"TIS WHEN THE CUP IS SMILING.

Italian Air.

I.

'Tis when the cup is smiling before us,

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true,

That the sky of this life

o'er opens

us,

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue.

Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus;.
For him but two bright eyes were shining—
See what numbers are sparkling for us!

II.

When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
And on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams,
"Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,
To disturb even a saint from his dreams.
Though this life like a river is flowing,

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on,
While the grape on its bank still is growing,

And such eyes light the waves as they run.

WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME?

Neapolitan Air.

I.

WHERE shall we bury our shame?
Where, in what desolate place,
Hide the last wreck of a name
Broken and stain'd by disgrace?
Death may dissever the chain,

Oppression will cease when we're gone;

But the dishonour, the stain,

Die as we may, will live on.

II.

Was it for this we sent out

Liberty's cry from our shore?
Was it for this that her shout
Thrill'd to the world's very core?

Thus to live cowards and slaves,
Oh! ye free hearts that lie dead!
Do you not, e'en in your graves,
Shudder, as o'er you we tread?

VOL. IV.

13

NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY SCHOOLS.

Mahratta Air.

I.

NE'ER talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools;

Give me the sage who's able

To draw his moral thoughts and rules
From the sunshine of the table ;-
Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass
This world and all that's in it,

From the bumper that but crowns his glass,
And is gone again next minute.

II.

The diamond sleeps within the mine,

The pearl beneath the water,

While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine,
The grape's own rosy daughter!
And none can prize her charms like him,

Oh! none like him obtain her,

Who thus can, like Leander, swim

Through sparkling floods to gain her!

HERE SLEEPS THE BARD!

Highland Air.

HERE sleeps the Bard who knew so well
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell,
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near,
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear!
Sleep-sleep-alike unheeded now;

Sleep, mute Bard! unheeded now.

The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow ;That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay; That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away!

END OF VOLUME IV.