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When her little bands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is prest, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had bless'd!
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither-yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee—hy thee forsaken;
Even my soul forsakes me now:
But 'tis done-all words are idle
Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way withont the will.
Fare thee well!--thus disunited,
Torn from every trearer tie, Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted-
More than this I scarce can die.
FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTII.
WHEN “Friendship, Love, and Trutlı” abound
Among a band of Brothers, The cup of joy goes gaily round,
Each shares the bliss of others :
Along this vale of sorrow:
Shall bloom again tomorrow:
On halcyon wings our moments pass,
Life's cruel cares beguiling;
In gay good humour smiling:
His reverend front adorning,
Night soften’d into morning!
From these delightful fountains flow
Ambrosial rills of pleasure:
A more resplendent treasure?
We'll form a Constellation,
Where every Star, with modest light,
Shall gild his proper station.
W. Reader, Jun.
OH! come thou not near my hallow'd home.
Tho' thou art so like the girl I knew,
Oh! that bosom be thine, if fair its hue;
The stars in the lake shine pale, and blue,
WHILE History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves, But, oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,
She saw History write
With a pencil of light, That illum'd all the volume, her WELLINGTON's name!.
“Hail, Star of my Isle!” said the Spirit, all sparkling
With beams, such as break from her own dewy skies;-“ Thro’ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling,
“I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. “For, tho’ Heroes I've numbered, unblest was their lot, “And unhallow'd they sleep in the cross-ways of Fame ;
< But, oh! there is not
“One dishonouring blot « On the wreath that encircles my WELLINGTON's name!
“ And still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
“The grandest, the purest e'en thou hast yet known; "Tho' proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,
“ Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own.
“At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood, “Go plead for the land that first cradled thy fame
“And bright o'er the flood
“Of her tears and her blood “Let the rainbow of Hope be her WELLINGTON's name!
W. Reuder, Jun,
NIGHT is falling o'er the dark heath,
Our wild path looks drear;
Rain parters o'er the bier.
Where we fought the deathful fray;
Scarce a voice shall swell the lay. The beam of thy youth has shone;
We shall bear thee to thy hills; Thy falcon eyes are dim, and wan,
And our lips thy cold cheek chills.
When the dun-deer starts at evening's wind,
Thro' his branchy horns that sighs; When near him cow'rs the timid hind,
And scarcely breathing lies;
Let thy dim form be near;
Thy drooping friends to cheer.