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 but the centre,
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.

AIR-The Humming 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 smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee..

Sail on,

sail on-through endless space

Through calm-through tempest stop no more. 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 sweetThen rest thee, bark, but not till then.

THE PARALLEL.

YES SAD ONE OF SION.

AIR-I would rather than Ireland.

YES, sad one of SION1f closely resembling,
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd up heart-
If drinking deep, deep, of the same « cup of trem.
bling»

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

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

And fallen from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, while it is day yet, her sun hath gone downd. »I

And

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 call her, like thee, "the Forsaken, 2

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,

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

2 « Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken.»

Jer. xv. 9.

Isa. lxi. 4.

That shines out, at last, on the longest dark

night,

When the septre that smote thee with slavery and

sorrow,

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

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, without pity.

The howl in her halls and the cry from her

ships.

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty

came over,

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust,

a ruin, at last, for the earth-worm to

The Lady of Kingdoms 3 lay low in the dust.

«How hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased.» Isaiah xiv. 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.