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Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely

Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn, May, in their darkness, stilly, purely,

Like “sealed fountains," rest till dawn.

WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE

SAINTED?

Air-Hasse.
WHERE is your dwelling, ye sainted ?

Through what Elysium more bright
Than fancy or hope ever painted,

Walk ye in glory and light ? Who the same kingdom inherits?

Breathes there a soul that may dare Look to that world of spirits ?

Or hope to dwell with you there?

GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT.

Air-STEVENSON. Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home,

And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! From that time, when the moon upon Ajalon's vale, Looking motionless down,' saw the kings of the

ear In the presence of God's mighty Champion, grow

paleOh never had Judah an hour of such mirth! Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! Bring myrtle and palm-bring the boughs of each tree That is worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free. * From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone, With a light not their own, through the Jordan's

deep tide, Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on—

Oh never had Judah an hour of such pride! Go forth to the mount-bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

Sages who, ev'n in exploring

Nature through all her bright ways, Went, like the seraphs, adoring,

And veil'd your eyes in the blazeMartyrs, who left for our reaping

Truths you had sown in your bloodSinners, whom long years of weeping

Chasten'd from evil to good

Maidens who, like the young Crescent,

Turning away your pale brows From earth, and the light of the Present,

Look'd to your Heavenly SpouseSay, through what region enchanted

Walk ye, in heaven's sweet air ? Or, oh, to whom is it granted,

Bright souls, to dwell with you there?

IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HERE

AFTER.

Air-Haydn. Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,

When the spirit leaves this sphere, Love, with deathless wings, shall waft her

To those she long hath mourn'd for here? Hearts, from which 't was death to sever,

Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, There, as warm, as bright as ever,

Shall meet us and be lost no more. When wearily we wander, asking

Of earth and heaven, where are they, Beneath whose smile we once lay basking

Blest, and thinking bliss would stay! Hope still lifts her radiant finger

Pointing to the eternal home, Upon whose portal yet they linger,

Looking back for us to come. Alas-alas—doth Hope deceive us?

Shall friendship-love-shall all those ties That bind a moment, and then leave us,

Be found again where nothing dies ? Oh! if no other boon were given,

To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, Who would not try to win a heaven

Where all we love shall live again?

HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S

WING.

Air-ANONYMOUS.
How lightly mounts the Muse's wing,

Whose theme is in the skies--
Like morning larks, that sweeter sing

The nearer heaven they rise !

Though Love his wreathed lyre may tune,

Yet ah ! the flowers he round it wreathes Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon,

Whose madness from their odour breathes. How purer far the sacred lute,

Round which Devotion ties
Sweet flowers that turn to heav'nly fruit,

And palm that never dies.

Though War's high-sounding harp may be

Most welcome to the hero's ears,
Alas, his chords of victory

Are bathed, all o'er, with tears.
How far more sweet their numbers run

Who hymn, like saints above,
No victor, but the Eternal One,

No trophies but of Love!

1 “And that they should publish and proclaim in all their cities, and in Jerusalem, saying, Go forth unto the mount and fetch olive-branches," etc. etc. - Neh. viii. 15.

2“For since the days of Joshua the son of Nun, unto that day, had not the children of Israel done so: and there was very great gladness."--Ib. 17.

3 “Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon."'--Josh. x. 12.

4. "Fetch olive-branches and pine-branches, and myrtlebranches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths." -Neh. viii. 15.

5. “And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over

on dry ground.”—Josh. iii 17.

66

Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over thy brow !
WAR AGAINST BABYLON.

War, war, war against Babylon !
Air-NoveLLO.

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,' * War against Babylon!" shout we around,'

Set the standard of God on highBe our banners through earth unfurl'd;

Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields, Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound_? “War against Babylon!" shout through the world!

Zion" our watchword, and“ vengeance" our cry!

Woe! woe!-the time of thy visitation? Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,"

Is come, proud Land, thy doom is castThy day of pride is ended now;

And the bleak wave of desolation And the dark curse of Israel's daughters

Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last !

