'O, but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet-
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet,
For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!

'O, but for one short hour!

A respite however brief!

No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,

But only time for Grief!

A little weeping would ease my heart;
But in their briny bed

My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!'

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-
Stitch stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,— Would that its tone could reach the Rich!She sang this 'Song of the Shirt!'

HAIL, Columbia! happy land!
Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone
Enjoyed the peace your valour won.
Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies!
Firm, united, let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots! rise once more;
Defend your rights, defend your shore!

Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize!
While offering peace sincere and just,
In Heaven we place a manly trust,
That truth and justice will prevail
And every scheme of bondage fail.
Firm, united, let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Sound, sound the trump of Fame!
Let WASHINGTON'S great name

Ring through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause! Let every clime to Freedom dear

Listen with a joyful ear!

With equal skill, and godlike power,
He governs in the fearful hour

Of horrid war; or guides, with ease,
The happier times of honest peace.
Firm, united, let us be,

Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Behold the chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country, stands-
The rock on which the storm will beat,
The rock on which the storm will beat:
But, armed in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you.
When Hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or Liberty.

Firm, united, let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower,

The ringers rang by two, by three; 'Pull if ye never pulled before;

Good ringers, pull your best,' quoth he, 'Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Play all your changes, all your swells; Play up the "Brides of Enderby."

[Men say it was a stolen tyde

The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall; And there was nought of strange, beside The flight of mews and peewits pied

By millions crouched on the old sea wall.]

I sat and spun within the doore,

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies;
And dark against day's golden death,
She moved where Lindis wandereth,
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

'Cusha! cusha! cusha!' calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song,
'Cusha! cusha!' all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth,
Faintly came her milking song-

'Cusha! cusha! cusha!' calling,
'For the dews will soone be falling;
Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow.

Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;

Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot,
Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow

Jetty to the milking shed.'

[If it be long-ay, long ago—

When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.]

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene,
Save where full fyve good miles away
The steeple towered from out the greene;
And lo! the great bell farre and wide
Was heard in all the country side
That Saturday at eventide.

[The swanherds where their sedges are
Moved on in sunset's golden breath,
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth;
Till floating o'er the grassy sea
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The Brides of Mavis Enderby.']
Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows

To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows.

They sayde, And why should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea?

They ring the tune of Enderby!

['For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys warping down;

For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,
They have not spared to wake the towne.
But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none, and pyrates flee,
Why ring the "Brides of Enderby?"""]

100

They rang the sailor lads to guide
From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed;
And I-my son was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed;
And yet he moaned beneath his breath,
'O come in life, or come in death!
O lost! my love, Elizabeth!'

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore,

Ere yet the early dawn was cleare.
110 Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun shone in thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea;
A fatal ebbe and flowe, alas!

To many more than myne and mee;
But each will mourn his own (shee saith).
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

120 [I shall never hear her more,
By the reedy Lindis shore,
'Cusha! cusha! cusha!' calling,
Ere the early dews be falling;

I shall never hear her song,
'Cusha! cusha!' all along,
Where the sunny Lindis floweth,
Goeth, floweth;

From the meads where melick groweth,
Where the water winding down,

Onward floweth to the town.]

I shall never see her more
Where the reeds and rushes quiver,
Shiver, quiver;

Stand beside the sobbing river,
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling
To the sandy lonesome shore.
I shall never hear her calling,
'Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow.
Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot,
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,
Hollow, hollow;

Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow;
Lightfoot, Whitefoot,

From your clovers lift the head;
Come uppe, Jetty, follow, follow,
Jetty to the milking shed.'

ΤΟ

OCH! the Coronation! what celebration
For emulation can with it compare?

When to Westminster the Royal Spinster,
And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did
repair!

'Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen
Making a skrimmage at half after four,
And the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss
O'Gradys,

All standing round before the Abbey door.

Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning Themselves adorning, all by the candlelight,

With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, And gould and jewels, and rich dimonds bright,

And then approaches five hundred coaches, With Giniral Dullbeak.-Och! 'twas mighty fine

To see how asy bould Corporal Casey,

With his swoord drawn, prancing, made them
kape the line.

Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums,
All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes,
Opening the massy doors to the bould Am-
bassydors,

The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen 20
Jews;

'Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy

All jew'ls from jasey to his dimond boots, With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer,

The famale heiress, Miss Anjaly Coutts.

Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading The Queen, the darling, to her Royal chair, And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of PellMello,

The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair.

Then the Noble Prussians, likewise the Russians,

In fine laced jackets with their goulden cuffs, And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians, And Everythingarians all in furs and muffs. Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quaker,

All in the Gallery you might persave; But Lord Brougham was missing, and gone a-fishing,

Ounly crass Lord Essex would not give him lave.

Then his Riverence, retrating, discoorsed the mating,

'Boys! here's your Queen! deny it if you

can!

And if any bould traitour, or infarior craythur, Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man!'

Then the Nobles kneeling to the Pow'rs appealing,

'Heaven send your Majesty a glorious

reign !'

[And now, I've ended, what I pretended, This narration splendid in swate poe-thry, Ye dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher, Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry.]

THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop and abbot, and prior were there;

Many a monk, and many a friar,
Many a knight, and many a squire,
With a great many more of lesser degree,—
In sooth a goodly company;

And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee,

Never, I ween, was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!

In and out, through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;

Here and there, like a dog in a fair,

Over comfits and cates, and dishes and
plates,

Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall,
Mitre and crosier! he hopped upon all!

With a saucy air, he perched on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;

And he peered in the face of his Lordship's
Grace,

With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
'We two are the greatest folks here to-day!'
And the priests, with awe, as such freaks
they saw,

Said, 'The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!'

The feast was over, the board was cleared,
The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,
And six little Singing-boys,-dear little souls!
In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles,
Came, in order due, two by two,
Marching that grand refectory through!
A nice little boy held a golden ewer,
Embossed and filled with water, as pure

As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,
Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch
In a fine golden hand basin made to match.
Two nice little boys, rather more grown,
Carried lavender-water, and eau de Cologne,
And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap,
Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.

One little boy more a napkin bore,
Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,
And a Cardinal's Hat marked in ' permanent
ink.'

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight
Of these nice little boys dressed all in white:
From his finger he draws his costly tur-
quoise;

And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws,