And of such valour that in thee
Was born a third of chivalry,
(And is to come again, they say,
Blowing its trumpets into day,

With sudden earthquake from the ground,
And in the midst, great Arthur crown'd,)
I used to think of thee and thine
As one of an old faded line

Living in his hills apart,

:

Whose pride I knew, but not his heart :-
But now that I have seen thy face,
Thy fields, and ever youthful race,
And women's lips of rosiest word
(So rich they open), and have heard
The harp still leaping in thy halls,
Quenchless as the waterfalls,
I know thee full of pulse as strong
As the sea's more ancient song,
And of a sympathy as wide;

And all this truth, and more beside,
I should have known, had I but seen,
O Flint, thy little shore; and been
Where Truth and Dream walk, hand-in-hand,
Bodryddan's living Fairy-land.

RONDEAU.

JENNY kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in ;
Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in:

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,

Say that health and wealth have miss'd me, Say I'm growing old, but add,

Jenny kiss'd me.

ALBUMS.

LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF ROTHA QUILLINAN.

AN Album! This! Why, 'tis for aught I see,
Sheer wit, and verse, and downright poetry;
A priceless book incipient; a treasure

Of growing pearl; a hoard for pride and pleasure;
A golden begging-box, which pretty Miss
Goes round with, like a gipsy as she is,
From bard to bard, to stock her father's shelf,
Perhaps for cunning dowry to herself.

Albums are records, kept by gentle dames,
To shew us that their friends can write their names;
That Miss can draw, or brother John can write
"Sweet lines," or that they know a Mr. White.
The lady comes, with lowly grace upon her,
""Twill be so kind," and "do her book such honour;"
We bow, smile, deprecate, protest, read o'er
The names to see what has been done before,
Wish to say something wonderful, but can't,
And write, with modest glory, "William Grant."
Johnson succeeds, and Thompson, Jones, and Clarke,
And Cox with an original remark
[lines,"
Out of the Speaker ;-then come John's " sweet
Fanny's "sweet airs," and Jenny's sweet
designs :

Then Hobbs, Cobbs, Dobbs, Lord Strut, and Lady Brisk,

And, with a flourish underneath him, Fisk.

Alas! why sit I here, committing jokes On social pleasures and good humour'd folks,

That see far better with their trusting eyes,
Than all the blinkings of the would-be wise?
Albums are, after all, pleasant inventions, [tions,
Make friends more friendly, grace one's good inten-
Brighten dull names, give great ones kinder looks,
Nay, now and then produce right curious books,
And make the scoffer (as it now does me)
Blush to look round on deathless company.

TO THE QUEEN.

AN OFFERING OF GRATITUDE ON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY.

THE lark dwells lowly, Madam,-on the ground,-
And yet his song within the heavens is found;
The basest heel may wound him ere he rise,
But soar he must, for love exalts his eyes.
Though poor, his heart must loftily be spent,
And he sings free, crown'd with the firmament.

A poet thus (if love and later fame

May warrant him to wear that sacred name) Hoped, in some pause of birthday-pomp and power, His carol might have reach'd the Sovereign's bower; Voice of a heart twice touch'd; once in its need, Once by a kind word, exquisite indeed:

But Care, ungrateful to a host that long

Had borne him kindly, came and marr'd his song;
Marr'd it, and stopp'd, and in his envious soul
Dreamt it had ceas'd outright, and perish'd whole.
Dull god! to know not, after all he knew,
What the best gods, Patience and Love, can do.
The song was lamed, was lated, yet the bird
High by the lady's bower has still been heard,
Thanking that balm in need, and that delightful

word.

Blest be the queen! Blest when the sun goes down;
When rises, blest. May Love line soft her crown.
May music's self not more harmonious be,
Than the mild manhood by her side and she.
May she be young for ever-ride, dance, sing,
"Twixt cares of state carelessly carolling,
And set all fashions healthy, blithe, and wise,
From whence good mothers and glad offspring rise.
May everybody love her. May she be
As brave as will, yet soft as charity;
And on her coins be never laurel seen,
But only those fair peaceful locks serene,
Beneath whose waving grace first mingle now
The ripe Guelph cheek and good straight Coburgh
Pleasure and reason! May she, every day, [brow,
See some new good winning its gentle way
By means of mild and unforbidden men!
And when the sword hath bow'd beneath the pen,
May her own line a patriarch scene unfold
As far surpassing what these days behold
F'en in the thunderous gods, iron and steam,
As they the sceptic's doubt, or wild man's dream!
And to this end-oh! to this Christian end,
And the sure coming of its next great friend,
May her own soul, this instant, while I sing,
Be smiling, as beneath some angel's wing,
O'er the dear life in life, the small, sweet, new,
Unselfish self, the filial self of two,

Bliss of her future eyes, her pillow'd gaze,

On whom a mother's heart thinks close, and prays.

Your beadsman, Madam, thus, "in spite of

Bids at your window, like the lark, good morrow.

TO THE INFANT PRINCESS ROYAL.

WELCOME, bud beside the rose,
On whose stem our safety grows;
Welcome, little Saxon Guelph ;
Welcome for thine own small self;
Welcome for thy father, mother,
Proud the one and safe the other
Welcome to three kingdoms; nay,
Such is thy potential day,
Welcome, little mighty birth,
To our human star the earth.

Some have wish'd thee boy; and some
Gladly wait till boy shall come,
Counting it, a genial sign
When a lady leads the line.
What imports it, girl or boy?
England's old historic joy
Well might be content to see
Queens alone come after thee,-
Twenty visions of thy mother
Following sceptred, each the other,
Linking with their roses white
Ages of unborn delight.

What imports it who shall lead,
So that the good line succeed?
So that love and peace feel sure
Of old hate's discomfiture?
Thee appearing by the rose
Safety comes, and peril goes;
Thee appearing, earth's new spring,
Fears no winter's "griesly king;
Hope anew leaps up, and dances
In the hearts of human chances: