A MOoRE-IsH MELOD,y
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Q E I IT. Oh give me not unmeaning smiles,

 Though worldly clouds may fly before them But let me see the sweet blue isles

 Ofradiant eyes when Tears wash Ter them. Though small the fount where they begin, They form-'tis thought in many a sonnet- A Flood to drown our sense of sin;

 But oh Love's ark still floats upon 1t. Then give me tears-oh! hide not one;

 The best affections are but flowers, That fnint beneath the fervid sun,

 And languish once day for showers. Yet Peril turks in every gem

 For tears are worse than swords in slaughter; And man is still subdued by them,

 As humming birds are shot with water