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Remembered—not with Passion's sigh,

But oh! remembered still : And even from your side, Love,

And even from this scene, One look is o'er the tide, Love,

One thought with Josephine !

Alas! your lips are rosier,

Your eyes of softer blue,
And I have never felt for her

As I have felt for you ;
Our love was like the snow-flakes,

Which melt before you pass-
Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks

Before you lip the glass.
You saw these eye-lids wet, Love,

Which she has never seen ;'
But bid me not forget, Love,

My poor Josephine !

TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE.

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 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

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 Shiel will abuse the Parliament,

And Peel the Association ;
And 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 of 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.

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.

My uncle will swathe his gouty limbs,

And talk of his oils and blubbers ; My aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,

And rather longer rubbers ;

My cousin in Parliament will prove

How utterly ruined Trade is :
My brother, at Eton, will fall in love

With half a hundred ladies ;
My patron will sate his pride from plate,

And his thirst from Bordeaux wine :
His nose was red in Twenty-Eight,

'Twill be redder in Twenty-Nine.

And O! 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 ; - 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 throw and write my line;
And the woman I worshipped in Twenty-Eight

I shall worship in Twenty-Nine.

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