Her beads while she number'd,

The baby still slumber'd,

And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:

"Oh! bless'd be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whis pering to thee.

"And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh! pray to them softly, my baby, with me

And say thou wouldst rather

They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."

The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermont returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's

father to see;
And closely caressing

Her child, with a blessing,

Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD.

AIR.-Kitty Tyrrel.

OH! blame not the bard if he fly to the bowers

Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame;

He was born for much more, and in happier hours

His soul might have burned with a holier flame.

The string that now languishes loose on the lyre,

Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's dart;

And the lip which now breathes but the song of desire,

Might have pour'd the full tide of the patriot's heart.

But, alas for his country! her pride is gone by,

And that spirit is broken which never would bend:

Or the ruin her chilldren in secret must sigh,

For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend.

Unprized are her sons till they've learn'd 'to betray

Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not their sires;

And the torch that would light them through dignity's way

Must be caught from the pile where their country expires.

Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft dream

He should try to forget what he never can heal:

Oh! give but a hope-let a vista but gleam Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll feel!

That instant his heart at her shrine would lay down

Every passion it nursed, every bliss it adored,

While the myrtle now idly entwin'd with his crown,

Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover his sword.

But, though glory be gone, and though hope fade away,

Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs:

Not e'en in the hour when his heart is

most gay

Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy wrongs!

The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains,

The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep,

Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains,

Shall pause at the song

tive, and weep.

of their cap.

HAIL COLUMBIA

HAIL, Columbia! happy land! Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band! Who fought and bled in freedom's

cause,

Who fought and bled in freedom's

cause,

And when the storm of war was

gone,

Enjoy'd the peace your valour won.
Let Independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,

Let its altar reach the skies

Firm-united-let us be,
Rallying round our liberty;
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find

Immortal patriots, rise once more; Defend your rights, defend your shore;

Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies,
Of toil and blood the well-earned
prize.

While offering peace sincere and
just,
In heaven we place a manly trust
That truth and justice will prevail.
And every scheme of bondage fail.
Firm-united, &c.

Sound, sound, the trump of fame! Let Washington's great name Ring through the world with loud applause,

Ring through the world with loud

Let

applause

every

clime to freedoın dear,

Listen with a joyful ear.