And chose me a tree of the fairest ; "And 'tis sweet, when all "To have a pure love to fly to: "Thou my mistress shalt be, "And the only one now I shall sigh to." When the beautiful hue Of thy cheek through the dew "Sweet tears," I shall say, "At least there's no art in this weeping." With which men wound each other: SHINE OUT, STARS! SHINE out, Stars! let Heav'n assemble Lights that move not, lights that tremble, THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA. Oн, the joys of our ev'ning posada, Where, resting at close of day, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, Sit and sing the sunshine away; So merry, that even the slumbers, That round us hung, seem gone; Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers Again beguile them on. Oh, the joys, &c. Then as each to his loved sultana TELL HER, OH, TELL HER. TELL her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying Beneath the green arbor, is still lying there; And breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing, But not a soft whisper replies to their pray'r Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going, |