Common Sense went on, Many wise things saying; While the light that shone, Soon set Genius straying.

One his eye ne'er rais'd
From the path before him;
T'other idly gaz'd

On each night cloud o'er him.

While I touch the string, Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing

Ilas, for once, a moral !

So they came, at last,
To a shady river;

Common Sense soon pass'd,
Safe, as he doth ever.

While the boy, whose look
Was in heaven that minute,
Never saw the brook,

But tumbled headlong in it!

While I touch the string,
Wreath my brows with laurel,
For the tale I sing
Has, for once, a moral!

Sense went home to bed,-
Genius, left to shiver

On the bank, 'tis said,
Died of that cold river!

While I touch the string, Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing.

Has, for once, a moral !

THEN, FARE THEE WELL.

English Air.

THEN, fare thee well, my own dear love, This world is now for us

No greater grief, no pain above

The pain of parting thus, dear love!
The pain of parting thus !

Had we but known, since first we met, Some few short hours of bliss,

We might in numb'ring them, forget The deep, deep pain of this, dear love! The deep, deep pain of this.

But no alas, we've never seen

One glimpse of pleasure's ray

But still there came some cloud between,

And chas'd it all away, dear love!

And chas'd it all away!

Yet e'en could those sad moments last

Far dearer to my heart

Were hours of grief, together past,

Than years of mirth apart, dear love!
Than years of mirth apart.

Farewell-our hope was born in fears, And nurs'd 'mid vain regrets!

Like winter suas, it rose in teals, Like them in tears it sets, dear love; Like thein in tears it sets.

THE END.

LETTER I.-AN Epistle from Dublin Jerry, to

IV.-Lord S-h to the Marquis of

L-d-d-y

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