SONG.

'Tis now the hour—'tis now the hour

To bow at Beauty's shrine;

Now whilst, our hearts confess the power

Of woman, wit, and wine;

And beaming eyes look on so bright,

Wit springs—wine sparkles in their light.

In such an hour—in such an hour,

In such an hour as this,

While Pleasure's fount throws up a shower

Of social sprinkling bliss,

Why does my bosom heave the sigh

That mars delight?—She is not by!

There was an hour—there was an hour

When I indulged the spell

That Love wound round me with a power

Words vainly try to tell—

Though Love has fill'd my checker'd doom

With fruits and thorns, and light and gloom—

Yet there's an hour—there's still an hour

Whose coming sunshine may

Clear from the clouds that hang and lower

My fortune's future day;

That hour of hours beloved will be,

That hour that gives thee back to me!

New Monthly Magazine.