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Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then!

Oh, for he pomp that crown'd them! When hearts and hands of freeborn men

Were all the ramparts round them! When, safe built on bosoms true,

The throne was hut the ceutre, Round which Love a circle drew, That Treason durst not enter.

Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then ! etc.

NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.

AIR---My Husband's a Journey to Portugal gone.

Ne'er ask the hour — what is it to us

How Time deals out his treasures ?
The golden moments, lent us thus,

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's.
If counting them over could add to their blisses,

I'd number each glorious second;
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses,

Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd.
Then fill the cup – what is it to us

How time his circle measures ?
The fairy hours we call up thus,

Obey no wand but Pleasure's !

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,

Till Care, one Summer's morning, · Set up, among his smiling flowers,

A dial, by way of warning.
But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun,

As long as its light was glowing,
Than to watch with old Care how the shadow

stole on,
And how fast that light was going.
So fill the cup—what is it to us

How Time his circle measures ?
The fairy hours we call up thus,

Obey no wand but Pleasure's !

SAIL ON, SAIL ON.

A1RThe Humning of the Ban.

Sail on, sail on thou fearless bark

Where ever blows the welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark,

More sad than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,

« Though death beneath our smile may be,
Less cold we are, less false than they,
Whose siniling wreck'd thy hopes and thice, •

Sail on, sail on-through endless space

Through calm-through tempest stop noinore. The stormiest sea's a resting place

To him who leaves such hearts on shore.
Or, if some desert land we meet,
· Where never yet false-hearted men
Profaned a world, that else were sweet-

Then rest thee, bark, but not till then.

THE PARALLEL.

YES SAD ONE OF SION.

Air-1 would rather than Ireland.

Yes, sad one of Sion--if closely resembling,

In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same « cup of trein,

bling» Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and

broken,

1 These verses were written after the perusal of a treaLise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish "ere originally Jows.

And fallen from her lead is the once roya.crown; In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, And « while it is day yet, her sun bath gone

downd. »I

Like thine doth her exile, mid dreams of re

turning, Die far from the home it were life to behold; Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourn

ing, Remember the bright things that bless'd them

of old!

Ah well may we cail her, like thee, « the For

saken, 12 Her boldest are vanquish’d, her proudest are

slaves; And the harp of her minstrels, when gayest they

waken, Have breathings, as sad as the wind over

graves !

Yet hadst thaou thy vengeance-yet came there the

morrow,

1 «Her sun is gone down while it was yet day».

Jer. xv. 9. 2 « Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken.»

Isa. lxii. 4.

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That shines out, at last, on the longest darks

night, When the septre that smote thee with slavery and

sorrow, Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy siglit

When that cup, which for others the proud Golden

City! Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her

own lips, And the world she had trampled on, heard, with

out pity. The howl in her halls and the cry from her

ships.

When the curse Heayen keeps for the haughty

came over, Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, And – a ruin, at last, for the earth-worm to

cover,2The Lady of Kingdoms 3 lay low in the dust.

i « How hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ccased.» Isaiah air. 4.

2 « Thy pomp is brought down to the grave...... and the worms cover thee.» Isaiah xiv. 11.

3 «Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of King doms.» Isaiah xlvii. 5.

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