And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love,
And that eye its divine inspiration shall be,
They may talk as they will of their Edens above,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour, At twilight so often we've roam'd through the dew, There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,

And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. 53 But, tho' they were even more bright than the queen Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, As I never these fair young celestials have seen, Why-this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station, Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we could

spare.

Oh, think what a world we should have of it here,
If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee,
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere,

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me,

Oh for the swords of former time!

Air-Name unknown.

Oh for the swords of former time!
Oh for the men who bore them,
When, arm'd for right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them!
When pure yet, ere courts began
With honours to enslave him,
The best honours worn by man

Were those which virtue gave him.

Oh for the swords of former time! etc:

Oh for the kings who flourish'd then!
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men
Were all the ramparts round them!
When, safe built on bosoms true,

The throne was but the center
Round which Love a circle drew,
That Treason durst not enter.

Oh for the kings who flourish'd then! etc.

A Canadian boat song.

WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.

54

Et remigem cantus hortatur.-Quintilian.

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?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh, sweetly, we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, &c.

Utáwas' tide! this trembling moon

Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayer,
Grant us cool heavens and favouring air!
Blow, breezes, blow, &c.

Ne'er ask the hour.

Air-My husband's a journey to Portugal gone.

Ne'er ask the hour, what is it to us

How time deals out his treasures?

The golden moments lent us thus,

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's.

If counting them over could add to their blisses,
I'd number each glorious second;

But moments of joy, are like Lesbia's kisses,
Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd.

Then fill the cup, what is it to us

How time his circle measures?

The fairy hours we call up thus,

Obey no wand but Pleasure's!

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,
Till Care, one summer morning,
Sat up, among his smiling flowers,

A dial, by way of warning;

But Joy lov'd better to gaze on the sun,

As long as his light was glowing,

Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on,
And how fast the light was going.
So fill up the cup, what is it to us
How Time his circle measures?
The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's!

Sail on, sail on.

Air-The Humming of the Ban.

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark-
Wherever blows the welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark,

More sad than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,
"Though death beneath our smile may be,
Less cold we are, less false than they
Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee.”

Sail on, sail on-through endless space

Through calm-through tempest-stop no more;

The stormiest sea's a resting place

To him who leaves such hearts on shore.

Or, if some desert land we meet,

Where never yet false-hearted men Profan'd a world, that else were sweetThen rest thee, bark, but not till then.

The Parallel.

Air-1 would rather than Ireland.

Yes, sad one of Sion-if closely resembling, 55
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart;