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The mystic word, till then ne'er told There seemed around me some dark To living creature of earth's mould !

chain, Scarce was it said, when, quick as Which still, as I essayed to soar, thought,

Battled, alas ! each wild endeavour : Her lips from mine, like echo, caught Dead lay my wings, as they have lain The holy sound-her hands and eyes Since that sad hour, and will remainWere instant lifted to the skies,

So wills the offended God-for ever! And thrice to heaven she spoke it out, With that triumphant look Faith

It was to yonder star I traced

Her journey up the illumined wasteWhen not a cloud of fear or doubt,

That isle in the blue firmament,

To which so oft her fancy went
A vapour from this vale of tears,
Between her and ber God appears !

In wishes and in dreams before,
And which was now-such, Purity,

Thy blest rewarıl-ordained to be That very moment her whole frame

Her home of light for evermore! All bright and glorified became, Once-or did I but fancy so ?And at her back I saw unclose

Even in her flight to that fair sphere, Two wings magnificent as those Mid all her spirit's new-felt glow,

That sparkle round the eternal throne, A pitying look she turned below Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose On him who stood in darkness here; Above me, in the moonbeam shone

Him whom, perhaps, if vain regret With a pure light, which--from its hue, Can dwell in beaven, she pities yet ; Unknown upon this earth-I knew

And oft, when looking to this dim Was light from Eden, glistening And distant world, remembers bim.

through! Most holy vision ! ne'er before But soon that passing dream was gone ;

Did aught so radiant-since the day Farther and farther off she shone, When Lucifer, in falling, bore

Till lessened to a point as small The third of the bright stars away !. As are those specks that yonder hurnRise, in earth's beauty, to repair Those vivid drops of ligbt, that fall That loss of light and glory there !! The last from day's exhausted urn. But did I tamely view her flight ? And when at length she merged, afar,

Did not I, too, proclaim out thrice Into her own immortal star, The powerful words that were, that And when at length my straining sight night,

Had caught her wing's last fading ray, Oh, even for Heaven too much delight !- That minute from my soul the light Again to bring us eyes to eyes,

Of heaven and love both passed away; And soul to soul in Paradise ? And I forgot my home, my birth, I did- I spoke it o'er and o'er

Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, I prayed, I wept, but all in vain ; And revelled in gross joys of earth, For me the spell had power no more,

Till I bocame-what I am now !

! 'And his tail drew the third part of the stars the completion of that grasle nlone; or, as it i: of heaven, and did cast them to the th. Rev. explained by Salonius (Diat in lucl.) — Decem xii. t:--Docent sancti (says Suai ez) supremum sunt ordines angelorum, sed unus cecidit per angelum traxisse secum tertiam partem stel- superbiam, et idcirco boni angeli seni per laborant, Larum.'-Lib. 7. cap. 7.

ut de hominibus numerus adimpleatur, et pro· The idea of the Fathers was, that the veniat ad perfectum numerum, id est, denariuin.' vacancies occasioned in the different orders of According to some theologians, virgins alone are angels by the tal were to be filled up from the admitted 'ad collegium angelorum;' but thn human race. There is, however, another opinion, authorof the Speculum Peregrinarum Quaestionum backed by papal authority, that it was only the rather questions this exclusive privilege :-' Hoc tenth order of the Celestial Hierarchy that fell, non videtur verum, quia multi, non virgines, ut and that, therefore, the promotions which occa-Pitrus et Magdalena, multis etiam virginibus sionally take place from earth are intended for eminentiores sunt,'—Decud, 2, cap. 10.

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Then sails are backed, we nearer come, Come, once more a bumper !- then Kind words are said of friends and drink as you please, home;

Though who could fill half-way to toasts And soon, too soon, we part with pain, such as these ? To sail o'er silent seas again.

“ Here's our next joyous meeting-and

oh, when we meet,
May our wine be as bright and

union as sweet!”

Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra,

hurra! Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to

the brim, He who shrinks from a bumper I pledge

not to him ;
“Here's the girl that each loves, be her Hush, hush !”-how well
eye of what hue

That sweet word sounds,
Or lustre it may, so her heart is but When Love, the little sentinel,

Walks his night-rounds ;
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, Then, if a foot but dare

One rose-leaf crush,

Myriads of voices in the air Come, charge high again, boys, nor let

Whisper, “Hush, hush!” the full wine Leave a space in the brimmer where • Hark, hark, 'tis he !" daylight may shine;

The night-elves cry, “ Here's the friends of our youth

And hush their fairy harmony, though of some we're bereft,

While he steals by ; May the links that are lost but endear But if his silvery feet what are left!”

One dewdrop brush,
Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra,

Voices are heard in chorus sweet, hurra!

Whispering, “Hush, hush !” Once more fill a bumper- ne'er talk of the hour ;

THE PARTING BEFORE THE On hearts thus united old Time has no

BATTLE. power. May our lives, though, alas ! like the wine of to-night,

On to the field, our doom is sealed, They must soon have an end, to the last

To conquer or be slaves : flow as bright.'

This sun shall see our nation free,
Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, Or set upon our graves.

Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since Farewell, oh farewell, my love !
Time's glass will run

May Heaven thy guardian be, Even faster than ours doth, three bum. And send bright angels from above pers in one ;

To bring thee back to me. Here's the poet who sings—here's the

warrior who fights“Here's the statesman who speaks, in On to the field, the battle-field, the cause of men's rights !”

Where Freedom's standard waves, Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, This sun shall see our tyrant yield, hurra!

Or shine upon our graves.




Shall we,


A trio.

Say, what shall we dance ?

Shall we bound along the moonlight Past twelve o'clockpast twelve.

plain Good night, good night, my dearest- To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain ? How fast the moments fly!

Say, what shall we dance ? 'Tis time to part, thou hearest

like those who rove That hateful watchman's cry.

Through bright Grenada's grove,

To the light Bolero's measures move? WATCHMAN.

Or choose the Guaracia's languishing Past one o'clockpast one.

lay, Yet stay a moinent longer

And thus to its sound die away?
Alas! why is it so,
The wish to stay grows stronger,

Strike the gay chords,
The more 'tis time to go?

Let us hear each strain from every


That music haunts, or young feet wanPast two o'clock - past two.

der o'er, Now wrap thy cloak about thee- Hark! 'tis the light march, to whose The hours must sure go wrong,

measured time, For when they're passed without thee The Polish lady, by her lover led, They're, oh, ten times as long. Delights through gay saloons with step

untired to tread, WATCHMAN.

Or sweeter still, through moonlight Past three o'clock-past three.


Whose shadows serve to hide
Again that dreadful warning !
Had ever time such flight?

The blush that's raised by him who

talks And see the sky, 'tis morning

Of love the while by her side ; So now, indeed, good night.

Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose WATCHMAN,

floating sound

Like dreams we go gliding around, Past three o'clock-past three.

Say, which shall we dance? which shall Good night, good night.

we dance ?


ADVERTISEMENT. e **** wriva for a Benefit at the Dublin Theatre, and were wamba k'w Vitiisha with a degree of success, which they owed solely to her u imensen die sake katika kwesting them. I wrote them in haste, wnd it very rarely Dane a treint whes **, which has cost but little labour to the writer, is productive Les and we de to the reader. Under this impression, I should not have Com ale nie lekey had not found their way into some of the newspapers, Lavad nad om minatoa of errors to their own original stock, that I thought it then clinin adlarilla Rheir responsibility to those faults alone which really belong to

bih '*** to the title which I have invented for this Poem, I feel even Hoe weet miks wraples of the Emperor Tiberius, when he humbly asked pardon

Nene Nute for using the outlandish term Monopoly." But the truth the del conting **$the Poem with the sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought

** tionis ayat he word of this kind would not be without its attraction for siat bawali with whom, *If ’tis not sense, at least ’tis Greek.' To some of

non finita Ane piery it may not be superfluous to say, that by 'Melologue' I ve sandale Hotell Pot of recitation and music, which is frequently adopted in the

sempre w Wling's Ode on the Passions, and of which the most striking lom, ki & ** uember, is the prophetic speech of Joad, in the Athalie of » ਐਲ

T. M.



The breathes the language, known and felt

hrw the pure air spreads its living zone, Whower rage can rouse, or pity melt

uage of the soul is felt and known.
veridian plains,

of old, on some high tower,
vian pour'd bis midnight strains,
nis distant love with such sweet power
ve heard the lonely lay,
la could keep her from his arms arsyn,

late, met an passion, and I cannot refuse the summons; for saco, and would love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife

she cried "For and he my husband.” -Garcilasso de la Vega, in that pipe whleh Sir Paul Rycaut's translation,

mo with great

To the bleak climes of polar night,
Where, beneath a sunless sky,

The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly,
And sings along the lengthening waste of snow,

As blithe as if the blessed light
Of vernal Phæbus burn'd upon his brow.

O Music ! thy celestial claim

Is still resistless, still the same ! And faithful as the mighty sea

To the pale star that o'er its realm presides,

The spell-bound tides
Of human passion rise and fall for thee!


List ! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings,
While from Ilissus' silvery springs

She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn ; And by her side, in music's charm dissolving, Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving,

Dreams of bright days that never can return;

When Athens nursed her olive bough
With hands, by tyrant power unchain'd,

And braided for the Muse's brow
A wreath, by tyrant touch unstain’d.

When heroes trod each classic field,
Where coward feet now faintly falter ;

When every arm was Freedom's shield,
And every heart was Freedom's altar.


HARK ! 'tis the sound that charms The war-steed's wakening ears !

Oh! many a mother folds her arms
Round her boy-soldier, when that call she hears,
And though her fond heart sink with fears,

Is proud to feel his young pulse bound
With valour's fervoar at the sound !

See! from his native hills afar,
The rude Helvetian flies to war,
Careless for what, for whom he fights,
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights ;

A conqueror oft-a hero never
Yet lavish of his life-blood still,

As if 'twere like his mountain rill,

And gush'd for ever!
O Music ! here, even here,

Amid this thoughtless wild career,
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power.
There is an air, which oft among the rocks

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