OH! REMEMBER THE TIME.
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.
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 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war,
That is fondest and truest in love.
LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP.
LIGHT Sounds the Harp when the combat is over,
When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom;
When 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 sung, Oh! then comes the Harp, when the combat is over, When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom; When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. Light went the Harp, when the War-God reclining Lay lull'd on the white arm of Beauty to rest; When round his rich armour the myrtle hung twining, And flights of young doves made his helmet their rest. 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 the 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 their rest.
COULDST THOU LOOK AS DEAR.
COULDST thou look as dear, as when
First I sigh'd for thee,
Couldst thou make me feel again
Every wish I breathed thee then,
Oh, how blissful life would be!
Hopes that now beguiling leave me,
Joys that lie in slumber cold,
All would wake, couldst thou but give me
One dear smile like those of old.
Oh! there's nothing left us now,
But to mourn the past:-
Vain was every ardent vow,
Never yet did Heaven allow
Love so warm, so wild, to last.
Not even Hope could now deceive me,
Life itself looks dark and cold;
Oh! thou never more canst give me,
One dear smile like those of old.
OH! SOON RETURN!
Our white sail caught the evening ray,
The wave beneath us seem'd to burn,
When all my weeping love could say,
Was-"Oh! soon return!"
Through many a clime our ship was driven,
O'er many a billow rudely thrown:
Now chill'd beneath a northern heaven,
Now sunn'd by summer's zone.
Yet still, where'er our course we lay,
When evening bid the west wave burn,
I thought I heard her faintly say—
Oh! soon return!"
If ever yet my bosom found
Its thoughts a moment turn'd from thee, 'Twas when the combat raged around, And brave men look'd to me.
But, though 'mid battle's wild alarm
Love's gentle power might not appear,
He gave to Glory's brow the charm
That made e'en danger dear.
And when the Victory's calm came o'er
The hearts where rage had ceased to burn, I heard that farewell voice once more"Oh! soon return!"
LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD.
PAIN and sorrow shall vanish before us,
Youth may wither, but feeling will last:
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Oh! if to love thee more
Each hour I number o'er;
If this a passion be
Worthy of thee,
Then, be happy, for thus I adore thee.
Charms may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Rest, dear bosom! no sorrow shall pain thee,
Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
Beam, bright eyelid! no weeping shall stain thee,
Tears of rapture alone thou shalt feel.
Oh! if there be a charm
In love to banish harm;
If pleasure's truest spell
Be to love well,
Then, be happy, for thus I adore thee.
Charms may wither, but feeling will last; All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
WHEN 'MIDST THE GAY I MEET.
WHEN 'midst the gay I meet
That gentle smile of thine,
Though still on me it turn'd most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine.
But, when to me alone
Your secret tears you show,
Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
The snow on Jura's steep
Can smile with many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright soe'er it seem;
But when some deep-felt ray,
Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh, then the smile is warm'd away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free,
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.
WHEN twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
And, thou too on that orb so dear,
Ah, dost thou gaze at even;
And think, though lost for ever here,
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven?
There's not a garden-walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy I've lost with thee, love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
When friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept through here
May turn to smiles in heaven.
THE young rose which I gave thee, so dewy and bright, Was the floweret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft by the moonlight o'er her blushes hath hung, And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay he sung.
Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from thee; For while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.
LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE.
He.-Love, my Mary, dwells with thee,
On thy cheek his bed I see.
She.-No, that cheek is pale with care-
Love can find no roses there.
Both.-'Tis not on the bed of rose,
Love can find the best repose;
In my heart his home thou'lt see,
There he lives, and lives for thee.
He.-Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam,
While he makes that eye his home.
She.-No, the eye with sorrow dim,
Ne'er can be a home for him.
Both.-Yet 'tis not in beaming eyes,
Love for ever warmest lies;
In my heart his home thou'lt see,
There he lives, and lives for thee.
THE song of war shall echo through our mountains,
Till not one hateful link remains
Of slavery's lingering chains,
Till not one tyrant tread our plains,
Nor traitor-lip pollute our fountains,
No, never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,
Or hear, O Peace, thy welcome lay
Resounding through her sunny mountains.
The song of war shall echo through our mountains,
Till Victory's self shall smiling say
Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away,
And freedom comes with new-born ray,
To gild your vines and light your fountains!"
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