War, war, war against Babylon! 1 “ Shout against her round about."- Jer. j. 15. 2 " Set up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet among the nations, prepare the nations against her, call to 1 "Make bright the arrows; gather the shields..... set gether against her the kingdoms," etc. etc.-15. li. 27. the standard upon the walls of Babylon."--Ib.

3 “Oh thou, that dwellest upon many waters, thy end is 2 “Woe unto them! for their day is come, the time of come."-Jer. 1. 13.

their visitation."--Ib. 3 A

BALLADS, SONGS, ETC.

BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

Then say, oh say no more

That lovers' pains are sweet.
The brilliant black eye

I never, never can
May in triumph let fly

Believe the fond deceit.
All its darts, without caring who feels 'em;

But the soft eye of blue,
Though it scatter wounds too,

DEAR FANNY.
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em.
Dear Fanny! dear Fanny !

She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart
The soft eye of blue,

cool; Though it scatter wounds too,

She has wit, but you must not be caught so; Is much better pleased when it heals 'em, dear Fanny: Thus Reason advises, but Reason 's a fool,

And 't is not the first time I have thought so, The black eye may say,

Dear Fanny. “Come and worship my ray,

“She is lovely!" Then love her, nor let the bliss fly; By adoring, perhaps you may move me !"

'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season: But the blue eye, half hid,

Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny Says, from under its lid,

That Love reasons much better than Reason, "I love, and I'm yours if you love me !"

Dear Fanny ?
Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!
The blue eye, half hid,
Says, from under its lid,

DID NOT. “I love, and am yours if you love me !" dear Fanny!

'Twas a new feeling-something more
Then tell me, oh! why,

Than we had dared to own before,
In that lovely eye,

Which then we hid not, which then we hid not Not a charm of its tint I discover;

We saw it in each other's eye,
Or why should you wear

And wish'd, in every murmur'd sigh,
The only blue pair

To speak, but did not; to speak, but did not.
That ever said “No” to a lover?
Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!

She felt my lips' impassion'd touch-
Oh! why should you wear

'T was the first time I dared so much,
The only blue pair

And yet she chid not, and yet she chid not; That ever said “No” to a lover, dear Fanny ?

But whisper'd o'er my burning brow,

“Oh! do you doubt I love you now?"

Sweet soul! I did not; sweet soul! I did not.
CEASE, OH CEASE TO TEMPT!

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
CEASE, oh cease to tempt

I press'd it closer, closer still,
My tender heart to love!

Though gently bid not, though gently bid not;
It never, never can

Till-oh! the world hath seldom heard
So wild a flame approve.

Of lovers, who so nearly err'd,
All its joys and pains

And yet who did not, and yet who did not.
To others I resign;
But be the vacant heart,
The careless bosom mine.

FANNY, DEAREST!
Then cease, oh cease to tempt

Oh! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
My tender heart to love!

Fanny, dearest! for thee I'à sigh;
It never, never can

And every smile on my cheek should turn
So wild a flame approve.

To tears, when thou art nigh.
Say, oh say no more

But, between love, and wine, and sleep,
That lovers' pains are sweet!

So busy a life I live,
I never, never can

That even the time it would take to weep
Believe the fond deceit.

Is more than my heart can give
Weeping day and night,

Then bid me not despair and pine,
Consuming life in sighs,-

Fanny, dearest of all the dears!
This is the lover's lot,

The love, that 's order'd to bathe in wine,
And this I nc'er could prize.

Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,

Fanny, dearest! thy image lies ;
But, oh! the mirror would cease to shine,

If dimm'd too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty's light,

Who view it through sorrow's tear;
And 't is but to see thee truly bright

That I keep my eye-beam clear.
Then wait no nger till tears shall flow-

Fanny, dearest ! the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,

I shall never attempt it with rain.

HERE'S THE BOWER.
HERE's the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted ;
Here's the harp she used to touch

Oh! how that touch enchanted !
Roses now unheeded sigh;

Where's the hand to wreath them?
Songs around neglected lie,

Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted ;
Here's the harp she used to touch-

Oh ! how that touch enchanted!

