But Love didn't know-and, at his weak years,

What urchin was likely to know?—

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears The fountain that murmur'd below.

He caught at the wreath-but with too much haste, As boys when impatient will do

It fell in those waters of briny taste,

And the flowers were all wet through.

This garland he now wears night and day;

And, though it all sunny appears With Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say, Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.

SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO

DAY?

(SICILIAN AIR.)

SAY, what shall be our sport to-day?

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay,

For spirits like mine to dare!

'Tis like the returning bloom

Of those days, alas, gone by,

When I loved, each hour-I scarce knew whom-
And was bless'd-I scarce knew why.

Ay-those were days when life had wings,
And flew, oh, flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which sunward springs,
'Twas giddy with too much light.
And, though of some plumes bereft,
With that sun, too, nearly set,
I've enough of light and wing still left
For a few gay soarings yet.

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS.
(WELSH AIR.)

BRIGHT be thy dreams-may all thy weeping
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping.

May those by death or seas removed,
The friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee,
All, thou hast ever prized or loved,
In dreams come smiling to thee!

There may the child, whose love lay deepest,
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest;

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!

"Who'd buy such love-knots?

WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER.

(SICILIAN AIR.)

WHEN thou shalt wander by that sweet light
We used to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive-
Oh, then, rememb'ring how swift went by
Those hours of transport, even thou mayst sigh.

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own That love like ours was far too sweet To be, like summer garments, thrown

Aside, when pass'd the summer's heat; And wish in vain to know again

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then.

WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS!

(PORTUGUESE AIR.)

HYMEN, late, his love-knots selling,
Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling;

None could doubt, who saw or knew them,

Hymen's call was welcome to them.

"Who'll buy my love-knots?

"Who'll buy my love-knots?" Soon as that sweet cry resounded, How his baskets were surrounded!

Maids, who now first dream'd of trying
These gay knots of Hymen's tying;
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him;
"Who'll buy my love-knots?
"Who'll buy my love-knots?"-
All at that sweet cry assembled;

Some laugh'd, some blush'd, and some trembled.

"Here are knots," said Hymen, taking Some loose flowers, "of Love's own making; "Here are gold ones-you may trust 'em"(These, of course, found ready custom,) "Come, buy my love-knots!

"Come, buy my love-knots!

"Some are labell'd Knots to tie men"Love, the maker-Bought of Hymen.'"

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 ove-knots?

"Even this tie, with Love's name round it"All a sham-He never bound it."

Love, who saw the whole proceeding,
Would have laugh'd, but for good-breeding;
While Old Hymen, who was used to
Cries like that these dames gave loose to-
"Take back our love-knots!

"Take back our love-knots!" Coolly said, "There's no returning "Wares on Hymen's hands-Good morning!"

SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN.
(TO AN AIR SUNG AT ROME, ON CHRISTMAS EVE.)
SEE, the dawn from Heaven is breaking
O'er our sight,

And Earth, from sin awaking,
Hails the light!

See those groups of angels, winging
From the realms above,

On their brows, from Eden, bringing
Wreaths of Hope and Love.

Hark, their hymns of glory pealing Through the air,

To mortal ears revealing

Who lies there!

In that dwelling, dark and lowly,
Sleeps the Heavenly Son,
He, whose home's above,-the Holy,
Ever Holy One!

NETS AND CAGES.
(SWEDISH AIR.)

COME, listen to my story, while
Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing some maids will smile,

While some, perhaps, may sigh.
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames

Such florid songs as ours,

Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames,
Can speak her thoughts by flowers.

Then listen, maids, come listen, while
Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing there's some may smile,
While some, perhaps, will sigh.