But now, alas, I am a man,

And time has pruned my wing,
And I have but a little space
To flutter and to sing.

Singing to the autumn blast,

Be my sweetest song my last.

And should I live to be an old,
An old forgotten thing,
Yet never may my heart be cold

When holy maidens sing.

Holy, holy, may the Psalm

My very latest sense embalm!

A SONG WITHOUT A TUNE.

A SONG without a tune

I made in the month of June,
Eighteen hundred and forty-eight;
'Tis right to be exact in date.

Sweet lassy, parted we have been
A full twelvemonth and more,
And many a change the world has seen,
And many a heart been sore.

Kings that were mighty monarchs then

Are not, or nothing are but men.

And many a maid that loved a man

Of wealth and high degree Must try to love him, if she can,

In perilous poverty.

For in the wild creed of the time,

To have been rich is deem'd a crime.

We were not rich, we were not kings,
We are just where we were;

No hope has borne us on its wings,
To drop us in despair.

I might forget an hour had pass'd

Since the sweet hour I saw thee last,

Thou art so very like the maid
I saw twelve months ago;

And yet almost I am afraid
Thou dost not feel it so.

Thou art, my love, the same to me,
But am I quite the same to thee?

The lines are deeper on my brow,
The corners of my eyes
Are quaintly netted, I allow,
As wings of dragon flies;

My cheek the red and yellow dapple,
Much like a last year's russet apple.

Now I perceive a year hath flown,
And thou almost a woman grown.

A something sure hath cross'd thy view,
Or perhaps some lady sage
Hath told what to thy hopes is due,
And to thy stately age:

Yet thou hast not forgot me-no ;
But thou would'st very fain do so.

Farewell! I will not vex thee more,

I would not be a blot

On thy fair page, a fretting sore,

An ever-tangled knot.

What matter what thou think'st on me,

While thy young heart is glad and free.

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.

A NEW VERSION.

NOT what I would, but what I could,
I give our little Queen so good,
Adapting thus a custom'd strain.
To the sweet promise of her reign,
Whatever men in any part lie,
May they be loyal all as HARTLEY

COLERIDGE.

God save our Island's hope,
Long live the people's hope,

God bless our Queen.
Still may our Queen be free,
Then evermore will she

Love that good liberty

Which makes her Queen.