WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

WHEN midst the gay I meet

That blessed smile of thine, Though still on me it turns most sweet, I scarce can call it mine: But when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,

Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep

Can smile with many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright soe'er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray,

Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh, then, the smile is warm'd away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.

WHEN twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,

I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
And thou too, on that orb so dear,
Ah dost thou gaze at even,
And think, though lost for ever here,
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.

There's not a garden walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy I've lost with thee, love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept through here,
May turn to smiles in heaven.

FANNY, DEAREST.

OH! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh:
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears when thou art nigh.

But, between love, and wine, and sleep,
So busy a life I live,

That even the time it would take to weep
Is more than my heart can give.
Then bid me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!

The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies;
But oh, the mirror would cease to shine,
If dim'd too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauties light,
Who view it through sorrow's tear;
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear.
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny, dearest-the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.

SIGH NOT THUS.

SIGH not thus, oh simple boy,
Nor for woman languish ;
Loving cannot boast a joy

Worth one hour of anguish.
Moons have faded fast away,

Stars have ceased their shining;
Woman's love, as bright as they,
Feels as quick declining.

Then, Love, vanish hence,
Fye, boy, banish hence

Melancholy thoughts of Cupid's lore;

Hours soon fly away,

Charms soon die away,

Then the silly dream of the heart is o'er.

"TIS LOVE THAT MURMURS.

"TIs Love that murmurs in my breast, And makes me shed the secret tear; Nor day nor night my heart has rest,

For night and day, his voice I hear. Oh! bird of Love, with song so drear, Make not my soul the nest of pain; Oh; let the wing which brought thee here, In pity waft thee hence again!

YOUNG ELLA.

YOUNG Ella was the happiest maid
That ever hailed the infant spring,
Her carol charmed the blissful shade,
Love taught his favourite nymph to sing.
But ah! that sorrow's preying worm,
Should nip the tender buds of peace;
Now wan with woe is Ella's form,
And all her notes of rapture cease.
Alas, poor Ella!

Oh! she was like the silver rose
That drinks the early tears of heaven,
Bright as the dewy star that glows
Upon the blushing brow of even

How could'st thou, faithless Edmund, leave
A nymph so true, so brightly fair,
In horror's dark'ling cell to weave
The gloomy cypress of despair?

Alas, poor Ella!

No longer now the hamlet train,
Her beauty, life, and sense admire,
Bewilder'd is her aching brain,

And quenched is all that lively fire.
Where shadows veil the mountain height,
And fiends of darkness murmur low,
On every sobbing breeze of night
Is heard the maniac's 'plaint of woe.
Alas, poor Ella!

Fond maid when from these ills severe,
Death steals thee to his lonely bower,
Pity shall drop her angel tear,

And twine thy grave with many a flower. The story of thy hapless doom,

Shall deck the rustic poets lay,

And as they pass thy simple tomb,

The village hinds shall weeping say,

Alas, poor Ella!

THE PILGRIM.

HOLY be the pilgrim's sleep,

From the dreams of terror free; And may all who wake to weep, Rest to-night as sweet as he. "Hark! hark, did I hear a vesper swell? It is, my love, some pilgrim's prayer;" "No, no, 'tis but the convent bell, That toll'd upon the midnight air!"

"Now, now again, the voice I hear,

Some holy man is wandering near:

O pilgrim, where hast thou been roaming, Dark is the way, and midnight's coming;" Stranger I've been o'er moor and mountain, To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain!"

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"And, pilgrim, say where art thou going, Dark is the way, the winds are blowing;" "Weary with wandering, weak, I falter, To breathe my vows at Agnes' altar!" Strew then, oh strew his bed of rushes, Here he shall rest till morning blushes!

(Dirge heard from the Convent within.) Peace to them whose days are done, Death their eyelids closing; Hark! the burial rite's begun, "Tis time for our reposing.

(Pilgrim throwing off his disguise.)

"Here then, my pilgrim's course is o'er," ""Tis my master, 'tis my master, Welcome! welcome, home once more!"

WILT THOU SAY FAREWELL, LOVE?

"WILT thou say farewell, love;
And from Zelinda part?
Zelinda's tears will tell, love,

The anguish of her heart."

"I'll still be thine, and thou❜lt be mine,

I'll love thee though we sever;

Oh! say, can I e'er cease to sigh,
Or cease to love, oh never?"

"Wilt thou think of me, love,
When thou art far away?"
"Oh! I'll think of thee, love
Never, never, stray!"

"Let not other wiles, love,

Thy ardent heart betray;
Remember Zelinda's smile, love,
Zelinda, far away!"