I do confess, in many a sigh,
My lips have breath'd you many a lie,
And who, with such delights in view,
Would lose them for a lie or two?
Nay—look not thus, with brow reproving:
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!
If half we tell the girls were true,
If half we swear to think and do,
Were aught but lying's bright illusion,
The world would be in strange confusion!
If ladies' eyes were, every one,
As lovers swear, a radiant sun,
Astronomy should leave the skies,
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes!
Oh no!—believe me, lovely girl,
When nature turns your teeth to pearl,
Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire,
Your yellow locks to golden wire,
Then, only then, can heaven decree,
That you should live for only me,
Or I for you, as night and morn,
We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn.

And now, my gentle hints to clear,
For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear!
Whenever you may chance to meet
A loving youth, whose love is sweet,
Long as you're false and he believes you,
Long as you trust and he deceives you,
So long the blissful bond endures;
And while he lies, his heart is yours;
But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth
The instant that he tells you truth!

THE MILLENNIUM. SUGGESTBD BY THE LATE WORK OF THE KEVEKEND MR. IRVING "ON PROPHECY." THOMAS MOORE.

Millennium at hand!—I'm delighted to hear it—
As matters both public and private now go,
With multitudes round us, all starving or near it,
A good rich millennium will come A PROPOS.

Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold,
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags,
A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold,
Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags—

A city where wine and cheap corn shall abound—
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose butterfly shelves
We may swear the best things of this world will be found,
As your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves!

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian,
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach
Of two opposite worlds by a twist of your vision
Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at eaoh;—

Thanks, thanks for the hopes thou hast given us, that we
May, even in our times a jubilee share,
Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee,
And so often has fail'd, we began to despair.

There was Whiston, who learnedly took Prince Eugene
For the man who must bring the Millennium about;
There's Faber, whose pious predictions have been
All belied, ere his book's first edition was out;—

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M.P.,
Who discoursed on the subject with signal eclat,
And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see
A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh!