Our summer sun may squander
A blaze serener, grander;

Our autumn beam

May, like a dream.

Of heav'n, die calm away;
But, no-let life before us
Bring all the light it may,
'Twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us
Like that first youthful ray.

THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE.

(A BUFFO SONG.)

THERE'S something strange, I know not what, Come o'er me,

Some phantom I've for ever got

Before me.

I look on high, and in the sky

'Tis shining;

On earth, its light with all things bright

Seems twining.

In vain I try this goblin's spells

To sever;

Go where I will, it round me dwells

For ever.

And then what tricks by day and night

It plays me;

In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite

Waylays me.

Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue

'Tis glancing;

Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat,
Comes dancing.

By whispers round of every sort
I'm taunted.

Never was mortal man, in short,

So haunted.

WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY.

WAKE up, sweet melody!

Now is the hour

When young and loving hearts

Feel most thy pow'r.

One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray-
Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day.
Then wake up, sweet melody!

Now is the hour

When young and loving hearts
Feel most thy pow'r.

Ask the fond nightingale,

When his sweet flow'r

Loves most to hear his song,

In her green bow'r?

Oh he will tell thee, through summer-nights long, Fondest she lends her whole soul to his song. Then wake up, sweet melody!

Now is the hour

When young and loving hearts
Feel most tny pow'r.

BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

THE brilliant black eye

May in triumph let fly

All its darts without caring who feels 'em ;
But the soft eye of blue,

Though it scatter wounds too,

Is much better pleas'd when it heals 'em—
Dear Fanny!

But the soft eye of blue,

Though it scatter wounds too,

Is much better pleas'd when it heals 'em.

The black eye may say,
"Come and worship my ray-

By adoring, perhaps, you may move me!"
But the blue eye, half hid,

Says, from under its lid,

"I love, and am yours, if you love me!" Yes, Fanny!

The blue eye, half hid,

Says, from under its lid,

"I love, and am yours, if you love me!"

Come tell me, then, why,

In that lovely blue eye,

Not a charm of its tint I discover;
Oh why should you wear

The only blue pair

That ever said " "No" to a lover?

THEY met but once, in youth's sweet hour,
And never since that day

Hath absence, time, or grief had pow'r
To chase that dream away.

They've seen the suns of other skies,

On other shores have sought delight;
But never more, to bless their eyes,
Can come a dream so bright!
They met but once,- -a day was all
Of Love's young hopes they knew;
And still their hearts that day recall,
As fresh as then it flew.

Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again
Let either meet the brow

They left so smooth and smiling then,
Or see what it is now.

For, Youth, the spell was only thine;

From thee alone th' enchantment flows,
That makes the world around thee shine
With light thyself bestows.

They met but once,-oh, ne'er again
Let either meet the brow

They left so smooth and smiling then,
Or see what it is now.

SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.

"I'VE been, oh, sweet daughter,

To fountain and sea,

To seek in their water

Some bright gem for thee.
Where diamonds were sleeping,
Their sparkle I sought,
Where crystal was weeping,
Its tears I have caught.

"The sea-nymph I've courted
In rich coral halls;
With Naiads have sported

By bright waterfalls.

But sportive or tender,

Still sought I, around,

That gem, with whose splendour
Thou yet shalt be crown'd.

"And see, while I'm speaking,

Yon soft light afar;-
The pearl I've been seeking

There floats like a star!

In the deep Indian Ocean
I see the gem shine,
And quick as light's motion
Its wealth shall be thine."

Then eastward, like lightning,
The hero-god flew,
His sunny looks bright'ning
The air he went through.
And sweet was the duty,
And hallow'd the hour,
Which saw thus young Beauty
Embellish'd by Power.

GUESS, GUESS.

I LOVE a maid, a mystic maid,

Whose form no eyes but mine can see; She comes in light, she comes in shade, And beautiful in both is she.

Her shape in dreams I oft behold,

And oft she whispers in my ear
Such words as when to others told,
Awake the sigh, or wring the tear;

Then guess, guess, who she,
The lady of my love, may be.

I find the lustre of her brow

Come o'er me in my darkest ways; And feel as if her voice, ev'n now, Were echoing far off my lays.

There is no scene of joy or woe

But she doth gild with influence bright:

And shed o'er all so rich a glow,

As makes ev'n tears seem full of ligh

Then guess, guess, who she,

The lady of my love, may be.