Sleep, Mr. Speaker; Cobbett will soon
Move to abolish the sun and moon;
Hume, no doubt, will be taking the sense,
Of the House on a saving of thirteen pence;
Grattan will growl, or Baldwin bray ;-
Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may!
Sleep, Mr. Speaker; dream of the time
When loyalty was not quite a crime ;
When Grant was a pupil in Canning's school;
When Palmerston fancied Wood a fool;
Lord, how principles pass away!—
Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may
Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sweet to men
Is the sleep that cometh but now and then ;
Sweet to the sorrowful, sweet to the ill,
Sweet to the children that work in a mill;
You have more need of sleep than they ;-
Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may!
THAT she may see, our bright and fair,
How arduous is her path to fame,
How much of solemn thought and care
An empire's interests fitly claim,—
That she may know how poor 'twould seem
In one who graces Britain's throne
To patronize a party's scheme
Or make a favourite's cause her own,—
That she may feel to Whom belong
Alike the contest and the prize,
Whence springs the valour of the strong,
Whence flows the counsel of the wise,-
That she may keep in womanhood
The heaven-born impulses of youth,
The zeal for universal good,
The reverence for eternal truth,-
That she may seek the right and just,—
That she may shun the false and mean,-
That she may win all love and trust,
WHERE foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a ruin, wan and gray,
O'erlooks the corn-field and the vine
Majestic in its dark decay.
Among their dim clouds, long ago,
They mocked the battles that raged below,
And greeted the guests in arms that came
With hissing arrow and scalding flame.
But there is not one of the homes of pride
That frown on the breast of the peaceful tide,
Whose leafy walls more proudly lower
Than these, the walls of Belmont Tower.
Where foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a fierce and fiery lord
Did carve the meat, and pour the wine
For all that revelled at his board.
Father and son, they were all alike,
Firm to endure, and fast to strike;
Little they loved but a Frau or a feast,
Nothing they feared but a prayer or a priest ;
But there was not one in all the land
More trusty of heart, more stout of hand,
More valiant in field, or more courteous in bower, Than Otto, the Lord of Belmont Tower.
His eyes were bright, his eyes were blue,
As summer's sun, as summer's heaven;
His age was barely twenty-two;
His height was just five feet eleven :
His hounds were of the purest strain,
His hawks the best from every nation ;'
His courser's tail, his courser's mane,
Was all the country's admiration :
His frowns were lightnings, charged with fate;
His smiles were shafts from Cupid's quiver;
He had a very old estate,
And the best vineyards on the river.
So ancient dames, you need not doubt,
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