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That none, in all our vales and groves,
Ere caught so much small game: While gentle Sue, less given to roam,
When Cloe's nets were taking These flights of birds, sat still at home, One small, neat Love-cage making.
Come, listen, maíds, etc.
“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 labellid ‘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 love-knots ?
Who'd buy such love-knots ?
Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task;
But mark how things went on:
Their name and age, were gone!
That, though she charm'd into them
Come, listen, maids, etc.
In garb, then, resembling
Some gay gondolier,
“Our bark, love, is near : Now, now, while there hover
Those clouds o'er the moon, "T will waft thee safe over
Yon silent Lagoon."
NETS AND CAGES.
Your needle's task you ply ;
While some, perhaps, may sigh.
Such florid songs as ours,
Can speak her thoughts by flowers.
Your needle's task you ply;
While some, perhaps, will sigh.
Such nets had learn'd to frame,
GO, NOW, AND DREAM.
Sicilian Air. Go, now,
and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber-. Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number Of Pain's bitter draught the flavour never flies, While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies. That moon,
which hung o'er your parting, so splendid, Often will shine again, bright as she then didBut, ah! never more will the beam she saw burn In those happy eyes at your meeting return.
TAKE HENCE THE BOWL.
“I come, my love!" each sound they utter seems to
say ; Neapolitan Air.
“ I come, my love! thine, thine till break of day.” TAKE hence the bowl; though beaming
Oh! weak the power of words,
The hues of painting dim,
Compared to what those simple chords
Then say and paint to him.
As in a wizard's glass,
WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE.
WHEN the first summer bee
O'er the young rose shall hover,
Then, like that gay rover,
I'll come to thee.
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brimThen, then the cup before me
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and him! Seems turning all to tears.
Then, to every bright tree
In the garden he'll wander,
While I, oh! much fonder,
Will stay with thee.
In search of new sweetness through thousands he 'L
run, Venetian Air.
While I find the sweetness of thousands one, FAREWELL, Theresa! that cloud which over
Yon moon this moment gath'ring we see, Shall scarce from her pure path have pass'd, ere thy lover
THOUGH 'T IS ALL BUT A DREAM Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.
Though 't is all but a dream at the best, Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee,
And still when happiest soonest o'er, Dark'ning thy prospects, sadd’ning thy brow;
Yet, even in a dream to be bless'd With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. thee;
The bosom that opes with earliest hopes, Oh! think how changed, love, how changed art
The soonest finds those hopes untrue, thou now!
As flowers that first in spring-time burst, But here I free thee: like one awaking
The earliest wither too! From fearful slumber, this dream thou'lt tell;
Ay-'t is all but a dream, etc. The bright moon her spell too is breaking,
By friendship we oft are deceived,
And find the love we clung to past;
And love trusted on to the last.
The web in the leaves the spider weaves HOW OFT WHEN WATCHING STARS Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men; Savoyard Air.
Though often she sees it broke by the breeze,
She spins the bright tissue again.
Ay~'t is all but a dream, etc.
I from my casement lean.
'T IS WHEN THE CUP IS SMILING. say; “Oh! come, my love! the night wears fast away!
"T is when the cup is smiling before us,
And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy. Speak Passion's language half so clear
true, As do those notes to me!
That the sky of this life opens o'er us,
And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. Then quick my own light lute I seek,
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining, And strike the chords with loudest swell;
We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus ; And, though they nought to others speak,
For him but two bright eyes were shiningHe knows their language well.
See what numbers are sparkling for us'
When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
And on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, 'T is enough, t'wixt the wine and the glancing,
To disturb even a saint from his dreams. Though this life like a river is flowing,
I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, While the grape on its bank still is growing,
And such eyes light the waves as they run.
NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY
Give me the sage who's able
From the sunshine of the table ;-
This world and all that's in it,
And is gone again next minute.
The pearl beneath the water,-
The grape's own rosy daughter !
Oh! none like him obtain her,
Through sparkling floods to gain her!
WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR
Neapolitan Air. WHERE shall we bury our shame?
Where, in what desolate place, Hide the last wreck of a name
Broken and stain'd by disgrace? Death may dissever the chain,
Oppression will cease when we're gone: But the dishonour, the stain,
Die as we may, will live on
Was it for this we sent out
Liberty's cry from our shore ? Was it for this that her shout
Thrill'd to the world's very core? Thus to live cowards and slaves,
Oh! ye free hearts that lie dead! Do you not, e'en in your graves,
Shudder, as o'er you we tread?
