I think some die upon the field,
And some upon the billow,

And some are laid beneath a shield,
And some beneath a willow.

I think that very few have sighed
When Fate at last has found them,
Though bitter foes were by their side,
And barren moss around them:

I think that some have died of drought,
And some have died of drinking;

I think that nought is worth a thought,And I'm a fool for thinking!

TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY

NINE

Rien n'est changé, mes amis ! - CHARLES X.

I HEARD a sick man's dying sigh,
And an infant's idle laughter;
The Old Year went with mourning by,
The New came dancing after.
Let Sorrow shed her lonely tear,
Let Revelry hold her ladle!
Bring boughs of cypress for the bier,
Fling roses on the cradle:

Mutes to wait on the funeral state!
Pages to pour the wine!

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;

Still cooks must live by making tarts,
And wits by making verses:

While sages prate, and courts debate,

The same stars set and shine;

And the world, as it rolled through Twentyeight,

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
To a crown he has no claim to;

Some suffering land will rend in twain
The manacles that bound her,

And gather the links of the broken chain
To fasten them proudly round her:
The grand and great will love and hate,
And combat, and combine;

And much where we were in Twenty-eight
We shall be in Twenty-nine.

O'Connell will toil to raise the rent,
And Kenyon to sink the nation,

And Sheil will abuse the Parliament,
And Peel the Association;

And the thought of bayonets and swords
Will make ex-chancellors merry,

And jokes will be cut in the House of
Lords,

And throats in the county Kerry;
And writers of weight will speculate
On the Cabinet's design,

And just what it did in Twenty-eight
It will do in Twenty-nine.

John Thomas Mugg, on a lonely hill,
Will do a deed of mystery;

The Morning Chronicle will fill

Five columns with the history;

The jury will be all surprise,
The prisoner quite collected,
And Justice Park will wipe his
And be very much affected;

eyes

And folks will relate poor Corder's fate
As they hurry home to dine,

Comparing the hangings of Twenty-eight
With the hangings of Twenty-nine.

And the goddess of love will keep her smiles,

And the god of cups his orgies, And there'll be riots in St. Giles, And weddings in St. George's; And mendicants will sup like kings,

And lords will swear like lacqueys,
And black eyes oft will lead to rings,
And rings will lead to black eyes;
And pretty Kate will scold her mate
In a dialect all divine;

Alas! they married in Twenty-eight,
They will part in Twenty-nine!
And oh! I shall find how, day by day,

All thoughts and things look older; How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay, And the heart of friendship colder;