B

Our speech was a token, our silence a sign,
And thy hand's gentle pressure,

My heart's dearest treasure,

First told me of love that responded to mine.

II.

In the dark gloomy dawn of my life's early morning,
When captive I pined for my home far away,
I forgot all my foemen, their jibes and their scorning,
As soon as thy love shed a light on my way.
In that thrice blessed hour

When I gazed from the tower,

And beheld thee below in thy beauty and grace;
With bondage contented,

No more I lamented,

But found a new hope in the heaven of thy face.

III.

The hope I then cherished has never deceived me,

With thee all my days have been days of delight;
The world may have oft, but thou never hast grieved me,
And always thy counsels have led me aright :
Oh! my love and my life,

My heart's partner and wife,

The weight of a crown is a burden of pain ;
Sharp agonies line it,

And might I resign it,

'Twere sweet to be with thee in Windsor again.

THAT IS THE WAY.

63

THAT IS THE WAY.

I.

To leave your business to your clerks,

To pass your time with "gents" and "sparks;" To haunt casinos, taverns, plays,

Or in

your bed to pass your days;

To look for bread to dead men's wills,

To ask a Jew to cash your bills,

Or trust the word of all

you meet;

That is the way to Portugal Street.

II.

To stint yourself at every meal,

To screw and starve, if not to steal;
To worship money as an end,

And to despise it as a friend;

And when your brother needs your aid,
To fleece him in the way of trade;

To save your pounds and live on pence;
That is the way to the Three-per-cents.

III.

To overtask your weary brain ;

The wine-cup to the dregs to drain;
To go to law, and think it sport

To hunt your cause from court to court;
To muse too fiercely on a wrong,
To look at darkness all day long;

To grieve and pine, to scorn and hate ;-
That is the way to Bedlam-gate.

IV.

To give a woman all her will,
Rebellious, but submissive still;
To love your quiet more than right
And rather be oppress'd than fight;
To fear short-commons, not the Bench;
To borrow when you should retrench;
From duns to hide, from writs to flee;
That is the way to Slavery.

V.

To yield to pleasures like a rage,
And spend in youth the strength of age;
To think, with silver on your hair,
That you are young as once you were;
To feed your fever, scorn your cold;
To marry when you're crazy old,

Or trust to quacks your health to save ;-
That is the way,—the way to the Grave.

VI.

To love your art, and at its call

To yield your health, your wealth, and all,
And live on humble bread and cheese:

To love it more than fame or ease;
To heed no scorn of rival schools,
And laugh at critics when they're fools;'
To please the wise, and not the town ;-
That is the way to high Renown.

VII.

To keep life's balance true and fair,
To breathe contentment like the air,

PROTESTATIONS.

To live but as your purse allows,

To love your children and your spouse;
To take delight in Nature's plan,
Adoring God and loving man,
Avoiding anger, pride, excess;—
That is the way to Happiness.

65

PROTESTATIONS.

I.

If the apple grows
On the apple tree.
And the wild wind blows

On the wild wood free;
And the deep stream flows
To the deeper sea;
And they cannot help growing,
And blowing, and flowing,

I cannot help loving thee.

II.

Yet if wild winds blew

Never more on the lea;

And no blossoms grew

On the healthy tree;

And the river untrue
Escaped the sea;

And they all had ceased blowing,

And growing, and flowing;

I'd ne'er cease loving thee.

F

III,

And till that hour,
In the day or night;
In the bield or bower,

In the dark or bright;
In the fruit or the flower;

In the bloom or the blight:
In my reaping or sowing,
My coming or going,

I'll ne'er cease loving thee.

IRELAND'S WELCOME TO QUEEN
VICTORIA.-1849.

[Air by JOHN SMITH, Mus. Doc., Dublin.]

I.

SAD Erin! thy harp has been silent too long;

Its strings to thy touch throb responsive no more; Thy voice, once attuned to the raptures of song,

But raises a moan on thy desolate shore. Arouse thee, O Erin! look up through thy tears; The Queen of the Isles in thy havens appears,

With sisterly love, and all sympathies true ;— Awaken thy harp-let it sound on her ears,"Cead mile failte !—Erin aboo !"

11.

The night of thy sorrow shall melt in the morn; Already the darkness gives place to the day; And thy children that sat on their thresholds forlorn, Look up to the sunshine that brightens the way.