THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE.

Where are you, old companions trusty
Of early days, here met to dine?
Come, waiter! quick, a flagon crusty-

I'll pledge them in the good old wine.
The kind old voices and old faces

My memory can quick retrace;
Around the board they take their places,
And share the wine and Bouillabaisse.

There's JACK has made a wondrous marriage ;
There's laughing Tom is laughing yet;
There's brave AUGUSTUS drives his carriage ;
There's poor old FRED in the Gazette;
On JAMES's head the grass is growing:

Good Lord! The world has wagged apace Since here we set the Claret flowing,

And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.

Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!
I mind me of a time that's gone,
When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,

In this same place-but not alone.
A fair young form was nestled near me,
A dear, dear face looked fondly up,
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me
-There's no one now to share my cup.

I drink it as the Fates ordain it.

Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes; Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it In memory of dear old times.

Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is;

And sit you down and say your grace With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. -Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse.

THE END OF THE PLAY.

THE play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter's bell:
A moment yet the actor stops,

And looks around to say farewell.
It is an irksome word and task;

And, when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's any thing but gay.

One word, ere yet the evening ends,
Let's close it with a parting rhyme,
And pledge a hand to all young friends,
As fits the merry Christmas time.
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts.
That Fate ere long shall bid you play;
Good-night! with honest gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway!

Good-night!—I'd say, the griefs, the joys,
Just hinted in this mimic page,

The triumphs and defeats of boys,
Are but repeated in our age.

I'd say, your woes were not less keen,

Your hopes more vain than those of men ;

Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen

At forty-five played o'er again.

I'd say we suffer and we strive,

Not less nor more as men than boys;

With grizzled beards at forty-five,

As erst at twelve in corduroys,

THE END OF THE PLAY.

And if in time of sacred youth,

We learned at home to love and pray, Pray Heaven that early Love and Truth May never wholly pass away.

And in the world, as in the school,

I'd say, how fate may change and shift;
The prize be sometimes with the fool,
The race not always to the swift.
The strong may yield, the good may fall,
The great man be a vulgar clown,
The knave be lifted over all,

The kind cast pitilessly down.

Who knows the inscrutable design?
Blessed be He who took and gave!
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine,
Be weeping at her darling's grave?
We bow to Heaven that willed it so,
That darkly rules the fate of all,
That sends the respite or the blow,
That's free to give or to recall.

This crowns his feast with wine and wit:
Who brought him to that mirth and state?
His betters, see, below him sit,

Or hunger hopeless at the gate.
Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel
To spurn the rags of Lazarus?
Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel,
Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus.

So each shall mourn, in life's advance,
Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed;
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance,
And longing passion unfulfilled.

Amen! whatever fate be sent,

Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow.

Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the Awful Will,

And bear it with an honest heart. Who misses, or who wins the prize? Go, lose or conquer as you can: But if you fail, or if you rise,

Be each, pray God, a gentleman.

A gentleman, or old or young!

(Bear kindly with my humble lays ;)

The sacred chorus first was sung
Upon the first of Christmas days:
The shepherds heard it overhead-
The joyful angels raised it then:
Glory to Heaven on high, it said,

And peace on earth to gentle men.

My song, save this, is little worth;
I lay the weary pen aside,

And wish you health, and love, and mirth,

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide.

As fits the holy Christmas birth,

Be this, good friends, our carol still

Be peace on earth, be peace on earth,
To men of gentle will.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;
Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day;
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline:

But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,

So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break:
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.