TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE. "Rien n'est changé, mes amis."-Charles X. I HEARD a sick man's dying sigh, The Old Year went with mourning by The New came dancing after! Fling roses on the cradle; Mutes to wait on the funeral state; A requiem for Twenty-Eight, And a health to Twenty-Nine! Alas for human happiness! Alas for human sorrow! Our yesterday is nothingness, What else will be our morrow? Still Beauty must be stealing hearts, And Knavery stealing purses; While sages prate and courts debate, The same stars set and shine; And the world as it rolled through Twenty-Eight, Must roll through Twenty-Nine. Some King will come, in Heaven's good time, To the tomb his father came to ; Some Thief will wade through blood and crime Some suffering land will rend in twain To fasten them proudly round her; And much where we were in Twenty-Eight, O'Connell will toil to raise the Rent, And the thought of bayonets and swords Will make ex-chancellors merry; And jokes will be cut in the House of Lords, And writers of weight will speculate And just what it did in Twenty-Eight John Thomas Mugg, on a lonely hill, Will do a deed of mystery; The Morning Chronicle will fill Five columns with the history; And the Goddess of Love will keep her smiles, And there'll be riots in St. Giles, Alas! they married in Twenty-Eight, And oh! I shall find how, day by day, gay, But still I shall be what I have been, Sworn foe to Lady Reason, And seldom troubled with the spleen, And fond of talking treason; I shall buckle my skait, and leap my gate, And the woman I worshipped in Twenty-Eight (JANUARY 1, 1829.) SONG FOR THE FOURTEENTH OF FEB RUARY. BY A GENERAL LOVER. "Mille gravem telis, exhaustâ pene pharetrâ.” APOLLO has peeped through the shutter, Away with ye, dreams of disaster, Of pleadings I never shall draw! I'll sit in my night-cap, like Hayley, I'll sit with my arms crost, like Spain, |