And, while that best-belov'd one
Was ling'ring with me there,

In my heart the hope I cherished

She my path through life would share ; And, with her for my companion,

'Tis my only wish it should

Prove as peaceful and as happy
As the pathway through the wood.

THOUGHTS OF THE DEAR OLD TIMES.

'M

A SONG.

ID all the joys that hope can boast,
Or expectation give,

One joy there is that charms me most,

Through every hour I live;

For, floating on my memory,

Like sound of distant chimes,

Come thoughts of moments sweet to me,
Thoughts of the dear old times.

'Tis this that bids despair depart,
And drives our griefs away;

'Tis this that cheers the saddest heart,
And gilds the brightest day;
'Tis this that sweetens music's strain,
Inspires the poet's rhymes,

And brings a blessing in its train-
Thoughts of the dear old times.

Still to these thoughts my spirit clings,
Where'er my lot is cast;

And the fairest scene the future brings

Shall but rebuild the past:

For, though the days to come be drear,
And I in foreign climes,

One joy my darkest hour shall cheer,

Thoughts of the dear old times.

Until thy roof I seem to see,
Once more a happy boy :
My mother's kiss is on my brow,
My father's hand in mine;
My long-lost playmates even now
Their arms around me twine.

Though future years to me should bring
Unbounded wealth and pow'r,
And fortune on my pathway fling

Her bounties every hour,

My dear old home! within thy walls
I'd rather make my stay

Than in a monarch's gilded halls
Hold undisputed sway.

How dear to me shall ever prove

That one familiar spot,

Blest by a thousand dreams of love

That ne'er can be forgot!

For, though to thee I ne'er return,

But far for ever roam,

My heart with tender thoughts shall yearn To thee, my dear old home!

OLD ENGLAND.

"Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true."-Shakespeare.

O

LD England! thou mother of nations,
Renowned in the annals of fame,

What proud and ennobling sensations
Awake to the sound of thy name!
How dear to thy sons and thy daughters
That one little isle of the sea,

Begirt by a bulwark of waters,

The birthplace and grave of the free!

How oft to the exile, when driven
Afar from his country to roam,
Thy shores, ever open, have given
A bountiful refuge and home!
How often the helpless and tearful

Thy strength have exulted to see,

And the hearts of the fainting and fearful Have gathered fresh courage from thee!

How oft in thy heart-stirring story

Thy sons in the thick of the fight,

By deeds of unparalleled glory,

Have rendered their memory bright !

But when, ever willing and speedy,
Their world-rousing voice they uprear
In the cause of the wretched and needy,
How nobler by far they appear!

Yet 'tis not the battle-field only

Their fairest renown has obtained;
But conflicts unheeded and lonely

For them deathless honour have gained :
For, when duty's summons demanded
Themselves to her service to yield,
They entered the fight single-handed,
And fell ere they quitted the field.

It is this that has ever surrounded
Thy course with a halo of light;
'Tis on this that thy greatness is grounded-
Devotion to duty and right :

For the cause that such heroes can waken
Can never by might be repelled,
By adversity's hand may be shaken,
But never by tyranny quelled.

Oh! long may old England thus flourish,
O'er the cause of the truth to preside,
The growth of real freedom to nourish,
And scatter its seed far and wide!
Long, long may she gather around her

The wisest and best of the world;

And, though age with high honour has crowned her,

Yet still be her banner unfurled!