Oh, for the kings who flourish'd then! 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, If counting them over could add to their blisses, But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, 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, But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun, 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 SAIL ON, SAIL ON. AIR-The Humming of the Ban. SAIL on, sail on thou fearless bark- 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 nomore. 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 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, 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 roya, 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, I «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 cover,2 The Lady of Kingdoms 3 lay low in the dust. I «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 dems.» Isaiah xlvii. 5. |