Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

BALLADS, SONGS, ETC.

Then say, oh say no more
BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

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!"

"T is 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'd 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 ne'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 longer 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!

[blocks in formation]

way,

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 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 our last hope remains-

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

"T is 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,'T is my master! 't is my master! Welcome here 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 lovor

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 toing '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.

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.

Light went the harp when the War-god, reclining,

Lay lullid 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 thei.

nest.

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.

LITTLE MARY'S EYE. LITTLE Mary's eye

Is roguish, and all that, Sir; But her little tongue

Is quite too full of chat, sir. Since her eye can speak

Enough to tell her blisses, If she stir her tongue,

Why-stop her mouth with kisses! Oh! the little girls,

Wily, warm, and winning; When the angels tempt us to it,

Who can keep from sinning?

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

[ocr errors]

Sue, the pretty nun,

That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings,
Prays with warm emotion;

And Time for ever wears 'em.
Sweetly rolls her eye

This is Time's holiday;
In love or in devotion.

Oh! how he flies away!
If her pious heart

Softens to relieve you,
She gently shares the crime,

LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE.
With, “Oh! may God forgive you!"
Oh! the little girls,

Love, my Mary, dwells with thee;

On thy cheek, his bed I see.
Wily, warm, and winning;
When angels tempt us to it,

No—that cheek is pale with care;

Love can find no roses there.
Who can keep from sinning ?

'T is not on the cheek of rose
Love can find the best repose :

In my heart his home thou 'lt see;
LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL.

There he lives, and lives for thee.
Young Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade,
Where man ne'er had wander'd nor sun-beam play'd;

Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam, “Why thus in darkness lie ?" whisper'd young Love,

While he makes that eye his home. “ Thou, whose gay hours should in sun-shine move.'

No—the eye with sorrow dim “I ne'er," said the Dial,“ have seen the warm sun,

Ne'er can be a home for him.

Yet, 't is not in beaming eyes So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one."

Love for ever warmest lies :
Then Love took the Dial away from the shade,

In my heart his home thou 'lt see;
And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly play'd. There he lives, and lives for thee.
There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye,
While, all mark'd with sun-shine, her hours flew by.
“Oh! how," said the Dial, “ can any fair maid,

LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER CLOUD. That 's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade ?"

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before usBut night now comes on, and the sun-beam 's o'er,

Youth may wither, but feeling will last ; And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more. And the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us, Then cold and neglected, while bleak rain and winds Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds

Oh! if to love thee more That Love had but number'd a few sunny hours,

Each hour I number o'erAnd left the remainder to darkness and showers !

If this a passion be

Worthy of thee,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.
LOVE AND TIME.

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last :

All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 'Tis said—but whether true or not

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. Let bards declare who 've seen 'emThat Love and Time have only got

Rest, dear bosom! no sorrows shall pain thee, One pair of wings between 'em.

Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal; In courtship's first delicious hour,

Beam, bright eyelid ! no weeping shall stain thee, The boy full oft can spare 'em.

Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.
So, loitering in his lady's bower,

Oh! if there be a charm
He lets the gray-beard wear 'em.

In love, to banish harm-
Then is Time's hour of play;

If pleasure's truest spell
Oh! how he flies away!

Be to love well,
But short the moments, short as bright,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.
When he the wings can borrow;

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last :

All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
If Time to-day has had his flight,
Love takes his turn to-morrow.

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. Ah! Time and Love! your change is then

The saddest and most trying, When one begins to limp again,

LOVE, WAND'RING THROUGH THE
And t' other takes to flying.

GOLDEN MAZE.
Then is Love's hour to stray ;

Love, wand'ring through the golden maze
Oh! how he flies away!

Of my beloved's hair,
But there's a nymph-whose chains I feel, Traced every lock with fond delays,
And bless the silken fetter-

And, doting, linger'd there.
Who knows-the dear one !-how to deal And soon he found 't were vain to fly;
With Love and Time much better,

His heart was close confined,
So well she checks their wanderings,

And every curlet was a tie-.
So peacefully she pairs 'em,

A chain by beauty twined.

MERRILY EVERY BOSOM BOUNDETH.

Chill falls the rain, night winds are blowing, Dreary and dark 's the way we 're going.

Fair Lady! rest till morning blushesI'll strew for thee a bed of rushes. Oh! stranger! when my beads I'm counting, I'll bless thy name at Agnes' fountain. Then, Pilgrim, turn, and rest thy sorrow; Thou 'lt go to Agnes' shrine to-morrow. Good stranger, when my beads I'm telling, My saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling. Strew, then, oh! strew our bed of rushes; Here we must rest till morning blushes.

THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY. MERRILY every bosom boundeth,

Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!
Where the Song of Freedom soundeth,
Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!
There the warrior's arms

Shed more splendour,
There the maiden's charms

Shine more tender-
Every joy the land surroundeth,

Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!
Wearily every bosom pineth,

Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!
Where the bond of slavery twineth,
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!
There the warrior's dart

Hath no fleetness,
There the maiden's heart

Hath no sweetness-
Every flower of life declineth,
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!

OH! REMEMBER THE TIME.

THE CASTILIAN MAID.
Oh! remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,

When our moments so blissfully flew;
When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids,

And I blush'd to be call'd so by you.
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille,

And to dance to the light castanet;
Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will

The delight of those moments forget.

Cheerily then from hill and valley,

Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!
Like your native fountains sally,
Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!
If a glorious death,

Won by bravery,
Sweeter be than breath

Sigh'd in slavery,
Round the flag of Freedom rally,

Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle

Every hour a new passion can feel, And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile,

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. But they know not how brave in the battle you are,

Or they never could think you would rove; For 't is always the spirit most gallant in war

That is fondest and truest in love!

NOW LET THE WARRIOR. Now let the warrior plume his steed,

And wave his sword afar; For the men of the East this day shall bleed,

And the sun shall blush with war. Victory sits on the Christian's helm

To guide her holy band : The Knight of the Cross this day shall whelm The men of the Pagan land.

Oh! bless'd who in the battle dies !

God will enshrine him in the skies ! Now let the warrior plume his steed,

And wave his sword afar, For the men of the East this day shall bleed,

And the sun shall blush with war.

OH! SEE THOSE CHERRIES. Oh! see those cherries—though once so glowing,

They've lain too long on the sun-bright wall; And mark! already their bloom is going;

Too soon they'll wither, too soon they'll fall. Once, caught by their blushes, the light bird flew

round,
Oft on their ruby lips leaving love's wound

But now he passes them, ah! too knowing
To taste wither'd cherries, when fresh may be found

Old Time thus fleetly his course is running;
If bards were not moral, how maids would go

wrong!
And thus thy beauties, now sunn'd and sunning,

Would wither if left on the rose-tree too long. Then love while thou 'rt lovely-e'en I should be

glad So sweetly to save thee from ruin so sad; But, oh! delay not-we bards are too cunning To sigh for old beauties when young may be had.

OH, LADY FAIR ! Oh, Lady fair! where art thou roaming ? The sun has sunk, the night is coming. Stranger, I go o'er moor and mountain, To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain. And who is the man, with his white locks flowing ? Oh, Lady fair! where is he going? A wand'ring Pilgrim, weak, I falter, To tell my beads at Agnes' altar.

OH! SOON RETURN! The white sail caught the evening ray,

The wave beneath us seem'd to burn,

« ForrigeFortsæt »