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II.

She. But, they say, the bee's a rover,

That he'll fly when sweets are gone ;
And, when once the kiss is

over,
Faithless brooks will wander on!

He.-Nay, if flowers will lose their looks,

If sunny banks will wear away,
'Tis but right that bees and brooks

Should sip and kiss them, while they may.

LOVE AND THE NOVICE.

AIR.Cean Dubh Delish.

I.

66 Here we dwell, in holiest bowers,

" Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend; " Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers 66 To Heaven in mingled odour ascend !

" Do not disturb our calm, oh Love!

66 So like is thy form to the cherubs above, " It well might deceive such hearts as ours."

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II.

Love stood near the Novice and listen's,

And Love is no novice in taking a hint ;
His laughing blue eyes now with piety glisten'd ;
His rosy wing turn'd to Heaven's own tint.

" Who would have thought,” the urchin cries,

" That Love could so well, so gravely disguise “ His wandering wings and wounding eyes?”

III.

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping,

Young Novice; to him all thy orisons rise;
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping,
He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs.

Love is the saint enshrined in thy breast,
And angels themselves would admit such a

guest,
If he came to them clothed in Piety's vest.

Li

THIS LIFE IS ALL CHEQUER'D WITH PLEASURES

AND WOES.

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Air.The Bunch ofGreen Rushes that grew at the Brim.

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Tais life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes,

That chase one another, like waves of the deep,— Each billow, as brightly or darkly it flows,

Reflecting our eyes as they sparkle or weep. So closely our whims on our miseries tread,

That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried; And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed,

The goose-feathers of Folly can turn it aside. But pledge me the cup if existence would cloy,

With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, Be ours the light Grief that is sister to Joy,

And the short, brilliant Folly that flashes and dies!

II.

When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, Through fields full of sun-shine, with heart full of

play,

Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount,

And neglected his task for the flowers on the way.* Thus some who, like me, should have drawn and have

tasted The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted,

And left their light urns all as empty as mine! But pledge me the goblet--while Idleness weaves

Her flowerets together, if Wisdom can see One bright drop or two, that has fallen on the leaves

From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me!

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Proposito florem prætulit officio.-Propert. lib. 1, eleg. 20.

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