Child's cap, child's frock, child's cradle, child's
Doctor and nurse, expensive pair-
Cordials, cake, and wine o'erflows,
Christening frolic, friends in rows,-
And that's the way the money goes.
All lottery tickets turn up blanks,
And those who play at pharo banks,
At poko, brag, or loo, or bluff,
Must all be sure to lose enough.
Of horses fond, you go to a race,
And back your favourite's time and pace;
Some better nag does him oppose-
You lose and cursing fortune's throws,
Say, that's the way my money goes.
The ladies, by their love of dress,
Cause mankind's pockets deep distress,
Fashion's follies each one follows,
And plays the devil with our dollars.
Your wife just chucks you under the chin,
Hats, caps, gowns, shawls, are ordered in;
Daughters, sisters, fishing for beaux,
Want fresh bait-who can oppose,
Or grudge that way the money goes.
A lot of real estate you buy-
To rent your houses out you try→
But spite of all that you can do,
Repairs and taxes eat you through;
And when th' o'erruling fates decree
The bolt of war to throw,
Thou, sacred banner of the free,
Shalt daunt the bravest foe;
And never shall thy stars decline,
Till circling suns have ceased to shine.
I SEEK THEE NOT WHEN MIRTH IS HIGH.
I SEEK thee not when mirth is high,
When homage beams from every eye,
And all proclaim thee fair.
In hours like these I do not move
Around thee with light words of love,-
I feel thou art too dear.
I seek thee not amid the throng
Who fascinate with voice and song,
And kneel before thee there.
Oh no, I flatter not, nor vow
When others kneel, when others bow,
I feel thou art too dear.
The vain and giddy follow thee;
They proffer love's idolatry,
They murmur in thine ear!
Ah, little effort for that train
Love's outward agony to feign,
They feel not thou art dear.
Believe that yet I love thee well,
My soul yet owns the secret spell
That whispers thou art dear-
The spell that makes all language weak,
That sends the fever to my cheek
Whenever thou art near.
SEA-BIRD! haunter of the wave,
Delighting o'er its crest to hover;
Half engulfed where yawns the cave
The billow forms in rolling over;
Sea-bird! seeker of the storm!
In its shriek thou dost rejoice;
Sending from thy bosom warm
Answer shriller than its voice
Bird, of nervous winged flight,
Flashing silvery to the sun,
Sporting with the sea-foam white,-
When will thy wild course be done?
WHEN fancied woes my heart oppress,
And joy my pensive thoughts disown,
No songs dispel my wretchedness;
Scarce grief refrains its plaintive moan. Yet thou, sweet bird, when storms invade, And tempests fill the frowning sky, Canst shake the rain-drops from thy head, And chant thy cheerful minstrelsy!
Though clouds with teeming torrents lower,
The sun his beams reluctant hide,
Thine eye paints verdure on each bower,
And hope creates a summer-tide.
Sweet songster! pour thy note of glee;
Faith shall dispel my spirit's gloom-
Unseal my eyes,-and bid them see
A clime, where flowers perennial bloom!
If to struggle with the storm
On life's ever changing sea,
Where cold mists enwrap the form,
My harsh destiny must be-
Sea-bird! thus may I abide
Cheerful the allotment given,
And rising o'er the ruffled tide,
Escape at last, like thee, to Heaven.
LAND of the south!-imperial land!
How proud thy mountains rise!
How sweet thy scenes on every hand!
How fair thy covering skies!
But not for this,-oh, not for these,
I love thy fields to roam,—
Thou hast a dearer spell to me,-
Thou art my native home!
Thy rivers roll their liquid wealth,
Unequalled, to the sea,
Thy hills and valleys bloom with health, And green with verdure be!
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