Sweet Bard! sweet Lake! congenial shall your fame
The rays of genius and of beauty claim,

Nor vainly claim: for who can read and view
And not confess O'KELLY'S pencil true.

George the Fourth

AND THE

poet.

When his Majesty was in Ireland, our countryman, the Poet, PATRICK O'KELLY, Esq. of the county Galway, waited on him at the Phoenix Park. His majesty, when Prince of Wales, having subscribed his name for 50 copies, the Poet took that opportunity to deliver his work; he was announced to the KING by Sir BENJAMIN BLOOMFIELD, who ordered the Baronet to hand the Poet £50, which Sir BENJAMIN accordingly did. Mr. O'KELLY, declined accepting it, declaring that he would rather see his Majesty, than receive the money, and requested Sir BENJAMIN to say so, which was complied with; the KING ordered him to be introduced-when admitted to the Royal presence, his Majesty received him most graciously, hoped he was well, and then observed, "that Mr. O'KELLY was lame, as well as LORD BYRON." And "Sir WALTER SCOTT too" said Mr. O'KELLY, " and why should not the Irish Bard be similarly honoured for

If God one member has oppress'd,
He's made more perfect all the rest."

The Marquis of CONYNGHAM, who was present, requested Mr. O'KELLY to express himself extempore on Lord BYRON, Sir W. SCOTT and himself, to which the Poet readily replied in the following impromptu:

Three Poets for three sister kingdoms born,
One for the Rose, another for the Thorn,
One for the SHAMROCK, which will ne'er decay,
While Rose and Thorn must yearly fade away.
At which the KING and his Court laughed hearilty.—

"Roscommon Gazette.

STANZAS

TO PATRICK O'KELLY, ESQ.

On reading his Hippocrene.

Take him for all in all,

We shall not look upon his like again.

SHAKSPEARE.

I.

The hue that shines on the butterfly's wing,
When he revels among the flowers,-
Colours as bright as the sky of the Spring,
Whose beauty and pomp know not with'ring,
Sougs most fervid powers-

All in brightness and brilliancy drest,
Are here in O'KELLY'S book exprest.

II

His Volume is wrought of radiant things,
Not known from the shapes of earth,-
Vivid and glowing imaginings,

The Lava flood of thought which springs
From a fount of heav'nly birth-

Like the rainbow tints of the varying year,
In this mysterious work appear!

III.

The breathings of harmony that rose
On MOORE's fam'd Indian Sea!
His Music-sighs at evening's close,
Were not so silvery sweet, as those,
O'KELLY! breath'd by thee!

What are his Bendemeer roses and pearls

Compared with thy scourging of Lordlings snd Earls!

Trinity College.

PHILO-MOUSIOS.