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Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart,
Love bound us-never, never more to part!
And when I call’d thee by names the dearest
That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest-

“My life, my only life!” among the rest; In those sweet accents that still enthral me, Thou saidst, “Ah! wherefore thy life thus call me?

Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love best; For life soon passes, but how blest to be That soul which never, never parts from thee !"

When I remember all

The friends, so link'd together,
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather;

I feel like one

Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garland's dead,

And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

OH! COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT

SETS.

Venetian Air.
Oh! come to me when daylight sets;

Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets

O'er the moonlight sea.
When Mirth’s awake, and Love begins,

Beneath that glancing ray,
With sound of Autes and mandolins,

To steal young hearts away.
Oh! come to me when daylight sets ;

Sweet ! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets

O'er the moonlight sea.

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Oh! then 's the hour for those who love,

Sweet ! like thee and me; When all's so calm below, above,

In heaven and o'er the sea.
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles,

And Echo sings again
So sweet, that all with ears and souls

Should love and listen then.
So, come to me when daylight sets ;

Sweet ! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets

O'er the moonlight sea.

No. II.

OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT.

Scotch Air. Oft, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me;

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm'd and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

LOVE AND HOPE.

Swiss air.
At morn, beside yon summer sea,

Young Hope and Love reclined ;
But scarce had noon-tide come, when he
Into his bark leap'd smilingly,

And left poor Hope behind. "I go,” said Love,“ to sail awhile

Across this sunny main ;" And then so sweet his parting smile, That Hope, who never dream'd of guile,

Believed he'd come again.

She linger'd there till evening's beam

Along the waters lay, And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, Oft traced his name, which still the streain

As often wash'd away.

1 The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Portuguese words.

2 Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Vénitienne, que chantent les gondoliers à Venise.-Rousseau, Dictionnaire de Musique.

At length a sail appears in sight,

And toward the maiden moves ! 'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, His golden bark reflects the light,

But ah! it is not Love's

Another sail—'t was Friendship show'd

Her night-lamp o'er the sea;
And calm the light that lamp bestow'd.
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd,

And where, alas ! was he?
Now fast around the sea and shore

Night threw her darkling chain,
The sunny sails were seen no more,
Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er-

Love never came again!

Thy beauty then my senses moved,

But now thy virtues bind my heart. What was but Passion's sigh before,

Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow; And, though I then might love thee more,

Trust me, I love thee better now! Although my heart in earlier youth

Might kindle with more wild desire, Believe me, it has gain'd in truth

Much more than it has lost in fire. The flame now warms my inmost core,

That then but sparkled o'er my brow; And, though I seem'd to love thee more,

Yet, oh! I love thee better now.

THERE COMES A TIME.

German Air.
THERE comes a time, a dreary time,

To him whose heart hath flown
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime,

And made each flower its own. 'Tis when his soul must first renounce

Those dreams so bright, so fond; Oh! then 's the time to die at once, For life has nought beyond.

There comes a time, etc.
When sets the sun on Afric's shore,

That instant all is night;
And so should life at once be o'er,

When Love withdraws his light-
Nor, like our northern day, gleam on

Through twilight's dim delay The cold remains of lustre gone, Of fire long pass'd away.

Oh! there comes a time, etc.

PEACE BE AROUND THEE.

Scotch Air.
PEACE be around thee, wherever thou rovest;

May life be for thee one summer's day,
And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lovest,

Come smiling around thy sunny way! If sorrow e'er this calm should break,

May even thy tears pass off so lightly; Like spring-showers, they'll only make

The smiles that follow shine more brightly! May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all,

And daily dooms some joy to death, O'er thee let years so gently fall,

They shall not crush one flower beneath ! As half in shade and half in sun,

This world along its path advances, May that side the sun 's upon

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!

MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING

THEME.

Swedish Air.
My harp has one unchanging theme,

One strain that still comes o'er
Its languid chord, as 't were a dream

Of joy that's now no more.
In vain I try, with livelier air,

To wake the breathing string; That voice of other times is there,

And saddens all I sing.

Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain,

Henceforth be all my own; Though thou art oft so full of pain,

Few hearts can bear thy tone. Yet oft thou’rt sweet, as if the sigh,

The breath that Pleasure's wings Gave out, when last they wanton'd by,

Were still upon thy strings.

COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS.

French Air. While I touch the string,

Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing,

Has, for once, a moral.
Common Sense, one night,

Though not used to gambols,
Went out by moonlight,
With Genius on his rambles.

While I touch the string, etc.
Common Sense went on,

Many wise things saying, While the light that shone

Soon set Genius straying. One his eye ne'er raised

From the path before him, 'T other idly gazed On each night-cloud o'er him.

While I touch the string, eto So they came, at last,

To a shady river; Common Sense soon pass’d,

Safe, as he doth ever; While the boy, whose look

Was in heaven that minute,

OH! NO_NOT E’EN WHEN FIRST WE

LOVED.

Cashmerian Air.
Oh! no-not e’en when first we loved,

Wert thou as dear as now thou art;

Never saw the brook,
But tumbled headlong in it!

While I touch the string, etc. How the wise one smiled,

When safe o'er the torrent, At that youth, so wild,

Dripping from the current ! Sense went home to bed ;

Genius, left to shiver On the bank, 't is said, Died of that cold river !

While I touch the string, etc.

When the dance and feast are done,

Arm in arm as home we stray, How sweet to see the dawning sun

O'er her cheeks' warm blushes play! Then, then the farewell kiss,

And words whose parting tone Lingers still in dreams of bliss,

That haunt young hearts alone.

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 every where; In vain aloft they fly

Love shoots them 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 most he loves through snow

To trace those footsteps fair, For then the boy doth know

None track'd before him there.

THEN, FARE THEE WELL!

Old English Air.
Then, fare thee well! my own dear love,

This world has now for us
No greater grief, no pain above
The pain of parting thus, dear love! the pain of part-

ing thus ! Had we but known, since first we met,

Some few short hours of bliss, We might, in numbering them, forget The deep, deep pain of this, dear love! the deep, deep

pain of this! But, no, alas ! we've never seen

One glimpse of pleasure's ray, But still there came some cloud between, And chased it all away, dear love! and chased it all

away! Yet, e'en could those sad moments last,

Far dearer to my heart Were hours of grief, together past, Than years of mirth apart, dear love! than years of

mirth apart! Farewell ! our hope was born in fears,

And nursed 'mid vain regrets ! Like winter suns, it rose in tears, Like them in tears it sets, dear love! like them in

tears it sets!

COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR

AWAY.

French Air.
COME, chase that starting tear away,

Ere mine to meet it springs ;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,

Whate'er to-morrow brings !
Like sunset gleams, that linger late

When all is dark’ning fast, Are hours like these we snatch from Fate The brightest and the last.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.
To gild our dark’ning life, if Heaven

But one bright hour allow,
Oh! think that one bright hour is given,

In all its splendour, now!
Let's live it out—then sink in night,

Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell—are touch'd with light-
Then lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

GAILY SOUNDS THE CASTANET.

Maltese Air. GAILY sounds the castanet,

Beating time to bounding feet, When, after daylight's golden set,

Maids and youths by moonlight meet. Oh! then, how sweet to move

Through all that maze of mirth, Lighted by those eyes we love

Beyond all eyes on earth. Then, the joyous banquet spread

On the cool and fragrant ground, With night's bright eye-beams overhead,

And still brighter sparkling round.
Oh! then, how sweet to say

Into the loved one's ear,
Thoughts reserved through many a day

To be thus whisper'd here.

JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING:

Portuguese Air. WHISP'RINGS, heard by wakeful maids,

To whom the night-stars guide usStolen walks through moonlight shades, With those we love beside us.

Hearts beating, at meeting,

Tears starting, at parting ;
Oh! sweet youth, how soon it fades !

Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!

HEAR ME BUT ONCE.

French Air.
HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,

In which our love lies cold and dead,
I count each flatt'ring hope he gave,

Of joys now lost and charms now fled. Who could have thought the smile he wore,

When first we met, would fade away? Or that a chill would e'er come o'er

Those eyes so bright through many a day?

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS!

