Mock sighs, too,-kept in bags for use, Like breezes bought of Lapland scers,Lay ready here to be let loose,

When wanted, in young spinsters' ears.

· Ha ha! ha ha! my Cupids all! ”

Said Love, the little Admiral.

False papers next on board were found,
Sham invoices of flames and darts,
Professedly for Paphos bound,

But meant for Hymen's golden marts. "For shame, for shame! my Cupids all!" Said Love, the little Admiral.

Nay, still to every fraud awake,

Those pirates all Love's signals knew,

And hoisted oft his flag, to make

Rich wards and heiresses bring-to.

"A foe, a foe! my Cupids all! ”

Said Love, the little Admiral.

This must not be," the boy exclaims ·
In vain I rule the Paphian seas,
If Love and Beauty's sovereign names
Are lent to cover frauds like these.
Prepare, prepare! my Cupids all!"*
Said Love, the little Admiral.

Each Cupid stood with lighted match—
A broadside struck the smuggling foc,
And swept the whole unhallow'd batch
Of falsehood to the depths below.
“Huzza, huzza! my Cupids all! ”
Said Love, the little Admiral.

WHAT SHALL I SING THEE?

TO

HAT shall I sing thee? Shall I tell Of that bright hour, remember'd well As though it shone but yesterday. When, loitering idly in the ray Of a spring sun, I heard, o'erhead, My name as by some spirit said, And, looking up, saw two bright eyes Above me from a casement shine, Dazzling my mind with such surprise

As they, who sail beyond the Line, Feel when new stars above them rise :And it was thine, the voice that spoke, Like Ariel's, in the mid-air then ; And thine the eye, whose lustre brokeNever to be forgot again!

What shall I sing thee? Shall I weave

A

song of that sweet summer eve, (Summer, of which the sunniest part Was that we, each, had in the heart,) When thou and I, and one like thee,

In life and beauty, to the sound Of our own breathless minstrelsy,

Danced till the sunlight faded round,

Ourselves the whole ideal Ball,

Lights, music, company, and all!

Oh, 'tis not in the languid strain

Of lute like mine, whose day is past,

To call up even a dream again

Of the fresh light those moments cast!

SPIRIT OF JOY.

PIRIT of Joy, thy altar lies

In youthful hearts that hope like mine; And 'tis the light of laughing eyes

That leads us to thy fairy shrine. There if we find the sigh, the tear,

They are not those to Sorrow known ;
But breath so soft, and drops so clear,

That Bliss may claim them for her own.
Then give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens woe,
And teaches e'en our tears to keep
The tinge of pleasure as they flow.

The child who sees the dew of night
Upon the spangled hedge at morn,
Attempts to catch the drops of light,

But wounds his finger with the thorn.
Thus oft the brightest joys we seek

Are lost, when touch'd, and turn'd to pain;

The flush they kindled leaves the check,

The tears they waken long remain.

But give me, give me, &c. &c.

IF THOU WOULDST HAVE ME SING AND PLAY.

F thou wouldst have me sing and play
As once I play'd and sung,
First take this time-worn lute away,

And bring one freshly strung.

Call back the time when Pleasure's sigh

First breath'd among the strings;
And Time himself, in flitting by,
Made music with his wings.

But how is this? Though new the lute,
And shining fresh the chords,
Beneath this hand they slumber mute,
Or speak but dreamy words.
In vain I seek the soul that dwelt
Within that once sweet shell,
Which told so warmly what it felt,
And felt what nought could tell.

Oh, ask not then for passion's lay,
From lyre so coldly strung;
With this I ne'er can sing or play,

As once I play'd and sung.

No, bring that long-loved lute again,--
Though chill'd by years it be,

If thou wilt call the slumb'ring strain,
"Twill wake again for thee.