Which I, poor pote,

Could not denote,

No, not in twinty vollums.

My Muse's words

Is like the bird's

That roosts beneath the panes there; Her wings she spoils

'Gainst them bright toiles,

And cracks her silly brains there.

This Palace tall,

This Cristial Hall,
Which Imperors might covet,

Stands in High Park

Like Noah's Ark,

A rainbow bint above it.

The towers and fanes,
In other scaynes,
The fame of this will undo,
Saint Paul's big doom,
Saint Payther's Room,
And Dublin's proud Rotundo.

'Tis here that roams,
As well becomes
Her dignitee and stations,

Victoria Great,

And houlds in state

The Congress of the Nations,

Her subjects pours
From distant shores,

Her Injians and Canajians;

And also we,

Her kingdoms three,

Attind with our allagiance.

Here come likewise
Her bould allies,

Both Asian and Europian;
From East and West
They send their best
To fill her Coornucopean.

I seen (thank Grace!)
This wondthrous place
(His Noble Honor Misther
H. Cole it was

That gave the pass,

And let me see what is there).

With conscious proide

I stud insoide

And look'd the World's Great Fair in, Until me sight

Was dazzled quite,

And couldn't see for staring.

There's holy saints

And window paints,
By Maydiayval Pugin ;
Alhamborough Jones
Did paint the tones
Of yellow and gambouge in.

There's fountains there

And crosses fair;

There's water-gods with urrns:

There's organs three,

To play d'ye see?

"God save the Queen," by turrns.

There's statues bright

Of marble white,

Of silver, and of copper;

And some in zinc, And some, I think, That isn't over proper.

There's staym ingynes,
That stands in lines,
Enormous and amazing,
That squeal and snort
Like whales in sport,
Or elephants a-grazing.

There's carts and gigs,
And pins for pigs,

There's dibblers and there's harrows,

And ploughs like toys
For little boys,

And ilegant wheelbarrows.

For thim genteels

Who ride on wheels,

There's plenty to indulge 'em :

There's droskys snug

From Paytersbug,

And vayhycles from Bulgium.

There's cabs on stands
And shandthry danns;

There's waggons from New York here;
There's Lapland sleighs

Have cross'd the seas,

And jaunting cyars from Cork here.

Amazed I pass

From glass to glass,

Deloighted I survey 'em ;

Fresh wondthers grows

Before me nose

In this sublime Musayum !

Look, here's a fan
From far Japan,

A sabre from Damasco:
There's shawls ye get

From far Thibet,

And cotton prints from Glasgow.

There's German flutes,
Marocky boots,

And Naples macaronies;
Bohaymia

Has sent Bohay;
Polonia her polonies.

There's granite flints

That's quite imminse,

There's sacks of coals and fuels,
There's swords and guns,
And soap in tuns,
And gingerbread and jewels.

There's taypots there,

And cannons rare ;

There's coffins fill'd with roses;

There's canvas tints,

Teeth insthrumints,

And shuits of clothes by MOSES.

There's lashins more
Of things in store,

But thim I don't remimber;

Nor could disclose

Did I compose

From May time to Novimber!

Ah, JUDY thru !

With eyes so blue,

That you were here to view it!

And could I screw

But tu pound tu,

'Tis I would thrait you to it!

So let us raise
Victoria's praise,

And Albert's proud condition,
That takes his ayse

As he surveys
This Cristial Exhibition.

MOLONY'S LAMENT.

O TIM, did you hear of thim Saxons,
And read what the peepers report?
They're goan to recal the Liftinant,
And shut up the Castle and Coort!
Our desolate counthry of Oireland

They're bint, the blagyards, to destroy, And now having murdthered our counthry, They're goin to kill the Viceroy,

Dear boy;

'Twas he was our proide and our joy'

And will we no longer behould him,
Surrounding his carriage in throngs,
As he waves his cocked-hat from the windies,
And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs?

I liked for to see the young haroes,

All shoining with sthripes and with stars, A horsing about in the Phaynix,

And winking the girls in the cyars,
Like Mars,

A smokin' their poipes and cigyars.