The Sun.
London, England, 1822-07-05 00:00:00

POETRY.

THE DISSIPATED HLTSBAND.
He comes not—l have watch'd the moon go down,
But yet he comes not—once it was not so
He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow,
The while he holds his riot in that town.
Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weep,
And he will wake my infant from its sleep,
To blend its feeble wailing with my tears.
Oh ! how I love a mother's watch to keep.
Over those sleeping eyes, that smile which cheer
My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fixed and deep.
I had a husband once, who lov'd me—now
He ever wears a frown upon his brow,
And feeds his passion on a wanton's lip,
As bees from laurel flowers a poison sip;
But yet I cannot hate,-0! there were hours,
When I could hang for ever on his eye,
And.Tinie, who stole with silent swiftness by,
Streit'd, as he hurried on, his path with flow'rs.
I lov'd him then—he lov'd me too—my heart
Still finds its fondness kindle, if he smile;
The memory of our loves will ne'er depart.
And though he often stings me with a dart,
Arenom'd and barb'd, and wastes upon the vile
Caresses which his babe and mine should share ;
. Though he should spurn me, I will calmly bear
His madness—and should sickness come and lay
His paralyzing hand upon him, then
I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay,
Until the penitent should weep and say
How injurld, and how faithful I had been.
INIMPOMMONION.

IRISH liumona.—The lower orders of Irish
are so prone to pleasantry, that even the deepest
distress cannot quell the-prevailing humour. A
miserable beggar in a street of London the other
day was asked by a gentleman relieving him,
why lie did not stay at home, since he could not
be worse off any where than where he now was?
" Shall I tell your Honour truly why we came
over ?" was the reply. " If you please." 4' Then
we came over to look after the absentees !"

COBBETT.—The shark is, such an enemy to our
seafaring brethren, that sailors have as little com-
passion for this animal as he has for them. When
taken, the work of butchery commences, and,
sometimes, after he has been tortured and mangled
beyond all hope of recovery, he is consigned to
his native element once more. This sea-tiger
follows a vessel' for several days, and snaps
at and swallows, indiscriminately, every thing
thrown in the sea. The sailors, taking advan-
tage of- this propensity, heat a brick flaming hot,
which they cover with sail-cloth dipped in oil
very thick, and binding it tight with twine throw
it overboard. The greedy glutton swallows it at
a venture, and perhaps conceives it at first to be
nothing more than a gentle stomachic. In a few
moments, however, the sea is all in a foam with
his dying and spasmodic convulsions—and the
upturned white belly of the monster proclaims to
the delighted mariners that the hour of his
tyranny is over. We thought of this when we saw
in the democratic press some remarks upon
William Cobbett—he is a political shark, snap-
ping at whatever is thrown overboard, and every
sailor on that element greets him with a harpoon,
or lance, or fish-hook, or whatever engine of an-
noyance first comes to his has The waters have
been in a foam for some time past—the hot
brick has been at length thrown overboard, and
we now see the white belly of the political mon-
ster.—(Baltimore Chron.)