When by the sunshine of fortune forsaken
Faint sinks the heart of the feeble with fear,
Stand like the oak of the forest-unshaken,
Never despair-Boys-oh! never despair.

Never despair! Though adversity rages,
Fiercely and fell as the surge on the shore,
Firm as the rock of the ocean for ages,
Stem the rude torrent till danger is o'er.
Fate with its whirlwind our joys may all sever,
True to ourselves, we have nothing to fear.
Be this our hope and our anchor for ever—
Never despair-Boys-oh! never despair.
WILLIAM SMITH O'BRIEN.

THE SADDEST FATE.

To touch a broken lute,

To strike a jangled string,

To strive with tones forever mute
The dear old tunes to sing—

What sadder fate could any heart befall?
Alas! dear child, never to sing at all.

To sigh for pleasures flown,

To weep for withered flowers,

To count the blessings we have known,
Lost with the vanished hours-

What sadder fate could any heart befall? Alas! dear child, ne'er to have known them all.

To dream of love and rest,

To know the dream has past,

To bear within an aching breast

Only a void at last

What sadder fate could any heart befall? Alas! dear child, ne'er to have loved at all.

To trust an unknown good,

To hope, but all in vain,
Over a far-off bliss to brood,

Only to find it pain

What sadder fate could any soul befall?
Alas! dear child, never to hope at all.

ANONYMOUS.

THE SONG OF THE SAVOYARDS.

FAR poured past Broadway's lamps alight
The tumult of her motley throng,
When high and clear upon the night
Rose an inspiring song,

And rang above the city's din
To sound of harp and violin;

A simple but a manly strain,

And ending with the brave refrainCourage! courage, mon camarade!

And now where rose that song of cheer, Both old and young stood still for joy; Or from the windows hung to hear

The children of Savoy:

And many an eye with rapture glowed,
And saddest hearts forgot their load,
And feeble souls grew strong again,
So stirring was the brave refrain-
Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Alone, with only silence there,

Awaiting his life's welcome close,
A sick man lay, when on the air
That clarion arose;

So sweet the thrilling cadence rang,
It seemed to him an angel sang,

And sang to him; and he would fain Have died upon that heavenly strainCourage! courage, mon camarade!

A sorrow-stricken man and wife,

With nothing left them but to pray,
Heard streaming over their sad life
That grand, heroic lay:

And through the mist of happy tears
They saw the promise-laden years;
And in their joy they sang again,
And carolled high the fond refrain-
Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Two artists, in the cloud of gloom

Which hung upon their hopes deferred, Resounding through their garret-room That noble chanson heard;

And as the night before the day
Their weak misgivings fled away;

And with the burden of the strain
They made their studio ring again-
Courage courage, mon camarade!

Two poets, who in patience wrought
The glory of an aftertime,—
Lords of an age which knew them not,
Heard rise that lofty rhyme;

And on their hearts it fell, as falls
The sunshine upon prison-walls;

And one caught up the magic strain
And to the other sang again—
Courage! courage, mon camarade!

And unto one, who, tired of breath,

And day and night and name and fame, Held to his lips a glass of death, That song a savior came; Beseeching him from his despair, As with the passion of a prayer; And kindling in his heart and brain The valor of its blest refrainCourage! courage, mon camarade!

O thou, with earthly ills beset,
Call to thy lips those words of joy,
And never in thy life forget

The brave song of Savoy!

For those dear words may have the power
To cheer thee in thy darkest hour;
The memory of that loved refrain
Bring gladness to thy heart again!—
Courage! courage, mon camarade!

HENRY AMES BLOOD.

WE are born; we laugh; we weep;
We love; we droop; we die!
Ah! wherefore do we laugh or weep?
Why do we live or die?

Who knows that secret deep?
Alas not I!

Why doth the violet spring
Unseen by human eye?

Why do the radiant seasons bring
Sweet thoughts that quickly fly?

Why do our fond hearts cling

To things that die?

We toil-through pain and wrong;

We fight-and fly;

We love; we lose; and then, ere long,
Stone-dead we lie,

O life! is all thy song

"Endure and-die?"

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry Cornwall)

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