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Joys soon succeed like flowers,
Then cheerily, cheerily sing-

Fal la.
The rose its bloom refuses,

If pluck'd not in the spring,
Life soon its fragrance loses,
Then cheerily, cheerily sing-

Fal la.
Fly, fly all dull emotion,

All care away we fling;
Pure joy is our devotion,
Then cheerily, cheerily sing-

Fal la.

THE SWITZER'S SONG OF HOME. Why, Oh! why my heart this sadness ?

Why, 'mid scenes like these decline? Where all, though strange, is joy and gladness,

Say, what wish can yet be thine ?

Oh! say what wish can yet be thine ?
All that's dear to me is wanting,

Lone and cheerless here I roam;
The stranger's joys, howe'er enchanting,

To me can never be like Home,

To me can never be like Home. Give me those! I ask no other,

Those that bless the humble dome;
Where dwell my Father and my Mother,

Give, Oh! give me back my Home,
My own, my own dear na:ive Homo.


The sea! the sea! the open sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
Or like a cradled creature lies.
I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!
I am where I would ever be;
With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.
I love, oh! how I love to ride
On the fierce foaming bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the Sou’-west blasts do blow.
I never was on the dull tame shore,
But I lov'd the great sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was and is to me;
For I was born on the open sea!
The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcom'd to life the ocean-child!
I've lived since then in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never bave so ht nor sigh'd for change;
And Death, whenever he come to me,
Shall come on the wild unbounded sea!

COME YE DISCONSOLATE. COME ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,

Come at the shrine of God fervently kneel, Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish,

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. Joy of the comfortless, light of the straying,

Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here peaks the comforter, in God's name, saying,

"Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure. Go ask the infidel what boon he brings us,

What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, Sweet as that glorious promise hope sings us

"Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal."

COME to the sunset tree!

The day is past and gone;
The woodman's axe lies free,

The reaper's work is done.
The twilight star to heaven,

And the summer dew to flowers,
And rest to us is given
In the cool refreshing bowers.

Come to the sunset tree, &c.
Sweet is the hour of rest,

Pleasant the wind's low sigh;
The gleaming of the west;

And the turf whereon we lie.
When the burden of the heat

Of labor's task is ó'er
Aud kindly voices greet,
The tired one at his door.

Come to the sunset tree, &a

Yes, tuneful is the sound

That dwells in whispering boughs; Welcome the freshness round,

And the gale that fans our brows. Then, though the wind an altered tone

Through the young foliage bear, Though every flower of something gone, A tinge may wear;

Come to the sunset tree, &c.

VENETIAN BOAT SONG. THE day beam is over the sea,

Oh haste every bark, to the shore; No joy in the morning can be,

With moonlight our pleasure is o'er: Perhaps it is sweet on the hills

To watch how the daylight appears, To see it all bright in the rills,

And shining through night's dewy tears. But oh! in the wild hour of night,

When loud winds are hushed to a breeze, With music and moon-beams so bright,

'Tis heaven to glide o'er the seas. How sweet 'tis to watch the bright glow,

And taste the wild freshness of heaven; How sweet 'tis to gaze on below

The likeness the blue wave has given. To breathe the soft night air perfum'd

With the sighs of the groves on the shore To see how the moon has illum'd

The droppings that fall from the oar.
Such pleasures the morn never gave,

Then haste every gondolet, on,
Oh, who would remain on the wave

When moonlight and music are gone.

THE MULETEER. Soon as the sun his early ray

Across the misty mountain Alings; The Muleteer now takes his way,

And merrily thus he sweetly sings:
Oh haste, my mules, we must not creep,

Nor saunter on so slow;
Our journey's long, the mountain steep,

We've many a league to go.
At fall of eve, his labor o'er,

He homeward hastes and sings with glee; My mules, speed to my cottage door,

For there my Lilla waits for me.
Speed on, my mules, the sun sets fast,

The shades of night I see;
There's many a league yet to be pass'd,

And Lilla waits for me.

THE MULETEER'S RETURN. 'Tis night—where strays my muleteer?

Ah ! why does he from Lilla roam ? For well he knows my heart is drear,

When he is from his mountain home; But soft, what music greets mine ear?

What strain comes o'er the dell ?
Oh! joy to me, the night-winds bear

The sound of distant bell.
Oh! speed ye, mules, the queen of night

Hath kiss'd the sparkling mountain rills, And spread her fairest robes of light,

To guide ye o'er the dreary hills.
They come! they come! their tramp I hear,

Their weary forms I see,
And soon they'll bear my muleteer

In joy again to me.

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