MY CONCERT'S A CHORUS OF DOGS AND A GUN.

Every mortal some favourite pleasure pursues, Some with cash run for play, some to Peele's run for news,

At Liston's queer phiz others thunder applause,
And some trifles delight to hear musical noise:
But such idle amusements I carefully shun,
And my pleasures confine to my dog and my gun.
Soon as Phoebus has finished his summer's career,
And his maturing aid blest the husbandman's care,
When Roger and Sue have enjoyed harvest home,
And their labour being o'er, at leisure to roam,
From the noise of the town and its follies I run,
And I range o'er the fields with my dog and my gun.
When my pointers around me do cheerfully stand,
And none dares to stir but the dog I command,
When the covey he springs, and I bring down my
bird,

I've a pleasure no pastime besides can afford:
No pastime or pleasure that's under the sun
Is equal to mine with my dog and my gun.
When the covey I've thinned, to the woods I repair
And I brush through thickets devoid of all fear;
There I exercise freely my levelling skill,

And with woodcocks and pheasants my bag often fill,

For death, where I find them, they seldom can shun, My dogs are so sure, and so fatal my gun.

My spaniels ne'er babble, they are under command, Some range at a distance, and some hunt at hand,

When a woodcock they flush, or a pheasant they spring,

With heart cheering notes how they make the woods ring;

Then for music let fribbles to play-houses runMy conceit's a chorus of dogs and a gun.

When, at night, we chat over the sports of the day, And spread o'er the table, my conquered spoils lay, Then I think of my friends, and to each send a part, For my friends to oblige is the pride of my heart; Thus the vices of town and its follies I shun, And my pleasure confine to my dog and my gun.

PADDY'S DESCRIPTIONS.

When back to Munster I do go,
The girls they will all bother me
About big London town-but blow
Me, if I know half I see;
The first thing I did chance to spy,
Was a balloon, when out of sight;
I saw the moon eclipsed one day,
And the sun shone bright at night,
Sing whack, row de diddy dí,
Pat will never tell a lie:

For if he's luck he means to live
Ten years after he does die.

I saw a brother Pat one day

In Hyde-park, naked, 'mong some rogues, And to the spalpeen I did say,

Which is the thief that stole your brogues?

They said he was a Killus named,

And that the ladies placed him there.

Said I, they ought to be ashamed
To let his latter end go bare.
Sing whack, &e.

I saw some wild beasts in the Strand;
A tiger tame as any duck,
Genteelly took me by the hand,
And asked me to take pot-luck,
At supper time I chanced to go,
And then, oh! wonderful to tell,
An elephant his nose did blow,
And for the cook now rung the bell.
Sing whack, &c.

OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER.

Oh, no, we never mention her, her name is never heard,

My lips are now forbid to speak, that once familiar word:

'rom sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret,

And when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene, the charms that others see,

But were I in a foreign land, they'll find no change in me;

Tis true that I behold no more, the valley where we met,

do not see the hawthorn tree, but how can I forget.

They tell me she is happy now, the gayest of the à

gay,

They hint that she forgets me, but I heed not what

they say;

Like me perhaps she struggles with each feeling of regret,

But if she loves as I have lov'd, she never can for get.

THE PLAIN GOLD RING.
He was a knight of low degree,
A lady high, and fair was she;
She dropt the ring, he rais'd the gem,
'Twas rich as an eastern diadem.

Nay, as your mistress' trophy take,
The toy when next a lance you break?
He to the tournay rode away,

And bore off glory's wreath that day.

How did his ardent bosom beat,
When hast'ning to his lady's feet;
The ring and wreath he proudly laid,
"Oh, keep the ring," softly she said.

A ring so rich I may not wear,
Howe'er return a gift so rare;

Dear youth, a plain gold ring, she sigh'd,
From you were worth a world beside.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

Our bugles sung truce, for the night cloud had lowered,

And the sentinel-stars set the watch in the sky:

A

nd thousands had sunk on the ground over

powered,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. Then reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf scaring faggot that guarded the slain, t the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And twice, ere the cock crew, I dreamt it again. ethought from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track, Ell nature and sunshine disclosed the sweet way, To the house of my father who welcom'd me back;

flew to the pleasant field traversed so oft,

In life's morning watch, when my bosom was young,

heard my mountain goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers

sung.

hey pledged me the wine cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part:

y little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in the fulness of heart

ay, stay with us-rest, thou art weary and worn! And fain was the war broken soldier to stay; at sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

HEY LEFT HIM ALONE IN HIS GLORY. ot a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried;