357 NATIONAL AIRS. Scarce their bargains were completed, When the nymphs all cried, "We're cheated! See these flowers - they're drooping sadly; This gold-knot, too, ties but badly — Who'd buy such love-knots?` Who'd buy such love-knots ? Even this tie, with Love's name round it - Love, who saw the whole proceeding, Cries like that these dames gave loose to Take back our love-knots! Coolly said, "There's no returning Wares on Hymen's hands — Good morning!' BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. [WELSH AIR.] BRIGHT be thy dreams may all thy weeping May those by death or seas removed, The friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee, in dreams come smiling to thee! There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Still as she was- no charm forgot — No lustre lost that life had given ; Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou 'lt find her yet in Heaven! LIKE ONE WHO, DOOM'D. LIKE one who, doom'd o'er distant seas, When home at length, with fav'ring breezą, His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, Is o'er the waters wasted. Like him, this heart, thro' many a track Like him, alas, I see that ray And one dark minute sweep away THOUGHT IS ALL BUT A DREAM. [FRENCH AIR.] THOUGH 't is all but a dream at the best, Yet, even in a dream, to be bless'd With earliest hopes, The soonest finds those hopes untrue; In spring-time burst The earliest wither too! Ay 't is all but a dream, &c. Though by Friendship we oft are deceived, And find Love's sunshine soon o'ercast, Yet Friendship will still be believed, And Love trusted on to the last. The web 'mong the leaves The spider weaves Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men, Though often she sees "T is broke by the breeze, She spins the bright tissue again. Ay-'t is all but a dream, &c. JOYS OF YOUTH, NOW FLEETING! [PORTUGUESE air.] WHISP'RINGS, heard by wakeful maids, At meeting; At parting; Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades! Wand'rings far away from home, Greetings warm, when home we come, At parting; At meeting; Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some! To some, how bright and fleeting! LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY. [LANGUEDOCIAN AIR.] LOVE is a hunter-boy, Who makes young hearts his prey And, in his nets of joy, Ensnares them night and day. In vain conceal'd they lie Love tracks them everywhere; In vain aloft they fly Love shoots then flying there. But 't is his joy most sweet, „At early dawn to trace The print of Beauty's feet, And give the trembler chase. And if, through virgin snow, He tracks her footsteps fair, How sweet for Love to know None went before him there. |