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SONG. Ock home is on the sea, boy,
SMOOTHLY Aowing through verdant Our home is on the sea ;
Gentle river, thy current runs,
Sheltered safe from winter gales,
Shaded cool from summer suns. Wbatever storms befall, boy,
Thus our Youth's sweet moments glide, Whatever storms befall,
Fenced with flowery shelter round;
No rude tempest wakes the tide,
All its path is fuiry ground.
When, wooed by whispering groves in Behold yon sea of isles, boy,
vain, Behold yon sea of isles,
Thou'lt leave those banks, thy shaded Where every shore
home, Is sparkling o'er
To mingle with the stormy main. With Beauty's richest smiles.
And thou, sweet Youth, too soon will For us hath Freedom clained, boy,
pass For us hath Freedom claimed
Into the world's unsheltered sea,
Where, once thy wave unmixed, alas,
All hope of peace is lost for thee. His eagle wing untamed.
Next turn we to the gay salon, And shall the Moslem dare, boy, Resplendent as a summer noon, And shall the Moslem dare,
Where 'neath a pendent wreath of While Grecian hand
lights, Can wield a brand,
A Zodiac of flowers and tapers— To plant his Crescent there?
(such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds No-by our fathers, no, boy,
Its glory o'er young dancers' heads)— No, by the Cross we show
Quadrille performs her mazy rites, From Maina's rills
And reigns supreme o'er slides and To Thracia's hills
capers; All Greece re-echoes “No!"
Working to death each opera strain,
As, with a foot that ne'er reposes,
She jigs through sacred and profane, Like pleasant thoughts that o'er the
From "Maid and Magpie' up to mind A minute come, and go again,
Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes,
Till fagged Rossini scarce respires ; strain,
And Weber at her feet expires.
And now the set hath ceased- the Lowa At length when, lost, the closing note Of fiddlers taste a brief repose,
Had down the waters died along, While light along the painted floor, Forth from another fairy boat,
Arm within arm, the couples stray, Freighted with music, came this Talking their stock of nothings o'er, song :
Till—nothing's left, at last, to say. 1 In England the partition of this opera of Rossini was transferred to the story of Pe'ct he Hermit; hy which means the indecorum of giving such names as Muise,' . Phare way &c., to the dances selected from it (as was done in Paris), has been avoided
When, lo!-most opportunely sent- As these two creatures—from their pout
Two Exquisites, a he and she, and frown, 'twas plain—had just fallen Just brought from Dandyland, and
And all their little thoughts, of course, For Fashion's grand Menagerie, Were stirring in full fret and force ;Entered the room-und scarce were Like mites, through microscope espied, there
d world of nothings magnified. When all flocked round them, glad to But mild the vent such beings seek, stare
The tempest of their souls to speak : At any monsters, any where.
As Opera swains to fiddles sigh,
To fiddles fight, to fiddles die, Some thought them perfect, to their Even so this tender couple set tastes ;
Their well-bred woes to a Duet.
Each blissful Wednesday that went
Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugee, Though orthodox from toe to chin,
Adorned a youth so blest as I. Yet lacked that spacious wit of head
Oh! ah ! ah ! oh! To hat of toadstool much akin
Those happy days are gone-heigho! That build of bonnet, whose extent
SHE, Should, like a doctrine of dissent, Long as with thee I skimmed the ground, Puzzle church-doors to let it in.
Nor yet was scorned for Lady Jane, However sad-a8 'twas, no doubt,
No blither nymph tetotumed round
To Collinet's immortal strain.
Oh ! ah ! &c.
Those happy days are gone-heigho! Yet all allowed that, of her kind
HE. A prettier show 'twas hard to find ; With Lady Jane now whirled about, while of that doubtful genus, “dressy I know no bounds of time or breath ; men,"
And, should the charmer's head hold The male was thought a first-rate speci- out,
My heart and heels are hers till death, Such Savans, too, as wished to trace
Oh ! ah ! &c. The manners, habits, of this race
Still round and round through life To know what rank (if rank at all) 'Mong reasoning things to them should
To Lord Fitznoodle's eldest son, What sort of notions heaven imparts A youth renowned for waistcoats To high built-heads and tight-laced smart, hearts,
I now have given (excuse the pun) And how far Soul, which, Plato says, A vested interest in my heart. Abhors restraint, can act in stays
Oh ! ah ! &c. Might now, if gifted with discerning, Still round and round with him I'll Find opportunities of learning :
go. i It is hardly necessary to remind tne reader that this Duet is a parody of the oftontrauslated and parodied ode of Horuoe, ‘Donec gratus eram tibi,' &c.
