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Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept; With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept.
We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,
Farewell-farewell-until Pity's sweet fountain
BEAUTY, WIT, AND GOLD.
IN her bower a widow dwelt,
At her feet three suitors knelt ;
First appeared the handsome man,
Wealth the burden of his tale,
Then the man of wit anu sense
Beauty, vanish! gold, depart!
REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY.
REASON, and Folly, and Beauty, they say,
Went on a party of pleasure one day.
Around the maid,
The bells of his cap rung merrily out;
To his sermon-book-
Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.
Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage,
Look here, sweet maid !"
The sight of his cap brought her back to horself,
While Reason read
His leaves of lead,
With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!
Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap; Had he that on, he her heart might entrap"There it is,"
Quoth Folly, "old quiz!"
(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) "Under the sun
There's no such fun,
As Reason with my cap and bells on his head,
But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore,
Old Reason's book,
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton,
That Beauty vowed
(Though not aloud)
She liked him still better in that than his own,
THOSE evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time
Those joyous hours are passed away;
And so 'twill be when I am gone-
A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.
FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!
Why should we yet our sail unfurl ?—
O! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Utawa's tide! this trembling moon
ANCIENT of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone-glimmering thro' the dream of things that were: First in the race that led to Glory's goal, They won, and passed away-is this the whole? A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! The warrior's weapon, and the sophist's stole, Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Son of the morning, rise! approach you here!
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on
Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven-