Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper,
Like Love, the bright ore is gone.

III.

Has Hope, like the bird in the story,*
That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering 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 waft the fair gem away?

IV.

If thus the sweet hours have fleeted,
When Sorrow herself looked bright;
If thus the fond hope has cheated,
That led thee along so light;
If thus, too, the cold world wither
Each feeling that once was dear ;
Come, child of misfortune! come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

* “The bird having got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in his mouth. The Prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it: but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again,” etc.—Arabian Nights, Story of Kummir al Zummaun and the Princess of China.

NO, NOT MORE WELCOME.

AIR.-Luggelaw.

I.

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
Of music fall on the sleeper's ear,

When, half-awaking from fearful slumbers,
He thinks the full quire of Heaven is near,—
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,
This heart long had sleeping lain,

Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign, blessed sounds again.

II.

Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing
Of summer wind through some wreathed shell-
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling

Of all my soul echoed to its spell!

'Twas whisper'd balm-'twas sunshine spoken !— I'd live years of grief and pain,

To have my long sleep of sorrow broken
By such benign, blessed sounds again!

WHEN FIRST I MET THEE.

AIR. O Patrick! fly from me.

I.

WHEN first I met thee, warm and

young,

There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,

I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.

The heart, whose hopes could make it Trust one so false, so low,

Deserves that thou shouldst break it!

II.

When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled th' unwelcome story;

Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.

I still was true, when nearer friends

Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;

The heart that now thy falsehood rends,
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go,-

Some day, perhaps, thou❜lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.

III.

Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee;

The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee.

Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreathe it ;

The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank, cold hearts beneath it!
Go-go-though worlds were thine,

I would not now surrender

One taintless tear of mine

For all thy guilty splendour!

IV.

And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever;

When thou wilt call, with vain regret,

On her thou'st lost for ever!

On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go-go-'tis vain to curse,

'Tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse

Than guilt and shame have made thee.

WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE.

AIR.-Paddy Whack.

I.

WHILE History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
Beside her the Genius of ERIN stood weeping,

For her's was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, She saw History write,

With a pencil of light

That illumed all the volume, her WELLINGTON's name!