While here a lighted slirubbery led
To a small lake that sleeping lay, What if, by fond remembrance led Cradled in foliage, but, o'erhead, Again to wear our mutual chain,
Open to heaven's sweet breath and For me thou cutest Fitznoodle dead,
ray ; And I levant from Lady Jane.
While round its rim there burning stood Oh ! ah ! &c.
Lamps, with young flowers beside Still round and round again we'll them bedded, go.
That shrunk from such warm neigh
And, looking bashful in the flood,
Blushed to Though he įhe Noodle honours give,
behold themselves 80
wedded. And thine, dear youth, are not so high, With thee in endless waltz I'd live, With thee to Weber's Stop-Waltz, Hither to this embowered retreat, die !
Fit but for nights so still and sweet ; Oh ! ah ! &c.
| Nights, such as Eden's calm recall
So silent is, below, on high,
You almost think you hear it fall-
To shun the dancers' wildering noise,
And give an hour, e'er night-time flew, While thus, like motes that dance away
To music's more ethereal joys,
Came with their voices-ready all
In hymn or ballad, dirge or glee,
And, first, a dark-eyed nymph arrayed A life of ups-and-downs, like keys
Like her, whom Art hath deathless Of Broadwoad's in a long concer
made, to :-)
Bright Mona Lisa '_ with that braid While thus the fiddle's spell, within,
Of hair across the brow, and one Calls up its realm of restless sprites,
Small gem that in the centre shoneWithout, as if some Mandarin
With face, too, in its form resembling Were holding there his Feast of Lights,
Da Vinci's Beauties—the dark eyes, Lamps of all hues, from walks and Now lucid, as through crystal trem. bowers,
bling, Broke on the eye, like kindling flowers,
Now soft, as if suffused with sighs Till, budding into light, each tree
Her lute, that hung beside her, took, Bore its full fruit of brilliancy.
And, bending o'er it with shy look,
More beautiful, in shadow thus, Here shone a garden-lamps all o'er, Than when with life most luminous,
As though the Spirits of the Air Passed her light finger o'er the chords, Had taken it in their heads to pour And sung to them these mournful
A shower of summer meteors there :- words :-1 The celebrated portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, which he is said to have occupied four yean in painting.- Vasari, vol. vii.
Searce kad the last Furë lett mer is Sant Fertir misers to inter,
WET BUDE B i pos-h7 purer;
Fueur et sermonis Dew He had despoiad io rube un in
Thai sui 25 DOLL SET and sinner. A zone he wore of engarang Ebalis
Và tô ở 1 Ep, tc fc. And from his lutip curl where sbane
So time we're now 10 same our terms, A peacock's piesne, there duzgied beis
Bus whaidze 'er the wins that selze Tuat rung 25 be came duse ng in Close after him, a part—iz arese
This west of sil bortai firms, And stape his zaintaiure Espress- PILT & Co., wiaty io please you. An ample basket, Swed with sure Of tots and iratets laaguing bure;
Oz sboa d you wiss a darka toe Til baring reached nas serdasi seni,
Oi goods iban we can recomped ron,
Why iben is we with laurers da) He laid it at his master's ieet,
To Eatery's stop, den door, we'll Wbo, bail in speech and half is song, Chanted this invoice to the throng:
Who il bay, &c. &c While thes the blissíul moments rolled,
Moments of rare and fleetit.g lighi,
That sbow themselves like crains of cold SONG.
In the mine’s refase, few and bright;
Bebold where, opening far away, Who'll bay -'tis Polly's shop, who'll
The long conservatory's range,
Stripped of the flowers it wore all day, buy!We've toys to soit all ranks and ages; Presents, on Dresden's costliest ware,
Bat gaining lovelier in exchange,
A supper such as gods might share.
Since Dinner far into the night And nine-pins, set, like systems, up, Advanced the march of appetite; To be knocked down the following Deployed his never-ending forces minute.
of various vintage and three courses, Who'll buy—'tis Folly's shop, who'll And, like those Goths who played the
With Rome and all her sacred chickens, Gay caps we here of foolscap make,
Put Supper and her fowls so white, For hards to wear in dog-day weather ; Legs, wings, and drumsticks, all to flight. Or bards the bells alone may take, Now waked once more by wine-whose And leave to wits the cap and feather.
tide Teetotums we've for patriots got,
Is the true Hippocrene, where glide Who court the mob with antics The Muse's swans with happiest wing, humble;
Dipping their bills, before they singtheirs the patriot's dizzy lot,
The minstrels of the table greet 'rious spin, and then—a tumble. The listening ear with descant sweet :Who'll buy, &c. &c.