Forgive this gloom—forgive this joyless strain,
Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train.
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter,
As mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter;
Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue fails—
As glow-worms keep their splendor for their tails.
I know not why—but time, methinks, hath past
More fleet than usual since we parted last.
It seems but like a dream of yesternight.
Whose charm still hangs, with fond, delaying light;
And, ere the memory lose one glowing hue
Of former joy, we come to kindle new.
Thus ever may the flying moments haste
With trackless foot along life's vulgar waste,
But deeply print and lingeringly move,
When thus they reach the sunny spots we love.
Oh yes, whatever be our gay career,
Let this be still the solstice of the year,
Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height remain,
And slowly sink to level life again.
[1] The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest members and best actors of the Kilkenny Theatrical Society.
THE SYLPH'S BALL.
A sylph, as bright as ever sported
Her figure thro' the fields of air,
By an old swarthy Gnome was courted.
And, strange to say, he won the fair.
The annals of the oldest witch
A pair so sorted could not show,
But how refuse?—the Gnome was rich,
The Rothschild of the world below;
And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures,
Are told, betimes, they must consider
Love as an auctioneer of features,
Who knocks them down to the best bidder.
Home she was taken to his Mine—
A Palace paved with diamonds all—
And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine,
Sent out her tickets for a ball.
The lower world of course was there,
And all the best; but of the upper
The sprinkling was but shy and rare,—
A few old Sylphids who loved supper.
As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp
Of DAVY, that renowned Aladdin,
And the Gnome's Halls exhaled a damp
Which accidents from fire were had in;