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Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what

hue,

Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true.

Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Come charge high, again, boy, nor let the full wine Leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight may

shine;

Here's "the friends of our youth-tho' of some we're bereft,

May the links that are lost but endear what are left!"

Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Once more fill a bumper-ne'er talk of the hour;
On hearts thus united old Time has no pow'r.
May our lives, tho', alas! like the wine of to-night,
They must soon have an end, to the last flow as
bright.

Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since Time's glass will run

Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one; Here's the poet who sings - here's the warrior who

fights

Here's the statesman who speaks, in the cause of men's rights!

Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Come, once more, a bumper!—then drink as you

please,

Tho', who could fill half-way to toast such as these? Here's our next joyous meeting—and oh when we

meet,

May our wine be as bright and our union as sweet! Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

HUSH, HUSH!

"HUSH, hush!"- how well
That sweet word sounds,
When Love, the little sentinel,
Walks his night-rounds;

Then, if a foot but dare

One rose-leaf crush,
Myriads of voices in the air
Whisper, "Hush, hush!"

“Hark, hark, 'tis he!”

The night elves cry,
And hush their fairy harmony,

While he steals by;

But if his silv'ry feet

One dew-drop brush,

Voices are heard in chorus sweet,

Whispering, "Hush, hush!".

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THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE.

HE.

ON to the field, our doom is seal❜d,
To conquer or be slaves:

This sun shall see our nation free,
Or set upon our graves.

SHE.

Farewell, oh farewell, my love,
May Heaven thy guardian be,
And send bright angels from above
To bring thee back to me.

HE.

On to the field, the battle-field,

Where freedom's standard waves, This sun shall see our tyrant yield, Or shine upon our graves.

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Good night, good night, my dearest

How fast the moments fly!

'Tis time to part, thou hearest

That hateful watchman's cry.

WATCHMAN.

Past one o'clock-past one.

Yet stay a moment longer
Alas! why is it so,

The wish to stay grows stronger,

The more 'tis time to go?

WATCHMAN.

Past two o'clock

past two.

Now wrap thy cloak about thee

The hours must sure go wrong, For when they're past without thee, They're, oh, ten times as long.

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Again that dreadful warning!

Had ever time such flight? And see the sky, 'tis morningSo now, indeed, good night.

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SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE?

SAY, what shall we dance?

Shall we bound along the moonlight plain,
To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain?
Say, what shall we dance?

Shall we, like those who rove
Through bright Grenada's grove,
To the light Bolero's measures move?
Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay,
And thus to its sound die away?

Strike the gay chords,

Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore

That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er.

Hark! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, The Polish lady, by her lover led,

Delights through gay saloons with step untired to

tread.

Or sweeter still through moonlight walks

Whose shadows serve to hide

The blush that's raised by him who talks

Of love the while by her side,

Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating

sound

Like dreams we go gliding around,

Say, which shall we dance? which shall we dance?

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