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“ WHAT TIME I WASTED YOUTHFUL HOURS"

What time I wasted youthful hours,
One of the shining winged powers
Show'd me .vast cliffs, with crowns of towers,
As towards that gracious light I bow'd,
They seem'd high palaces and proud,
Hid now and then with sliding cloud.
He said, “The labour is not small;
Yet winds the pathway free to all :

Take care thou dost not fear to fall !”
Keepsake, 1851.

II

HANDS ALL ROUND

First drink a health, this solemn night,

A health to England, every guest;
That man's the best cosmopolite,

Who loves his native country best.
May Freedom's oak for ever live

With stronger life from day to day ;
That man's the true Conservative,
Who lops the moulder'd branch away.

Hands all round !
God the tyrant's hope confound !
To this great cause of freedom drink, my friends,

And the great name of England round and round.
A health to Europe's honest men !

Heaven guard them from her tyrants' jails !
From wrong'd Poerio's noisome den,

From iron'd limbs and tortured nails !
We curse the crimes of southern kings,

The Russian whips and Austrian rods-

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We, likewise, have our evil things;
Too much we make our Ledgers, Gods.

Yet hands all round !
God the tyrant's cause confound !
To Europe's better health we drink, my friends,

And the great name of England round and round.
What health to France, if France be she,

Whom martial prowess only charms ? Yet tell her-Better to be free

Than vanquish all the world in arms. Her frantic city's flashing heats

But fire, to blast, the hopes of men.
Why change the titles of your streets?
You fools, you'll want them all again.

Yet hands all round !
God their tyrant's cause confound !
To France, the wiser France, we drink, my friends,

And the great name of England round and round.
Gigantic daughter of the West,

We drink to thee across the flood, We know thee most, we love thee best,

For art thou not of British blood ?
Should war's mad blast again be blown,

Permit not thou the tyrant powers
To fight thy mother here alone,
But let thy broadsides roar with ours.

Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound !
To our great kinsmen of the West, my friends,

And the great name of England round and round.
O rise, our strong Atlantic sons,

When war against our freedom springs !
O speak to Europe thro' your guns !

They can be understood by kings.
You must not mix our Queen with those

That wish to keep their people fools ;
Our freedom's foemen are her foes,
She comprehends the race she rules.

Hands all round !
God the tyrant's cause confound !
To our dear kinsmen of the West, my friends,

And the great cause of freedom round and round,
Examiner, Feb. 7, 1852.

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