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He'll never meet

A joy so sweet

In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman's ear ,

His soul-felt flame,
And, at every close, she blush'd to hear

The one lov'd name!

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Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot,

Which first love trac'd ;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot

On memory's waste!
'Twas odour fled

As soon as shed;

'Twas morning's winged dream!
'Twas a light, that ne'er can shine again

On life's dull stream!
Oh! 'twas light, that ne'er can shine again

On life's dull stream!

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OH! cast not a damp on this hour of delight,
Nor check the glad pulse which is bounding to night:
The scene sparkles gaily, and bids us be blest,

For fled are the visions of sorrow and fear:
The sunshine of beauty is warm on the breast,

And all that is lovely seems loveliest here.

To-night not a tear must be suffer'd to roll,
But the drops that may fall from the brim of the bowl:
For though, like the bubbles that float in our wine,

We rise on the surface, and fade with a breath,
Yet the bubbles themselves have a moment to shine,

And they dance on the wave, ere they melt in to death.

And perhaps, when the changes of time shall convey
The joys, that are dearest, for eyer away,
When age will have shadow'd those glances of light,

And the warm lips of Love may be silent and cold,
The few who survive will remember to-night,

And indulge in a sigh for affections of old.


T. Moore.

Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you:
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brightened his path-way of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the bright vision that threw
Its enchantment around him while lingering with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies be it gloomy or bright
My soul, happy friend, shall be with you that night,

Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles
And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles !
Too blest if it tells me that mid the gay cheer
Some kind voice had murmurd “I wish he was here."

Let fate do her worst; there are relics of joy
Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy,
And which come in the night-time of sorrow and care
To bring back the features which joy used to wear :
Long, long, be my heart with such mem'ries filled;
Like the vase in whieh Roses have once be distill’d, .
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will
But the scent of the Roses will hang round it still.


T. Campbell

YE Mariners of England ! . ..
That guard our native.seas;
Whose flag has brav'd, a thousand years,
The battle, and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

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For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow. ..

Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers, along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceas'd to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, i And the storm has coas'd to blow.


T. Moore.

TTS the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;
All ber tovely companions

Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred

No rose-bud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes

Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one

To pine on thy stem,
Since the lovely are sleeping

Go, sleep thon with them;
Thue kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow

When friendships decay,
And from Loves shining circle

The gems drop away;
When true hearts lie withered

And fond ones are flown
Ob! who would inhabit

This blenk world alone?

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