Long may this couple flourish
In every frothing can,
Our drooping strength to nourish,
And cheer the heart of man!
FALL, OH! FALL.
[Air: OLD ENGLISH.]
FALL, oh! fall, ye words of anger, Like the leaves when autumn blows, Like the May-blooms in the river,
Like the moonlight on the snows! Fall like seed in barren places,
Fall like raindrops in the sea,Idle words, foredoom'd to perish, Lost between my love and me!
But, ye words of lovingkindness,
Fall like grateful summer rain,
Like the heat on frozen waters,
Like sweet music heard in pain!
Like the dew on op'ning roses,
Like the acorn from the tree;
Fall, ye accents of affection,
Fruitful to my love and me!
Or old, a 'fool' was call'd a 'fool!'
By simples and by sages;
A 'workman' did his honest 'work,'
And 'servants' earn'd their 'wages.'
A 'man' was title of respect,
Whenever virtue named it;
There was but one of higher worth,
And lovely' woman' claim'd it.
But now we masquerade with words,-
The truth a great offence is,-
And desecrate our good old tongue
By pride and false pretences.
We shame the language of our sires, We talk so mild and meekly,— We've 'operatives' for working-men, Who draw their 'salaries' weekly.
Our 'lady' takes the place of 'wife,'
That word so true and hearty;
And every 'man' 's a'gentleman,'
Unless we call him 'party.'
The 'shopman' hates the name of 'shop,'
And by perversion, later,
The man who digs a railway trench
Is called a 'navigator.'
Oh, give us back our ancient speech!
And let us do our daily work,'
It had a soul of beauty;
And think it pleasant duty.
Let's earn our 'wages,' as of old,-
The word can never harm us;
Let's love our 'sweethearts' and our
' wives,'
And own that 'women' charm us.
So shall our actions, like our words,
Be void of affectation;
And 'truth' be 'truth,' and 'man' be 'man,'
Throughout the British nation.
A FLY on the brink of a tankard was sipping
The rich mantling wave of the ripe Rhenish wine;
Oh, what are you doing? you rush to your ruin !
Be wise, foolish fly, and to reason incline!'
Thus argued another, careering in gladness
Around the bright flame of a taper afar.
'All drinking 's a folly, and brings melancholy;
Take warning, and shun it, lost fly that you are!
'Behold how a passion more noble should move you;
"Tis Glory alone has a charm in my eyes;
Whatever betide me, its radiance shall guide me!
Good-bye, silly toper, and learn to be wise.'
Thus saying, he sported his wings for a minute,
Then flew to the light that so tempted his gaze;
But burning his pinions in Glory's dominions,
He fell in the candle, and died in the blaze.
'Alas!' said the fly that was perch'd on the tankard,
'Can aught for the want of self-knowledge atone?
We rail against others, see faults in our brothers,
And blame every folly and vice but our own.'
But whether this fly was converted from toping,
Or led a new life, is not easy to say;
But if flies are like drinkers 'mong two-legged thinkers,
'Tis likely he sips the red wine to this day!
I'VE loved thee well, I've loved thee The kindly word that falls to-day,
And, gazing on thy beauty,
I ask my heart what secret charm
Makes love such joyous duty?
My heart replies:-The soul of truth,
The hope in sadness spoken,
The smiles of light in darkest days,
The constancy unbroken.
May bear its fruit to-morrow;
The false are often kind in joy,
The true alone in sorrow.
And though we bless the flower of June,
And all its charms remember,
We've double blessings for the rose
That blossoms in December.
THE LINNET MUST SING, THOUGH THE FALCON MAY HEAR
THE linnet must sing, though the falcon may hear;
The leaf must unfold, though it die with the year;
And the glow-worm must shine, though the light which it shows
But guide the attack of its wandering foes;
At the call of the tempest the billows must foam,
Though the ship may be wreck'd that is journeying home;
And the young heart must love, though experience declare
That love is a folly and passion a snare.
In vain, all in vain, are the lessons of old,——
The world must roll on as it ever has roll'd.
If the birds would not sing, lest the fowler might spy,
The music of earth would be mute in the sky;
If the storms would not blow, lest the oak might be riven,
Not a flower could expand to the breezes of heaven;
And if hearts would not love, lest a grief might ensue,
Oh, the world were no home for the young and the true!
BE WISE, O VAGRANT FANCY.
BE wise, O vagrant Fancy, nor paint the world so fair,
Nor build such cloudy temples and castles in the air;
Believe, or thou wilt rue it, that friendship can betray,
And love forget to-morrow the truth it vows to-day.
It is not hope, but folly, to robe the earth in light,
And in the blaze of morning to disbelieve in night;
Thy glowing dreams mislead thee, thy careless eyes grow blind,
They only see the rainbow, but not the cloud behind.
And yet, O vagrant Fancy, 'tis better as thou art;
To disbelieve in goodness destroys both head and heart:
We'll keep our loves and friendships, nor deem they can betray,
Nor heed that thorns may pierce us when flowers are on the way.
|