Then, truly as the moon above shall shine,
I'll clasp my Delia to my heart again!
Yes! meet by midnight, or in morning grey,

Or meet me when the sunbeams dance on high !—
No matter where! our lips shall find a way

To meet, though Jealous Prudence frowned close by.

THE KISS.

ANOTHER OF THE SAME.

They sat and looked into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy, as if God had given

Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven."-Moore.

"She was visibly embarrassed, but I was determined not to notice her confusion, and to avail myself of the opportunity of learning whether this beautiful creature's mind was worthy of the casquet in which nature had lodged it."Dairsie Latimer, in Redgauntlet.

OW, Delia, could you bid me kiss, then leave,-
Tempt with the apple which I dare not touch?
Forbidden, though it were,-more kind was Eve,-
For, though she tempted, yet, she granted much!

Say, sweetest heart,-is thine indeed so cruel,
As bid me promise that I take but One?
As well attempt to glut the fire with fuel
As leave off kissing when 'tis once begun!

One kiss, you say! and bid me ask no more,
As if one sip would satisfy the Bee!
Say rather that the waves shall cease to roar,
If one drop more were added to the sea!

Can Love's electric fire so soon depart

On pledge so fickle that I ne'er ask more?
Go-bid one artery relieve the heart,

Or bid the miser all his gold restore !

On terms like these, 'twere Cruelty indeed,
To plunge the rowel, and then curb the rein,
Worse than Tantalus, or the goaded steed,

Were Love so tempted, tampered with in vain.

Go! bid the torch-light with the powder play!
Or dare confine the seething,-angry Steam;
Go! bid the needle from the North Pole stray,
But never think One kiss can quench Love's gleam!

CLANDESTINE LOVE.

"And here Mahommed, born for Love and Guile,
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile;

Then beckons some kind angel from above

With a new text to consecrate their Love."-Moore.

YES! call it passion, Mary,-call it Love!

Y

Or Madness! Folly !-what you will; But, true as Lightning gleams the Heavens above, Thy presence makes my bosom thrill.

You'll say, "What nonsense! stuff! it cannot be,
Our duties stand like poles apart;"

But, will that hush the voice of Passion's plea,
Or blunt the point of Cupid's dart?

We know that Passion, Prudence will deride,
And point to Folly's broken tine;

Ah! would I could in twain my heart divide,
My Honour keep, and yet be thine!

A river hath its banks,-and flows between,
They bind it, till it reach the sea-
So, Love and Duty bind my heart, I ween,
But, still, the Love would flow to thee!

Such thoughts Domestic Right must loud condemn,
And coldly frown with prudish ire-

But, where's the weir the rising Nile can stem?
Or Honour quench a heart on fire?

Must Love, indeed, become a thing so cold,
As jog like oxen yoked to plough?
Bathsheba then had never made king bold,
For David felt-as man feels now!

But ah! the utter baseness of the deed

Which gave the world its wisest man

And made the guardian of her honour bleed!
The curtain falls,-be wise who can !

For Hymen's vows are seldom broke in vain,
Nor Folly reign without its care,
Duty with Justice hold the scales of Pain,
And whisper to the false,"Beware!"

THE PRINTER BOY'S NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS

TO THE READERS OF THE "FIFESHIRE JOURNAL," 1866. Written for the occasion, on being asked by the Printer Boys.

S1

INCE Caxton's time they've devils been

In many a town and city,

And though with gold they're seldom seen,
It is the greater pity.

Old wives were wont (alack-a-day!)

The Devil's name to dread;

They crossed themselves, and learned to pray,
Until "Old Sootie" fled.

Now, since he's gone, we've ta'en his part-
Nay, frown not thus, nor even start
At this, a Printer Boy's address,
But rather give him some redress.

Divines of old, they said he went about
Like "roaring lion," to torment with gout;
Now, what a change, since we, the "devil's boys,"
Have turned the soot to ink-turned grief to joys.
Instead of lions, sent our types abroad
To sweeten labour, like another god.
The world, it owns our universal sway,
Yet more for love we work than sordid pay.
Once-only once a year we deign to ask
A recompense, for else a thankless task.
Now's gone three hundred days and sixty-four
Since printer's devils last approached your door
With their Address for eighteen sixty-five
(How glad so many friends are still alive!)
Again we crave our benisons from you,
And hold another year up to your view.

384

THE PRINTER BOY'S NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS.

Ah! let your kindness be not grudged nor scant,

You little know how much we devils want;
Nor you, alas! can tell, our patrons dear,
If you or we should see another year.

Late have we toiled, but ever cheerful still,
To make our Journal meet your kind good-will;
And often, when, like Devil's imps, we've rolled
The glue and ink upon the types, been bold
Enough to sing or whisper, "Never fear;
Our friends will pay it all at next New Year."
Yes, like the needle to the northern pole,
This thought alone has often buoyed our soul,
When, like young devils, smeared with ink and soot,
Or wandering to your door with weary foot,
The longed-for benison of New Year's Day
Would shed its lustre with a genial ray,
And make us think our labour not too dear,
When counterbalanced by a "Good New Year."
Nay, do not think 'tis impudence that prompts
Us actors here to crave our just accompts,
For Caxton's wish, when first he devils made,
And old one banished by the printing trade,

Was, that all his followers, and devils dear,

Should crave and GET-"Remembrance once a-year,"
To keep in mind the good that printing's done,
And view it to the world a second sun;

So thus, my friends, we solemn ask of you
To give us devils now our proper due,
Nor then shall empty thanks alone be ours,
Nor careless servants to amuse your hours.

No! while the globe shall wheel next year diurnal,
Our aim shall be to mind the Fifeshire Journal;
And make it thrive in circulation still,

Like healthy boys, who thrive through sheer good will.

The types we'll blacken like the beards of Jews,

And give you, once a week, the pick of news

Not half-digested chaff of daily maws,

But facts matured by careful, studied laws,
Yes, what you read is not mere worthless toys,
For each type's watched o'er by your

PRINTER BOYs.

1 William Caxton was the first to introduce printing (that great boon to humanity) in England, about the year 1460.

THE "GAZETTE" BOY'S ADDRESS TO

HIS READERS, 1867.

To you, kind readers, all, of our Gazette,

I hope a benison you'll not forget,

At this most festive season of the year,
When charity to all should most appear.
Ah, friends! remember this, although I'm poor,
I've always come with good will to your door-
Always afraid lest I should be too late

To bring the news of City or of State.
And, sure, the little paper which I've brought
Has all along with interest been fraught;
And though its local news is sometimes long,
And gossip-savoured like a causeway song,-
And petty Selfishness too oft intruded—
That Truth, and true reporting be excluded,
From what is deemed your open Council Board,—
Blame not your Boy that Truth's so mean ignored.
Still, on the whole, it is most rare you meet
With such a well-conducted weekly sheet.
I speak not this in petty, maudling praise,
That the Gazette has germs of lengthened days.
No! but to ask you all, my patrons dear,
To mind your News Boy's benison this year.
This poor Address to you, my friends, I give,
For, patrons,-News Boys,-like yourselves, must live.
However small, the sum you may bestow
Shall fill my bosom with a thankful glow-
'Twill make me feel a real New Year's joy,
And fill with gratitude your faithful Boy!

SAINT ANDREWS BURNS' CLUB.

A

"Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree and a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,

That man to man the world o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that."-Burns.

LL hail to Burns! our manly bard—

Wide o'er the world his sangs are heard;