Welch Air. Bright be thy dreams—may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping :

Those by death or seas removed, Friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee,

All thou 'st 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 the same-no charm forgotNothing lost that life had given;

Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou 'lt find her yet in Heaven !

No. III.

WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.

Swedish Air.
When Love was a child, and went idling round

'Mong flowers the whole summer's day, One morn in the valley a bower he found,

So sweet, it allured him to stay
O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair

A fountain ran darkly beneath'Twas Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up there;

Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath.
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

That fountain which murmur'd below.

GO, THEN—'TIS VAIN.

Sicilian Air. Go, then—'t is vain to hover

Thus round a hope that's dead! At length my dream is over,

'T was sweet-'t was false—'t is fled ! Farewell; since nought it moves thee,

Such truth as mine to see,Some one, who far less loves thee,

Perhaps more bless'd will be. Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness

New life around me shed! Farewell, false heart, whose lightness

Now leaves me death instead!
Go, now, those charms surrender

To some new lover's sigh,
One who, though far less tender,

May be more bless'd than I.

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.
Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day,

And, though it all sunny appears
With Pleasure's own lustre, 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 bold, too high, too gay,

For spirits like mine to dare ! 'T is 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,

'T was giddy with too much light; nd, 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.

THE CRYSTAL HUNTERS.

Swiss Air. O'ER mountains bright with snow and light,

We Crystal IIunters speed along, While grots and caves, and ioy waves,

Each instant echo to our song ; And, when we meet with stores of gems, We grudge not kings their diadems. O'er mountains bright with snow and light,

We Crystal Hunters speed along. While grots and caves, and icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song. No lover half so fondly dreams

Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, As we of those refreshing gleams

That tell where deep the crystal lies; Though, next to crystal, we too grant That ladies' eyes may most enchant.

O'er mountains, etc. Sometimes, when o'er the Alpine rose,

The golden sunset leaves its ray, So like a gem the flow'ret glows,

We thither bend our headlong wav,

And, though we find no treasure there, We bless the rose that shines so fair.

O'er mountains, etc.

Short as the Persian's prayer, his prayer at close of

day, Must be each vow of Love's repeating; Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray

Even while he kneels that ray is fleeting !

ROW GENTLY HERE

Venetian Air. Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the

tide, That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom

we glide. Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry

eyes to see, Oh! think what tales 't would have to tell of wand'ring

youths like me!

PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS!

Catalonian Air. PEACE to the slumberers !

They lie on the battle plain, With no shroud to cover them;

The dew and the summer rain Are all that weep over them. Vain was their bravery !

The fallen oak lies where it lay, Across the wintry river;

But brave hearts, once swept away, Are gone, alas! for ever. Woe to the conqueror!

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs Of whom his sword bereft us,

Ere we forget the deep arrears Of vengeance they have left us !

Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for

up I go, To climb yon light balcony's height, while thou

keep'st watch below. Ah! did we take for heaven above but half such

pains as we Take day and night for woman's love, what angels

we should be !

OH! DAYS OF YOUTH.

French Air.
Oh! days of youth and joy, long clouded,

Why thus for ever haunt my view ?
When in the grave your light lay shrouded,

Why did not Memory die there too? Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me,

Whispering of joys that yet remainNo, no, never can this life bring me

One joy that equal's youth's sweet pain. Dim lies the way to death before me,

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; Sunshine of youth that once fell o'er me,

Where is your warmth, your glory now? 'Tis not that then no pain could sting me

'Tis not that now no joys remain; Oh! it is that life no more can bring me

One joy so sweet as that worst pain.

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 deceiveOh! then, remembering how swift went by Those hours of transport, even thou may'st 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 past the summer's heat ;
And wish in vain to know again
Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then.

WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE.

Venetian Air. When first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my sight,

Oh! what a vision then came o'er me! Long years of love, of calm and pure delight, Seem'd in that smile to

pass

before me. Ne'er did the peasant dream, ne'er dream of summer

skies, Of golden fruit and harvests springing, With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes,

And of the joy their light was bringing. Where now are all those fondly promised hours ?

Oh! woman's faith is like her brightness, Fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers,

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness.

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.

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