HERE SLEEPS THE BARD!
Highland Air. HERE sleeps the Bard who knew so well All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell, Whether its music roll'd like torrents near, Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear! Sleep, mute Bard! unheeded now, The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow;That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay; That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away!
TO THE REV. THOMAS PARKINSON, D. D.
This Number of “ Sacred Songs” is Inscribed,
BY HIS OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL FRIEND,
Sloperton Cottage, Devizes, May 22, 1824.
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe,
There's nothing true but heaven!
And false the light on Glory's plume,
As fading hues of Even;
And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom “The day is thine; the night also is thine: thou hast pre
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb,pared the light and the sun. “ Thou hast set all the borders of the earth; thou hast
There's nothing bright but heaven! made summer and winter.”—Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17.
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
From wave to wave we're driven,
And fancy's flash, and Reason's ray,
Serve but to light the troubled way-
There's nothing calm but heaven!
FALLEN IS THY THRONE.
FALLEN is thy throne, oh Israel!
Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
Thy children weep in chains. So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine.
Where are the dews that fed thee
On Etham's barren shore ?
That fire from heaven which led thee,
Now lights thy path no more.
Lord ! thou didst love Jerusalem-
Once she was all thy own; So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine.
Her love thy fairest heritage,'
Her power thy glory's throne ::
Till evil came, and blighted
Thy long-loved olive-tree ;?
And Salem's shrines were lighted
For other Gods than Thee!
Then sunk the star of Solyma
Then pass’d her glory's day,
Like heath that, in the wilderness, 4
The wild wind whirls away.
1 "I have left mine heritage; I have given the dearly-beThis world is all a fleeting show,
loved of my soul into the hands of her enemies."-Jeremiah For man's illusion given;
2 "Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory."- Jer. xiv. 21.
3 “ The Lord called thy name a green olive-tree; fair 1 I have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. and of goodly fruit,” etc.-Jer. xi. 16. It is sung to the beautiful old words, “I do confess thou'rt 4 “For he shall be like the heath in the desert."Jer smooth and fair."
Silent and waste her bowers,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where once the mighty trod,
Where idle warblers roam. And sunk those guilty towers,
But high she shoots through air and light, While Baal reign'd as God!
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, “Go,”-said the Lord—“Ye conquerors !
Nor shadow dims her way.
So grant me,
God! from every care For they are not the Lord's !
And stain of passion free, Till Zion's mournful daughter
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, O'er kindred bones shall tread,
To hold my course to Thee ! And Hinnom's vale of slaughter?
No sin to cloud-no lure to stay
My Soul, as home she springs; -
Thy freedom in her wings !
OH! THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURN-
ER'S TEAR !
“He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their Is her's an eye of this world's light ?
wounds.”—Psalm cxlvii. 3. No,-wan and sunk with midnight prayer Are the pale looks of her I love;
Oh! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, Or if, at times, a light be there,
How dark this world would be, Its beam is kindled from above.
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee.
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, And she who comes in glittering vest
Which, like the plants that throw To mourn her frailty, still is frail.4
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!
Oh! who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above ?
touch'd by Thee, grows bright THE BIRD, LET LOOSE.
With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day!
When hastening fondly home, 1 “Take away her battlements; for they are not the
WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. Lord's." - Jer. v. 10. 2 “Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that
Air-Avison. it shall no more be cailed Tophet, nor the Valley of the Son WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb, of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury in Tophet till there be no place."--Jer. vii. 32.
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 3 These lines were suggested by a passage in St. Jerome's Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, reply to some calumnious remarks that had been circulated
Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. upon his intimacy with the matron Paula :-"Numquid me vestes sericæ, nitentes gemmæ, picta facies, aut auri rapuit Death chill'd the fair fountain ere sorrow had stain'dit, ambitio ? Nulla fuit alia Romæ matronarum, quæ meam 'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, possit edomare mentem, nisi lugens atque jejunans, fletu And but sleeps till the sunshine of heaven has unpene cæcata."-4 Ου γαρ χρυσοφορειντην δακρυουσαν δει.-Chrysost.
chain'd it, Homil. 8. in Epist. ad Tim.
To water that Eden where first was its source! 5 The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, the place to which she is destined.
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,