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ect, and many a

N

THE ‘NEw‘s CARBIER’S ADDRESS

To the Patrons of the Colonial Herald

FOR. THE YEAR

1840.

O

AGAIN, beneath old Winter’s tread, We’ve seen the bright year fall; And on the cold and dead earth shed

Its fairest foliage all.

But not in Winter’s sternest mood Was the departed slain :

An euthanasia ’twas; and would Such deaths we might obtain. ‘

Nor yet a surly welcome, hath The new-born year received; For, rough though be its early path, From storm it is‘relieved.

But well for many had it been, Of men, now cast abroad, If they, in early life, had seen And trod, a rougher road.

0 fetal, oft, to after years It is, when we attain \

To manhood’s growth, untried by tears, And uninur’d to pain!

And now,'(my passing moral run,) As erst, so now again,

To thanks and gratulations, turn I this, my New Year’s strain.

To thanks, abundantly ybur due, For favours freely given;

And unto gratulationstoo, . For more benignant Heaven.—

Our part we’ve play'd, as others play, To please our friends approv’d ; And you, well liking, freely pay For what you’ve, bias’d, lov’d.

Between us both, it thus appears, Our Ledger balanced stands!

" You freely pay for current years;

We gladly take commands.

But yet, suppose not we admit Ourselves for party tools ,- Or that we baser sell our wit, As-John himself befools.

No: still our columns open stand To him of manly mind;

And censure chaste, with ready hand, Shall ne’er exclusion find.

But now, like egotists we run, And quite o’erlook our aim : Heav’n grant us still that/vice to shun! Heav’n grant our friends the same!

For gratulations. too, I’ve said, We’ve most abundant scope: But who his thanks has duly paid To HIM, our Gon, our Horn?

0, erring men, how lavishly Our brother men we thank; And yet to Hm, all Sun-like, free, Our hearts how cold, how dank!

“ All bounteous Heaven its part hath done,”

In eadly Spring and Autumn’s fall; On all alike his Sun hath shone; His bounty been alikh to all.

A harvest rich hath swell’d your stores With all that culture yields;

No lowing beeves have vex’d your doors,

But graz’d, ’till now, the fields.

December’s breath, a sprightly breeze, Hath bellied but the sail,

And Commerce still doth ride our seas, Before the fav’ring gale.

Charlottetown, 1st Jan. 1840.

(firmed that it‘it were put into operation. would drag “ its lazy length along" a year or so, and,

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fling the ensuing year. There appears by the Account flatten

current oftlle Secretary, now exh -. - I - I I I . . n_L——a n—

VI,

An

These for the past :—now turn our eyes To what’s so nearly done—

A scheme which, of colossal size, Shall join two worlds in one.

Cunard will bridge the mighty sea, Contract its boundless swell;

Make Time and Distance doubted be, As if Were toll’d their knell.

_ The British Isles shall hither send Their now ennui 'd wealth; Some, hoping knowledge to extend ; Some, wooing change or health.

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‘Like burgomasters, quickly shall Our growing merchants swell; And pound for pound, our farmers all. With all their landlords tell.—

Now let us not our lovely QUEEN And BRITAIN overlook:

Hold we them still in halo sheen In mem’ry’s dearest book.

To one, the husband of her choice, We wish, if wise and good,

And therewith join the people’s voice, Which may not be withstood.

To BRITAIN, still supremacy, Where’er her sway extends;

And ever may she rule the seas Till earthly empire ends.—

I

The prophet lacketh honour not, Save where from birth he’s known;

Nor is the bounteous hand forgot, Save where its gifts are thrown.

From this reproach, in some degree, Were that power in my lay, I would our little Island free, And grateful homage pay. I

The good deeds, free and manifold, Of them who aid distress,

Should not remain unsung, untold, As priz’d at nothingness.

No: Lam: Marty’s deeds of love, Of those her lovely aids,

Who, with sweet Virtue, silent move, Whom Mis’ry ne’er upbraids ;

With those of her, our NOBLE Guss'r, Should with such fire be sung, They’d start the tear, they’d warm the breast, And loose the grateful tongue.-—- \

Like some free courser, oversrun, That stumbles near the goal, So I, (my ditty almost done,) In ending, mar the whole.

My gipsy Muse the road has ta’en', Like wanton runaway;

And I am left in mental pain, And know not what to say.

Yet something more, and from my heart, (Howe’er from verse astray,)

Ere I shall think I’ve done my part, Determin’d I’m to say.

Be this NEW-YEAR the happiest year, Good friends, you yet have seen; Your fortunes fair, your bosoms clear, Your hands, as Samuel’s, clean.

But should both life and fortune fly, The rest I wish, maintain’d, _ ln blessed peace and hope you’ll die, And Heav’n by Death be gam’dl

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