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Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness,
That were cold and extinguished in sadness'; [arms,
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms,
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens,
Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens.

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS

ON HER BIRTHDAY.

If any white winged Power above

My joys and griefs survey,
The day when thou wert born, my

love-
He surely blessed that day.
I laughed (till taught by thee) when told

of beauty's magic powers,
That ripened life's dull ore to gold,

And changed its weeds to flowers.
My mind had lovely shapes portrayed;

But thought I earth had one
Could make e'en Fancy's visions fade

Like stars before the sun ?
I gazed and felt upon my lips

Th’ unfinished accents hang:
One moment's bliss, one burning kiss,

To rapture changed each pang.
And though as swift as lightning's flash

Those tranced moments flew,
Not all the waves of time shall wash
Their memory from my view.

But duly shall my raptured song,

And gladly shall my eyes,,
Still bless this day's return, as long

As thou shalt see it rise.

SONG,

MEN OF ENGLAND."

men of England! who inherit

Rights that cost your sires their blood Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on-land and flood :By the foes ye've fought uncounted,

By the glorious deeds ye've done, 'Trophies captured-breaches mounted,

Navies conquered-kingdoms won! Yet, remember, England gathers

Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, If the patriotism of your

fathers Glow not in your hearts the same. What are monuments of bravery,

Where no public virtues bloom? What avail in lands of slavery,'

Trophied temples, arch and tomb? Pageants !--Let the world revere us

For our people's rights and laws, And the breasts of civic heroes

Bared in Freedom's holy causc. Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,

Sydney's matchless shade is yours.--

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Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a hundred Agincourts ! We're the sons of sires that baffled

Crowned and mitred tyranny: They defied the field and scaffold

For their birthrights-so will we!

ADELGITHA.
The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded,

And sad pale Adelgrtha came,
When forth a valiant champion bounded,

And slew the slangerer of her fame.
She wept, delivered from her danger;

But when he knelt to claim her glove “Seek not,” she cried, " oh! gallant stranger.

For hapless Adelgitla's love. “ For he is in a foreign far land

Whose arm should now have set me free; And I must wear the willow garland

For him that's dead, or false to me.” “ Nay! say not that his faith is tainted !”

Ye raised his vizor-At the sight She fell into his arms and fainted;

It was indeed her own true knight!

SONG.

Drink ye to her that each loves best,

And if you nurse a flame
That's told but to her mutual breast,

We will not ask her name.

Enough, while memory tranced and glad

Paints silently the fair,
That each should dream of joys he's had,

Or yet may hope to share.
Yet far, far hence be jest or boast

From hallowed thoughts so dear:
But drink to them that we love most,

As they would love to hear.

SONG.

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When Napoleon was flying

From the field of Waterloo, A British soldier dying,

To his brother bade adieu ! " And take,” he said, “this token

To the maid that owns my faith, With the words that I have spoken

In affection's latest breath." Sore mourned the brother's heart,

When the youth beside him fell; But the trumpet warned to part,

And they took a sad farewell. There was many a friend to lose him,

For that gallant soldier sighed; But the maiden of his bosom

Wept when all their tears were dried.

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False, unkind, or found too late
What can we do but sigh at fate,

And sing Wo's me- -Wo's me!
Love's a boundless burning waste,
Where bliss's stream we seldom taste,

And still more solemn flee Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings; Yet somehow Love a something brings

That's sweet-ev'n when we sigh Wo’s me!

SONG.

Earl March looked on his dying child,

And smit with grief to view herThe youth, he cried, whom I exiled,

Shall be restored to woo her.
She's at the window many an hour

His coming to discover:
And her love looked up to Ellen's bower,

And she looked on her lover-
But ah! so pale, he knew her not,

Though her smile on him was dwelling
And am I then forgot-forgot?-

It broke the heart of Ellen.
In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,

Her cheek is cold as ashes;
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes

To lift their silken lashes.

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