THE KING, THE PRINCES.

THE king, the princes of the court,
With lords and ladies bright,
Will in their dazzling state resort,
To this grand féte to-night.

The merry hearted and the proud,
Will mingle in the glittering crowd,
Who glide with fashion's sparkling stream,
Where one I love will shine supreme.

The cavaliers of Italy,

The gay gallants of France,
With Spain and England's chivalry

Will join the mazy dance.

The court of Love, the camp of Mars,
Fair Prussian dames, 'earth-treading stars,'

To music's strain will float in light,
Where one I love will beam to-night.

THE MIDNIGHT BELL.

HARK! 'tis the deep-toned midnight bell,

That bids a sad and long farewell

To the departed hour:

How like a dirge its music falls,

Within these cold and dreary walls

Where stern misfortunes lower.

Ah! vainly through these prison-bars Glide the pale beams of moon and stars,

To cheer this lonely tower:

From evening's close to dawn of day
Hope's star sheds not a single ray
To light the solemn hour.

Alas! what pangs must guilt conceal,
When innocence like mine can feel

So crush'd in such an hour!

I know not whether love be crime,
But if it is, in every clime,

"Tis woman's fatal dower!

SWAY'D BY SMILES FROM THEE.

ONCE mild and gentle was my heart !—
My youth from guile was free,

Ere falsehood's tongue and slander's dart
Had stain'd and wounded me!

And then no threats could daunt my soul;

My haughty spirit spurn'd control

Till sway'd by smiles from thee.

A wanderer o'er the desert sand,
An outcast on the sea,

An exile from my native land,
What joy had life for me?
Each friend misfortune proved a foe;

I scorn'd the high, despised the low,

Till sway'd by smiles from thee.

THE PERFECTION OF REASON.

THAT law's the perfection of reason
No one in his senses denies,

Yet here is a trial for treason

Will puzzle the wigs of the wise. The lawyers retain'd in the action On no single point will agree, Though proved to their own satisfaction That tweedle-dum's not tweedle-dee!

To settle disputes—in a fury

The sword from the scabbard we draw ;

But reason appeals to a jury

And settles-according to law.

Then hey for the woolsack-for never

Without it can nations be free;

But trial by jury for ever!

And for tyranny-fiddle-de-dee!

THE CROTON ODE.

SUNG NEAR THE

Park Fountain,

BY THE

MEMBERS OF THE NEW-YORK SACRED MUSIC SOCIETY,

ON THE

COMPLETION OF THE CROTON AQUEDUCT.

Celebrated October 14, 1842.

Written at the request of the Corporation of the City of New-York.