SONG.

I.

OH say not that my heart is cold

To aught that once could warm it— That Nature's form so dear of old

No more has power to charm it;
Or that th' ungenerous world can chill
One glow of fond emotion

For those who made it dearer still,
And shared my wild devotion.

II.

Still oft those solemn scenes I view
In rapt and dreamy sadness;
Oft look on those who loved them too
With fancy's idle gladness;
Again I longed to view the light

In Nature's features glowing ; Again to tread the mountain's height, And taste the soul's o'erflowing.

III.

Stern Duty rose, and frowning flung
His leaden chain around me ;

With iron look and sullen tongue

He muttered as he bound me

"The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven, Unfit for toil the creature ;

These for the free alone are given,—

But what have slaves with Nature?"

SPANISH SONG.

Air-VIVA EL REY FERNANDO.

THE chains of Spain are breaking—
Let Gaul despair, and fly;
Her wrathful trumpet's speaking-
Let tyrants hear, and die.

Her standard o'er us arching
Is burning red and far;
The soul of Spain is marching
In thunders to the war.-
Look round your lovely Spain,
And say shall Gaul remain ?—

Behold yon burning valley—
Behold yon naked plain-
Let us hear their drum-

Let them come, let them come !
For vengeance and freedom rally,
And Spaniards! onward for Spain !

Remember, remember Barossa-
Remember Napoleon's chain-
Remember your own Saragossa,

And strike for the cause of Spain-
Remember your own Saragossa,
And onward, onward for Spain !

SONG.

I.

OH my love has an eye of the softest blue,

Yet it was not that that won me;

But a little bright drop from her soul was there— 'Tis that that has undone me.

II.

I might have passed that lovely cheek,

Nor, perchance, my heart have left me ;

But the sensitive blush that came trembling there,

Of my heart it for ever bereft me.

III.

I might have forgotten that red, red lip—
Yet how from the thought to sever?

But there was a smile from the sunshine within,
And that smile I'll remember for ever.

IV.

Think not 'tis nothing but lifeless clay,
The elegant form that haunts me—

'Tis the gracefully delicate mind that moves
In every step, that enchants me.

V.

Let me not hear the nightingale sing,

Though I once in its notes delighted :

The feeling and mind that comes whispering forth

Has left me no music beside it.

VI.

Who could blame had I loved that face,
Ere my eye could twice explore her?
Yet it is for the fairy intelligence there,
And her warm, warm heart I adore her.