IV.

Farewel! Farewel! dear Calmer of my Cares,
Thou faithful Partner of my Hopes and Fears:
When I was pleas'd, how joyful wouldst thou be?
When I was sad, how melancholy thee?
Thus sick or well, in good or bad Estate,
Thou still didst Sympathize with me,
In ev'ry Turn of Fate.
Long Converse which does often move
Contempt, instead of Love,

LYRICS FOR THE PEOPLE

No. VIII.

" THE PEN AND THE PRESS . "

Young Genius walked out by the mountains and streams,
Entranced by the power of his own pleasant dreams,
Till the silent, the wayward, the wandering thing,
Found a plume that had dropped from a passing bird's wing:
Exulting and proud, like a boy at his play,
He bore the new prize to his dwelling away;
He gazed for awhile on its beauties, and then
He cut it, and shaped it, and called it a P EN .

LYRICS FOR THE PEOPLE

No. VII.

" LET US DRINK TO THE BARDS . "

Let us drink to the Bards of our own native land,
The inspired, the humane, and the brave,
Who have touched the loud lyre with so mighty a hand,
That it thrills through the soul of the slave;
In the army of truth they have marched in the van,
A gifted and glorious band: —
Come, bring me the wine, let me drink like a man,

LYRICS FOR THE PEOPLE

No. VI.

" OH! DESPISE NOT MY HARP . "

O H ! despise not my harp, — I have cherished it long,
And its voice hath been hailed by the lovers of song;
It hath been my best solace 'mid labour and care,
And strengthened my soul in the hour of despair:
It hath wakened the spirit of love in my heart,
And raised me bright dreams which can never depart;
But, better than all, from my morning of youth,
It hath sounded for freedom and pleaded for truth.

" SONS OF MY MOTHER, ENGLAND . "

Sons of my mother, England,
List to the voice of song,
And turn from that degrading path
Which ye have trod so long;
Shake off that mental slavery
Which lays your manhood low; —
Up! awake! for Freedom's sake,
As through the world ye go;
Lift up your faces from the dust,
As through the world ye go.

Sons of my mother, England,

No. IV.

" SAD AND SICK UNTO DEATH . "

Sad and sick unto death, on his pallet reclining,
A pauper of England was heard to deplore;
The last beam of day on his pale cheek was shining,
From the sun whose return he might never see more.
No child to receive his last blessing was near him, —
No wife of his bosom to comfort and cheer him;
No kinsman to pity, no friend to revere him,

" THERE IS BEAUTY ON EARTH . "

There is beauty on earth, wheresoever our eyes
May rest on the wonders that tell of a God;
For glory and grandeur look down from the skies,
And loveliness breathes from the streamlet and sod;
But, alas for the poor! they are grievously blind
To the charms which have lived since creation begun;
For sorrow and ignorance brood o'er the mind,
As the shadows of winter brood over the sun.

No. II.

" MAN OF TOIL . "

Man of Toil, wouldst thou be free?
Lend thine ear to Reason's call;
There's folly in the Drunkard's glee —
There's madness in the midnight brawl;
The ribald jest, the vulgar song,
May give a keener sting to care;
The riot of a reckless throng
May lead to ruin and despair:
Let Truth unloose thy fettered soul, —
There is no freedom in the bowl.

" LEI THE BOISIEROUS BACCHANAI . "

Let the boisterous Bacchanal sing of his bowl,
That blight of the body, that scourge of the soul;
Let the libertine boast of the wreck he hath made, —
Of the hearts he hath tempted, and won, and betrayed;
Let the soldier exult o'er the blood-seeking sword,
Though his deeds have by thousands been cursed and deplored:
Be mine the proud pleasure to weave at command,
A song for the poor of my own fatherland.

Let the tyrant send forth his iniquitous law,

With utmost Pleasure thus our Poet hears,
And learns the sacred Musick of the Sphears,
Where all the various Cadences are shown;
Yet hardly sweeter than his own:
Whose artful sublimate Fire
Before 'twas from Earth's Prison free,
Could Things inanimate inspire,
And give the Heroe Immortality:
Revive the Dead in charming Layes,
And crown the Just with never fading Bayes.
Long, long 'ere he on Albious Isle appear'd,
Or Albious drooping Genius cheer'd;
When first the Fates his Being did decree,