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THE sea was bright, and the bark rode


The breeze bore the tone of the vesper bell;

'Twas a gallant bark, with a crew as brave

As ever launched on the heaving wave: She shone in the light of declining day, And each sail was set, and each heart was gay.

They near'd the land wherein beauty smiles

The sunny shores of the Grecian isles ; All thought of home, of that welcome dear

That soon should greet each wanderer's


And in fancy joined the social throng, In the festive dance and the joyous song.

A white cloud glides through the azure sky

What means that wild despairing cry?

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Farewell the visioned scenes of home! That cry is "Help!" where no help

can come.

For the white squall rides on the surg ing wave,

And the bark is gulfed in an ocean's grave!


HOPE whispers me, when summer comes,

And genial verdure crowns the plain, That I shall see my native land,

And greet my birth-place once again; Where first in infancy I drew

The breath of life so pure and free; In dreams 'tis present to my viewMy Normandy! my Normandy!

I've seen the shores of Italy,

And Venice with its gondoliers,
And Switzerland, the brave and free,
Which boasts such hardy moun-

I've seen all these, yet wander on,
In hope my long-loved home to see;
For I would ever gaze upon

My Normandy! my Normandy'

It seems to me a dream of life
Since youth's bright smiles have
pass'd away,

And ev'ry form I loved on earth
By time's rude hand hath met decay.
Still let me live to dream of all

The sunny smiles I loved to see, As when in youth I gazed upon

My Normandy! my Normandy!

AIR.-The days when we went gipsying.
Он, the days when I was courted,
some fifty years ago,

The men they were as different as fire is from snow!

It was not then a sacrifice to say a word or two;

They always yielded us the point for those pretty words, "Oh, do!" In the days, &c.

Oh, then the men could love the girls in earnest-not in fun;

But now they think of nought but self, their horse, their dog, or gun;

Their coat, their club, and a streaming head of hair;

Of gambling debts, and all those things men call "petites affaires." Oh, the days, &c.

Oh, then a man would wed a girl, for better or for worse;

But now he only marries for the money in her purse:

Ugly or old, it matters not, so she his pockets fill

Gold only makes men tolerate the matrimonial pill.

Oh, the days, &c.

Then, if an invite we have sent, to bid them to a rout,

We ne'er received the fashionable "We never do go out :"

But always had a quick reply, in a pretty billet doux

"How happy I shall be to come, in the hope of seeing you!"

Oh, the days, &c.

Now, if an invite we may send, for party, ball, or rout,

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Down goes the note, with "What a bore it is to be ask'd out:

I know she only wishes to catch me for her beau

I've been so much of late the ton, I really cannot go."

Oh, the days, &c.

Oh, the days when I was courted, some fifty years ago!

It was not then as it is now-each lass she had her beau;

The ladies then were importuned, as, with a tender glance, And gentle pressure of the hand, they led them forth to dance. Oh, the days, &c.

Now, if a ball they enter, at the door they take their stand,

And think how many there will sigh for the honour of their hand;

And if the faces do not please thei. rude, unflinching glance,

They turn to coxcombs like themselves with "We really cannot dance." Oh, the days, &c

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