LO, a fairy on a day Came and bore my heart away; But as she secured her prize, Sweetest smiles illumed her eyes. And, hey, lerry O!

How long shall injustice prevail? How long shall the weak rue the st… The children of Poland bewail The yoke of the Russian?—How long… Lo! one generation goes by,

AWAY with the muses of frolic!—a… With the haunts of diversion and f… Ay, mine be the joy to awaken a la… And to weave for misfortune a garl… We shrink at life’s shadows and fl…

SHE is not fashioned to command, Nor once, for grace, in her is sho… A form that peers the lily-wand— An air the lily’s self might own; Not such her vaunt, tho’ such ench…

WOULD I could waken numbers, br… Than is the lark’s song in the clo… Then would I tell you in befittin… How much the Seer is worthy of yo… Shy, sensitive is he, and far from…

Too lovely art thou to behold, And not to be stung by desire, To bathe in those ringlets of gold… To bathe in those glances of fire. Too lovely art thou to the ken,

Now Gladstone’s party bears the b… And now Disraeli’s—now The people really cannot tell, For whom their hands to show. Now this way, la, now that incline…

I NEVER said my verse you’d moc… Nor how you’d giggled at my gramma… You, on whom Fame her door has lo… I little mark’d your empty clamour… I merely said that when you’d call…

ALAS! the woe the high of heart, Seem pre-ordained to undergo, While proud ambition hides the sma… And smiles delude the world below. Their anguish, like a Samson blin…

Last night at the Fair did I lose… I hunted thee south and I hunted… I’d rather than lost thee have los… That all the great lords in the ki… Heart-sorry in worry and flurry di…

AS I came down from Earsdon Town… A-lilting of a lay, Whom did I meet but she, the swee… The blue-eyed Lotty Hay. A crimson blush her cheek did flus…

THE stars are twinkling in the sk… As to the pit I go; I think not of the sheen on high, But of the gloom below. Not rest nor peace, but toil and s…

I’m as loyal a subject as Britain… Our Queen she is gracious, and ge… But another this moment demandeth… ’Tis Annie, the lass with the two… The hair of my idol’s a stream of…

‘BEWARE! yon bird now in glee o… May drop into a snare:’ So sung we when a day of the past… away But not when Alf, was near.