To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won.
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.

To keep one sacred flame,

Through life unchill'd, unmov d, To love, in wintry age, the same

As first in youth we lov'd;

To feel that we adore,

To such refin'd excess,

That, though the heart would break, with more.

We could not live with less.

This is love, faithful love,

Such as saints might feel above.

SPIRIT of Joy, thy altar lies

In youthful hearts that hope like mine;
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes,
That leads us to thy fairy shrine.
There if we find the sigh, the tear,
They are not those to Sorrow known;
But breath so soft, and drops so clear,
That Bliss may claim them for her own.
Then give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens woe,
And teaches ev'n our tears to keep

The tinge of pleasure as they flow.
The child, who sees the dew of night
Upon the spangled hedge at moru,
Attempts to catch the drops of light,

But wounds his finger with the thorn. Thus oft the brightest joys we seek,

Are lost, when touch'd, and turn'd to pain;

The flush they kindle leaves the cheek,

The tears they waken long remain.

But give me, give me, &c &c

WHEN Leila touch'd the lute,
Not then alone 'twas felt,
But, when the sounds were mute,
In memory still they dwelt.
Sweet lute! in nightly slumbers
Still we heard thy morning numbers
Ah, how could she, who stole

Such breath from simple wire,
Be led, in pride of soul,

To string with gold her lyre? Sweet lute! thy chords she breaketh; Golden now the strings she waketh?

But where are all the tales

Her lute so sweetly told? In lofty themes she fails,

And soft ones suit not gold. Rich lute! we see thee glisten. But, alas! no more we listen!

BOAT GLEE.

THE song that lightens the languid way
When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing,

Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound through life we stray.
The beams that flash on the oar awhile,
As we row along through waves so clear,
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile
That shines o'er Sorrow's tear.

Nothing is lost on him who sees

With an eye that Feeling gave ;—
For him there's a story in every breeze,
And a picture in every wave.
Then sing to lighten the languid way;
When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing:

"Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay, To whose sound through life we stray

Ou think, when a hero is sighing,
What danger in such an adorer!
What woman can dream of denying
The hand that lays laurels before her?
No heart is so guarded around,

But the smile of a victor would take it;
No bosom can slumber so sound,

But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. Love sometimes is given to sleeping,

And woe to the heart that allows him; For, oh, neither smiling nor weeping

Have power at those moments to rouse him. But though he was sleeping so fast,

That the life almost seem'd to forsake him, Even then, one soul-thrilling blast

From the trumpet of Glory would wake him

So well each thought the whole his own.
Chor.-A Lottery, a Lottery, &c.

SONG.

THOUGH sacred the tie that our country entwineth,
And dear to the heart her remembrance remains,
Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth,

And sad the remembrance that slavery stains.
Oh thou who wert born in the cot of the peasant,
But diest of languor in luxury's dome,

Our vision, when absent-our glory, when present-
Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home.
Farewell to the land where in childhood I wander'd!
In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave;
Unbless'd is the blood that for tyrants is squander'd,
And fame has no wreaths for the brow of the slave,
But hail to thee, Albion! who meet'st the commotion
Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam;
With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean,
Hail, Temple of Liberty! thou art my home.

WHEN Charles was deceiv'd by the maid he lov'd,
We saw no cloud his brow o'ercasting,
But proudly he smil'd, as if gay and unmov'd,
Tho' the wound in his heart was deep and lasting
And often at night, when the tempest roll'd,

He sung, as he paced the dark deck over"Blow wind, blow! thou art not so cold

As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover." Yet he lived with the happy, and seem'd to be gay, Tho' the wound but sunk more deep for concealing

And Fortune threw many a thorn in his way,

Which, true to one anguish, he trod without feeling!

And still, by the frowning of Fate unsubdued,

He sung, as if sorrow had plac'd him above her

Frown, Fate, frown! thou art not so rude

As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover."

At length his career found a close in death,

The close he long wish'd to his cheerless roving,

For victory shone on his latest breath,

And he died in a cause of his heart's approving.

But still he remember'd his sorrow,-and still

He sung, till the vision of life was over

Come, death, come! thou art not so chill,

As the heart of a maid that deceiv'd her lover."

WHEN life looks lone and dreary,
What light can dispel the gloom?
When Time's swift wing grows weary,
What charm can refresh his plume?
"Tis woman, whose sweetness beameth
O'er all that we feel or see;

And if man of heav'n e'er dreameth.
"Tis when he thinks purely of thee,
Oh, woman!

Let conquerors fight for glory,

Too dearly the meed they gain;

Let patriots live in story

Too often they die in vain ;

Give kingdoms to those who choose 'em
This world can offer to me

No throne like beauty's bosom,
No freedom like serving thee
Oh, woman!

MR Orator Puff had two tones in his voice,
The one squeaking thus, and the other down so!
In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice,
For one half was B, alt, and the rest G, below.

Oh! oh! Orator Puff!

One voice for one orator's surely enough.

But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, That a wag once, on hearing the orator say

My voice is for war, ask'd him, which of them, pray ? Oh! oh! &c.

Reeling homewards, one evening, top-heavy with gin, And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, He trip'd near a sawpit, and tumbled right in,

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'Sinking Fund" the last words as his noddle came down Oh! oh! &c.

Help! help!" he exclaimed, in his he and she tones, Help me out! help me out; I have broken my bones!" Help you out," said a Paddy, who pass'd, "what a bother Why, there's two of you there. can't you help one another?" Oh! oh! &c.