AFTER READING J. T. GILBERT'S “THE HISTORY OF DUBLIN.”

Long have I loved the beauty of thy streets,

Fair Dublin: long, with unavailing vows,

Sigh'd to all guardian deities who rouse

The spirits of dead nations to new heats

Of life and triumph:— vain the fond conceits,

Nestling like eaves-warmed doves‘ neath patriot brows!

Vain as the “Hope,” that from thy Custom-House

Looks o'er the vacant bay in vain for fleets.

Genius alone brings back the days of yore:

Look! look, what life is in these quaint old shops —

The loneliest lanes are rattling with the roar

Of coach and chair; fans, feathers, flambeaus, fops,

Flutter and flicker through yon open door,

Where Handel's hand moves the great organ stops.