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O Pilgrim! where hast thou been roaming ?
Viver en Cadenas.

Dark is the way, and midnight's coming.

Stranger, I've been o'er moor and mountain,
FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.

To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain.
From life without freedom, oh! who would not fly? And, Pilgrim, say, where art thou going?
For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? Dark is the way, the winds are blowing.
Hark! hark! 't is the trumpet! the call of the brave, Weary with wand'ring, weak, I falter,
The death-song of tyrants and dirge of the slave. To breathe my vows at Agnes' altar.
Our country lies bleeding-oh! fly to her aid; Strew, then, oh! strew his bed of rushes;
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. Here he shall rest till morning blushes.
From life without freedom, oh! who would not fly?
For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? Peace to them whose days are done,

Death their eyelids closing ;
In death's kindly bosom onr last hope remains-

Hark! the burial-rite's unThe dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains !

'Tis time for our reposing. On, on to the combat ! the heroes that bleed For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed.

Here, then, my Pilgrim's course is o'er : And oh! even if Freedom from this world be driven, 'Tis my master! 't is my master! Welcome tere Despair not-at least we shall find her in heaven.

once more; In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains Come to our shed-all toil is over; The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. Pilgrim no more, but knight and lover

Oh! how lorn, how lost would prove

Thy wretched victim's fate, If, when deceived in love,

He could not fly to hate !

I CAN NO LONGER STIFLE.

I can no longer stifle,
How much I long to rifie

That little part

They call the heart
Of you, you lovely trifle !
You can no longer doubt it,
So let me be about it;

Or on my word,

And by the Lord,
I'll try to do without it.

This pretty thing's as light, Sir, As any paper kite, Sir,

And here and there,

And God knows where, She takes her wheeling flight, Sir. Us lovers, to amuse us, Unto her tail she nooses ;

There, hung like bobs

Of straw, or nobs, She whisks us where she chuses.

LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. Light sounds the harp when the combat is over

When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloomWhen laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume.

But, when the foe returns,

Again the hero burns ;
High flames the sword in his hand once more;

The clang of mingling arms

Is then the sound that charms, And brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets roar. Oh! then comes the harp, when the combat is over

When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloomWhen laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover,

And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. Light went the harp when the War-god, reclining,

Lay lull'd on the white arm of Beauty to restWhen round his rich armour the myrtle hung twining, And flights of young doves made his helmet their

nest.
But, when the battle came,

The hero's eye breathed flame:
Soon from his neck the white arm was flung;

While to his wakening ear

No other sounds were dear, But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung. But then came the light harp, when danger was ended,

And Beauty once more lull'd the War-god to rest; When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, And flights of young doves made his helmet their

nest.

I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR. I saw the moon rise clear

O’er hills and vales of snow, Nor told my fleet rein-deer

The track I wish'd to go. But quick he bounded forth;

For well my rein-deer knew I've but one path on earth

The path which leads to you.

The gloom that winter cast

How soon the heart forgets ! When summer brings, at last,

The sun that never sets. So dawn'd my love for you;

Thus chasing every pain, Than summer sun more true,

'T will never set again.

JOYS THAT PASS AWAY. Joys that pass away like this,

Alas! are purchased dear, If every beam of bliss

Is follow'd by a tear.
Fare thee well! oh, fare thee well !
Soon, too soon thou 'st broke the spell.
Oh! I ne'er can love again

The girl whose faithless art
Could break so dear a chain,

And with it break my heart.

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Once, when truth was in those eyes,

How beautiful they shone;
But now that lustre flies,

For truth, alas! is gone.
Fare thee well! oh, fare thee well!
How I've loved my hate shall tell.

Nanny's beaming eye
Looks as warm as any ;
But her cheek was pale-

Well-a-day, poor Nanny !
Nanny, in the field,

She pluck'd a little posie, And Nanny's pallid cheek Soon grew sleek and rosy.

Oh! the little girls, etc

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