And the glass of ale Every drop I spilt it: Spilt it every drop (Dames, who read my volumes, Pardon such a word) On my what-d'ye-call-'ems!

Witnessing the sight Of that dire disaster, Out began to laugh Missis, maid, and master; Such a merry peal 'Specially Miss Peg's was, (As the glass of ale Trickling down my legs was,) That the joyful sound Of that mingling laughter Echoed in my ears Many a long day after.

Such a silver peal! In the meadows listening, You who've heard the bells Ringing to a christening; You who ever heard Caradori pretty, Smiling like an angel, Singing "Giovinetti;" Fancy Peggy's laugh, Sweet, and clear, and cheerful, At my pantaloons With half a pint of beer full!

When the laugh was done, Peg, the pretty hussy, Moved about the room Wonderfully busy; Now she looks to see If the kettle keep hot; Now she rubs the spoons, Now she cleans the teapot; Now she sets the cups Trimly and secure: Now she scours a pot, And so it was I drew her.

Thus it was I drew her Scouring of a kettle, (Faith! her blushing cheeks Redden'd on the metal!) Ah! but 'tis in vain That I try to sketch it; The pot perhaps is like, But Peggy's face is wretched. No the best of lead And of indian-rubber Never could depict That sweet kettle-scrubber!

See her as she moves Scarce the ground she touches, Airy as a fay, Graceful as a duchess; Bare her rounded arm, Bare her little leg is, Vestris never show'd Ankles like to Peggy's. Braided is her hair, Soft her look and modest, Slim her little waist Comfortably bodiced.

This I do declare, Happy is the laddy Who the heart can share Of Peg of Limavaddy. Married if she were Blest would be the daddy Of the children fair Of Peg of Limavaddy. Beauty is not rare In the land of Paddy, Fair beyond compare Is Peg of Limavaddy.

Citizen or Squire, Tory, Whig, or Radi- cal would all desire Peg of Limavaddy. Had I Homer's fire, Or that of Serjeant Taddy, Meetly I'd admire Peg of Limavaddy. And till I expire, Or till I grow mad I Will sing unto my lyre Peg of Limavaddy!

MAY-DAY ODE.

But yesterday a naked sod The dandies sneered from Rotten Row, And cantered o'er it to and fro: And see 'tis done! As though 'twere by a wizard's rod A blazing arch of lucid glass Leaps like a fountain from the grass To meet the sun!

A quiet green but few days since, With cattle browsing in the shade: And here are lines of bright arcade In order raised! A palace as for fairy Prince, A rare pavilion, such as man Saw never since mankind began, And built and glazed!

A peaceful place it was but now, And lo! within its shining streets A multitude of nations meets; A countless throng I see beneath the crystal bow, And Gaul and German, Russ and Turk, Each with his native handiwork And busy tongue.

I felt a thrill of love and awe To mark the different garb of each, The changing tongue, the various speech Together blent: A thrill, methinks, like His who saw "All people dwelling upon earth Praising our God with solemn mirth And one consent."

High Sovereign, in your Royal state, Captains, and chiefs, and councillors, Before the lofty palace doors Are open set,-- Hush ere you pass the shining gate: Hush! ere the heaving curtain draws, And let the Royal pageant pause A moment yet.

People and prince a silence keep! Bow coronet and kingly crown. Helmet and plume, bow lowly down, The while the priest, Before the splendid portal step, (While still the wondrous banquet stays,) From Heaven supreme a blessing prays Upon the feast.

Then onwards let the triumph march; Then let the loud artillery roll, And trumpets ring, and joy-bells toll, And pass the gate. Pass underneath the shining arch, 'Neath which the leafy elms are green; Ascend unto your throne, O Queen! And take your state.

Behold her in her Royal place; A gentle lady; and the hand That sways the sceptre of this land, How frail and weak! Soft is the voice, and fair the face: She breathes amen to prayer and hymn; No wonder that her eyes are dim, And pale her cheek.

This moment round her empire's shores The winds of Austral winter sweep, And thousands lie in midnight sleep At rest to-day. Oh! awful is that crown of yours, Queen of innumerable realms Sitting beneath the budding elms Of English May!

A wondrous scepter 'tis to bear: Strange mystery of God which set Upon her brow yon coronet,-- The foremost crown Of all the world, on one so fair! That chose her to it from her birth, And bade the sons of all the earth To her bow down.

The representatives of man Here from the far Antipodes, And from the subject Indian seas, In Congress meet; From Afric and from Hindustan, From Western continent and isle, The envoys of her empire pile