LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL.

YOUNG Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade,
Where man ne'er had wander'd, nor sun-beam play'd:
Why thus in darkness lie?» whisper'd young Love,
Thou, whose gay hours should in sun-shine move.>>
« I ne'er,» said the Dial, « have seen the warm sun,
So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one.»>

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade,
And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly play'd;
There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye,
While, all mark'd with sun-shine, her hours flew by.
«Oh! how,» said the Dial, « can any fair maid,
That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade ?>>

But night now comes on, and the sun-beam 's o'er,
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more.
Then cold and neglected, while bleak rain and winds
Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds
That Love had but number'd a few sunny hours,
And left the remainder to darkness and showers!

LOVE AND TIME,

'Tis said-but whether true or not Let bards declare who 've seen 'emThat Love and Time have only got

One pair of wings between 'em. In courtship's first delicious hour,

The boy full oft can spare 'em;
So, loitering in his lady's bower,
He lets the grey-beard wear 'em.
Then is Time's hour of play;
Oh! how he flies away!

But short the moments, short as bright,
When he the wings can borrow;

If Time to-day has had his flight,

Love takes his turn to-morrow.
Ah! Time and Love! your change is then
The saddest and most trying,
When one begins to limp again,
And t' other takes to flying.

Then is Love's hour to stray;
Oh! how he flies away!

But there's a nymph-whose chains I feel,
And bless the silken fetter-
Who knows-the dear one!-how to deal
With Love and Time much better.
So well she checks their wanderings,
So peacefully she pairs 'em,

That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings,
And Time for ever wears 'em.

This is Time's holiday;
Oh! how he flies away!

'T is not on the cheek of rose
Love can find the best repose:
In my heart his home thou 'It see;
There he lives, and lives for thee.

Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam,
While he makes that eye his home.
No-the with sorrow dim
eye
Ne'er can be a home for him.
Yet, 't is not in beaming eyes
Love for ever warmest lies:
In my heart his home thou 'It see;
There he lives, and lives for thee.

LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER CLOUD.

PAIN and sorrow shall vanish before us

Youth may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Oh! if to love thee more

Each hour I number o'er--
If this a passion be
Worthy of thee,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. Rest, dear bosom! no sorrows shall pain thee, Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal; Beam, bright eyelid! no weeping shall stain thee, Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.

Oh! if there be a charm

In love, to banish harm—
If pleasure's truest spell
Be to love well,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thice, Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall east.

LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE.

Love, my Mary, dwells with thee;

On thy cleek his bed I see.

No-that cheek is pale with care;

Love can find no roses there.

MERRILY EVERY BOSOM BOUNDETH.

THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY.

MERRILY every bosom boundeth,

Merrily, oh! merrily, oh! Where the Song of Freedom soundeth, Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!

There the warrior's arms
Shed more splendour,
There the maiden's charms

Shine more tender—
Every joy the land surroundeth,
Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!

Wearily every bosom pineth,

Wearily, oli! wearily, oh! Where the bond of slavery twineth, Wearily, oh! wearily, oh! There the warrior's dart

Hath no fleetness,

There the maiden's heart

Hath no sweetness

Every flower of life declineth,
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!

Cheerily then from hill and valley,
Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!

Like

your native fountains sally, Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!

If a glorious death,
Won by bravery,
Sweeter be than breath

Sigh'd in slavery,

Round the flag of Freedom rally, Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!

Then, Pilgrim, turn, and rest thy sorrow; Thou 'It go to Agnes' shrine to-morrow. Good stranger, when my beads I'm telling, My saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling. Strew, then, oh! strew our bed of rushes; Here we must rest till morning bushes.

OH! REMEMBER THE TIME.

THE CASTILIAN MAID.

On remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,
When our moments so blissfully flew ;
When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids,
And I blush'd to be call'd so by you.

When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille,
And to dance to the light castanet;

Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,
The delight of those moments forget.

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle
Every hour a new passion can feel,

And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile,
You'll forget the poor maid of Castile.

But they know not how brave in the battle you are,
Or they never could think you would rove;
For 't is always the spirit most gallant in war
That is fondest and truest in love!

Go

NOW LET THE WARRIOR.

Now let the warrior plume his steed,

And wave his sword afar;

For the men of the East this day shall bleed,
And the sun shall blush with war.
Victory sits on the Christians' helm

To guide her holy band:

The Knight of the Cross this day shall whelm
The men of the Pagan land.

Oh! bless'd who in the battle dies!
God will enshrine him in the skies!

Now let the warrior plume his steed,

And wave his sword afar,

For the men of the East this day shall bleed, And the sun shall blush with war.

OH, LADY FAIR!

