosen leaf,

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

Says Valor, "See

They spring for me,

Those leafy gems of morning!",

Says Love, "No, no,

For me they grow,

My fragrant path adorning."

But Wit perceives

The triple leaves,

And cries, "Oh! do not sever
A type, that blends

Three godlike friends,

Love, Valor, Wit, for ever!"

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

So firmly fond

May last the bond

They wove that morn together,

And ne'er may fall

One drop of gall

On Wit's celestial feather.

May Love, as twine

His flowers divine,

Of thorny falsehood weed 'em;

May Valor ne'er

His standard rear

Against the cause of Freedom!

Oh the Shamrock, the green, iminortal Shamrock

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock

FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU
WELCOME THE HOUR.

FAREWELL.- but whenever you welcome the hour,
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw
Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were here'1

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,

Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy, Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill'dYou may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

T IS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

"T is the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one.
To pine on the sten;
Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lic scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle

The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie wither'd,

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone!

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS
SHADED.

HAS sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded,
That, ev'n in sorrow, were sweet'
Does Time with his cold wing wither
Each feeling that once was dear? —
Then, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

Has love to that soul, so tender,
Been like our Lagenian mine,
Where sparkles of golden splendor
All over the surface shine
But, if in pursuit we go deeper,

Allured by the gleam that shone,
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper,
Like Love, the bright ore is gone

Has Hope, like the bird in the story,
That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glitt'ring glory -
Has Hope been that bird to thee?
On branch after branch alighting,
The gem did she still display,
And, when nearest and most inviting,
Then wat the fair gein away?