Ay-those were days when life had wings,
And flew, oh, flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which sunward springs,
'Twas giddy with too much light.
And, though of some plumes bereft,
With that sun, too, nearly set,

I've enough of light and wing still left
For a few gay soarings yet,

WHEN first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my sight,
Oh what a vision then came o'er me!

Long years of love, of calm and pure delight,
Seem'd in that smile to pass before me.
Ne'er did the peasant dream of summer skies,
Of golden fruit, and harvests springing,
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes,
And of the joy their light was bringing.

Where now are all those fondly promis'd hours?
Ah! woman's faith is like her brightness-
Fading as fast as rainbows, or day-flowers,

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness.
Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of day,
Should be each vow of Love's repeating;
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray-
Ev'n while he kneels, that ray is fleeting!

SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER.

'SLUMBER, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st
My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st."
Thus sung I to a maiden,

Who slept one summer's day,
And, like a flower o'erladen

With too much sunshine, lay.
Slumber, oh slumber, &c.

"Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks; If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks," Thus sing I, while, awaking,

She murmurs words that seem

As if her lips were taking

Farewell of some sweet dream.

Breathe, not, oh breathe not, &c.

WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE.

(GERMAN AIR.)

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 brimWhat a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him! When the first summer bee, &c.

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'll run, While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.

Then, to every bright tree, &c.

TAKE HENCE THE BOWL

(NEAPOLITAN AIR.)

TAKE hence the bowl;-though beaming
Brightly as bowl e'er shone,

Oh, it but sets me dreaming

Of happy days now gone.
There, in its clear reflection,
As in a wizard's glass,
Lost hopes and dead affection,
Like shades, before me pass.

FAREWELL, Theresa! yon cloud that over

Heaven's pale night-star gath'ring we see,

Will scarce from that pure orb have pass'd, ere thy lover Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee,

Dark'ning thy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow;

With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee;

Oh, think how chang'd, love, how chang'd art thou now!

But here I free thee: like one awaking

From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell; 'Tis over-the moon, too, her bondage is breakingPast are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!

MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING THEME.

(SWEDISHI AIR.)

My harp has one unchanging theme,
One strain that still comes o'er
Its languid chord, as 'twere a dream
Of joy that's now no more.
In vain I try, with livelier air,

To wake the breathing string;

That voice of other times is there,

And saddens all I sing.

Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain,
Henceforth be all my own;

Though thou art oft so full of pain
Few hearts can bear thy tone.
Yet oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh,
The breath that Pleasure's wings
Gave out, when last they wanton'd by,
Were still upon thy strings.