On, Lady fair! where art thou roaming?
The sun has sunk, the night is coming.
Stranger, I go o'er moor and mountain,
To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain.

And who is the man, with his white locks flowing?
Oh, Lady fair! where is he going?
A wand'ring Pilgrim, weak, I falter,
To tell my beads at Agnes' altar.

Chill falls the rain, night winds are blowing,
Dreary and dark 's the way we 're going.

Fair Lady! rest till morning blushes-
I'll strew for thee a bed of rushes.

Oh, stranger! when my beads I'm counting,

I'll bless thy name at Agnes' fountain.

OH! SEE THOSE CHERRIES.

On! see those cherries--though once so glowing,
They 've lain too long on the sun-bright wall;
And mark! already their bloom is going;

Too soon they'll wither, too soon they'll fall. Once, caught by their blushes, the light bird flew round,

Oft on their ruby lips leaving love's wound;
But now he passes them, ah! too knowing

To taste wither'd cherries, when fresh may be found
Old Time thus fleetly his course is running;

If bards were not moral, how maids would wrong!

And thus thy beauties, now sunn'd and sunning,
Would wither if left on the rose-tree too long.
Then love while thou 'rt lovely—e'en I should be glad
So sweetly to save thee from ruin so sad;

But, oh delay not-we bards are too cunning
To sigh for old beauties when young may be had.

OH! SOON RETURN!

THE white sail caught the evening ray,

The wave beneath us seem'd to burn, When all my weeping love could say Was, «Oh! soon return! >> Through many a clime our ship was driven, O'er many a billow rudely thrown; Now chill'd beneath a northern heaven, Now sunn'd by summer's zone: Yet still, where'er our course we lay, When evening bid the west wave burn,

I thought I heard her faintly say, «Oh! soon return!-Oh! soon return!»

If ever yet my bosom found

Its thoughts one moment turn'd from thee, "T was when the combat raged around,

And brave men look'd to me.
But though 'mid battle's wild alarm
Love's gentle power might not appear,
He gave to glory's brow the charm

Which made even danger dear.
And then, when victory's calm came o'er

The hearts where rage had ceased to burn, I heard that farewell voice once more, «Oh! soon return!-Oh! soon return!»

Hopes, that now beguiling leave me,

Joys, that lie in slumber cold

All would wake, couldst thou but give me
One dear smile like those of old.

Oh! there's nothing left us now,
But to mourn the past;
Vain was every ardent vow-

Never yet did Heaven allow

Love so warm, so wild, to last.

Not even hope could now deceive me-
Life itself looks dark and cold:
Oh! thou never more canst give me
One dear smile like those of old.

OH! YES, SO WELL.

POH, DERMOT! GO ALONG WITH YOUR
GOSTER.

Poн, Dermot! go along with your goster,
You might as well pray at a jig,

Or teach an old cow pater-noster,

Or whistle Moll Roe to a pig!

Arrah, child! do you think I'm a blockhead,
And not the right son of my mother,

To put nothing at all in one pocket,
And not half so much in the other?
Poh, Dermot! etc.

Any thing else I can do for you,
Keadh mille faltha, and welcome,
Put up an ave or two for you,

Fear'd that you'd ever to hell come.

If you confess you 're a rogue,

I will turn a deaf ear, and not care for 't;

Bid you put pease in your brogue,

But just tip you a hint to go barefoot.

If

you

Then get along with, etc.

I've the whiskey in play,

To oblige you, I'll come take a smack of it;

Stay with you all night and day,

Ay, and twenty-four hours to the back of it. Oh! whiskey's a papist, God save it!

The beads are upon it completely;

But I think before ever we 'd leave it,
We'd make it a heretic neatly.
Then get along with, etc.

If you 're afear'd of a Banshee,

Or Leprochauns are not so civil, dear,
Let Father Luke show his paunch, he
Will frighten them all to the devil, dear.
It's I that can hunt them like ferrets,

And lay them without any fear, gra;
But for whiskey, and that sort of spirits,
Why them-I would rather lay here,' gra.
Then get along with, etc.

SEND THE BOWL ROUND MERRILY.

SEND the bowl round merrily,

Laughing, singing, drinking;

Toast it, toast it cheerily

Here's to the devil with thinking!

Putting his hand on his paunch.

Come, tell me, my girl, what's the sweetest of blisses?
«I'll show you,» she cries, and s' e gives me sweet kisses;
Ah, Clo if that lan uishing eye's not a traitor,
It tells me you know of a bliss that is greater.

« Indeed and I do not;»-then softly she blushes,
And her bosom the warm tint of modesty flushes-
« I'm sure if I knew it, I'd certainly show it;
But, Damon, now Damon, dear, may be you know it?»

