And take thy father's knife, and prune The roses that remain ; And let the fallen hollyhock Peep through the broken pane. And spunge his view of Blacklowscar, I'll follow in an hour or two; To bring his flute and spying-glass, And that grand music which he made Our guest shall hear it sung and play'd, And feel how grand it is! SONG. LET idlers despair! there is hope for the wise, And we read in their souls, by the flash of their eyes, Let knaves fear for England, whose thoughts wear a mask, While a war on our trenchers they wage; Secure in their baseness, the lofty and bold In the warm sun of knowledge, that kindles our blood, And fills our cheer'd spirits with day, Their splendour, contemn'd by the brave and the good, Like a palace of ice melts away. Our compass, which married the East to the West, Our steam-sinew'd giant that toils without rest, We want but the right, which the God of the right Denies not to birds and to bees; The charter of Nature! that bids the wing'd light Fly chainless as winds o'er the seas. SONG. WITH hair grown grey, we look behind Slow pass'd the days of toil and care; And still they pass, and shade on shade Ay, and in Thee the weak are strong. SONG. FREE Trade, like religion, hath doctrines of love, It proclaims, while the angels look down from above, Free Trade, like religion, hath doctrines of peace, Universal as God's vital air; And, throned o'er doom'd evil, he hails its increase, While his enemies only despair. By all who their blood on Truth's altars resign'd, Our sons shall be freed from the curse of the blind, The ark of our triumph, far, far as seas roll, The hall of our fathers, with heav'n for its dome, Of labour and comfort will then be the home, SONG. O'ER Polonia's plains of glory, Underneath the tree of ages, Many a merry song sung we; Carved his rind, and kiss'd his shadow; Oh, we loved the glorious tree ! Now, alas! no sky of branches Shelters mine and shelters me! Now, alas! the tree of Poland And, as on Euphrates' waters, When the mournful moonbeam slept, Israel's wanderers, sad for Zion, With the weeping willows wept, So we mourn, and, all unheeded, |