THE SONG OF WAR.

THE song of war shall echo through our mountains,
Till not one hateful link remains

Of slavery's lingering chains-
Till not one tyrant tread our plains,
Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains.
No! never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,

Or hear, O Peace! thy welcome lay
Resounding through her sunny mountains.

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, Till Victory's self shall smiling say,

« Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away, And Freedom comes, with new-born ray, To gild your vines and light your fountains.»> Oh! never till that glorious day

Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,

Or hear, O Peace! thy welcome lay Resounding through her sunny mountains.

THE TABLET OF LOVE.

You bid me be happy, and bid me adieu-
Can happiness live when absent from you?
Will sleep on my eyelids e'er sweetly alight,
When greeted no more by a tender good night?
Oh, never! for deep is the record enshrined!
Thy look and thy voice will survive in my mind:
Though age may the treasures of memory remove,
Enfading shall flourish the Tablet of Love.

Through life's winding valley-in anguish, in rest;
Exalted in joy, or by sorrow depress'd--
From its place in the mirror that lies on my heart,
Thine image shall never one moment depart.
When time, life, and all that poor mortals hold dear,
Like visions, like dreams, shall at last disappear;
Though raised among seraphs to realms above,
Unfading shall flourish the Tablet of Love.

THE YOUNG ROSE.

THE young rose which I give thee, so dewy and bright,
Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night,
Who oft by the moon o'er her blushes hath hung,
And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay he sung.

Oh! take thou this young rose, and let her life be
Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from thee!
For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill,
She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.

WHEN IN LANGUOR SLEEPS THE HEART.

WHEN in languor sleeps the heart,
Love can wake it with his dart;
When the mind is dull and dark,
Love can light it with his spark.

Come, oh! come then, let us haste,
All the bliss of love to taste;
Let us love both night and day,
Let us love our lives away!
And for hearts from loving free
(If, indeed, such hearts there be),
May they ne'er the rapture prove
Of the smile from lips we love.

WHEN 'MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

WHEN 'midst the gay I meet

That blessed smile of thine, Though still on me it turns most sweet, I scarce can call it mine: But when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,

Oh! then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them as they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;

Give smiles to those who love you less,

But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep

Can smile with many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright soe'er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray,

Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh! then the smile is warm'd away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;

Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.
WHEN twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sca, love!

I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love!
And thou too, on that orb so clear,
Ah! dost thou gaze at even,
And think, though lost for ever here,
Thou 'It yet be mine in heaven?

There's not a garden walk I tread,

There's not a flower I see, love!

But brings to mind some hope that's fled,

Some joy I've lost with thee, love! And still I wish that hour was near, When, friends and foes forgiven,

The pains, the ills we 've wept through here, May turn to smiles in heaven!

WILL YOU COME TO THE BOWER?

WILL you come to the bower I have shaded for you?
Our bed shall be roses all spangled with dew.
Will you, will you, will you, will you
Come to the bower?

There, under the bower, on roses you 'il lie,
With a blush on your cheek, but a smile in your eye.
Will you, will you, will you, will you
Smile my beloved?

But the roses we press shall not rival your lip,
Nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we 'll sip.
Will you, will
you,
will will
you, you
Kiss me, my love!

And oh! for the joys that are sweeter than dew
From languishing roses, or kisses from you.
Will you, will you, will
you, will you,
Won't you, my love?

YOUNG JESSICA.

YOUNG Jessica sat all the day,

In love-dreams languishingly pining, Her needle bright neglected lay,

Like truant genius idly shining. Jessy, 't is in idle hearts

That love and mischief are most nimble; The safest shield against the darts

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

A child who with a magnet play'd,

And knew its winning ways so wily, The magnet near the needle laid,

And laughing said, « We 'll steal it slily.»>

The needle, having nought to do,
Was pleased to let the magnet wheedle,
Till closer still the tempter drew,

And off, at length, eloped the needle.

Now, had this needle turn'd its eye

To some gay Ridicule's construction, It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie, Nor felt a magnet's sly seduction. Girls, would you keep tranquil hearts, Your snowy fingers must be nimble; The safest shield against the darts

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

THE RABBINICAL ORIGIN OF WOMEN.
THEY tell us that Woman was made of a rib
Just pick'd from a corner so snug in the side;
But the Rabbins swear to you this is a fib,
And it was not so at all that the sex was supplied.
Derry down, down, down derry down.

For old Adam was fashion'd, the first of his kind,
With a tail like a monkey, full yard and a span;
And when Nature cut off this appendage behind,
Why then woman was made of the tail of the Man.
Derry down, down, down derry down.