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Never saw the brook,
But tumbled headlong in it!

While I touch the string, etc. How the wise one smiled,

When safe o'er the torrent, At that youth, so wild,

Dripping from the current ! Sense went home to bed ;

Genius, left to shiver On the bank, 't is said, Died of that cold river!

While I touch the string, etc.

When the dance and feast are done,

Arm in arm as home we stray, How sweet to see the dawning sun

O'er her cheeks' warm blushes play! Then, then the farewell kiss,

And words whose parting tone Lingers still in dreams of bliss,

That haunt young hearts alone.


Languedocian Air. Love is a hunter-boy,

Who makes young hearts his prey, And in his nets of joy

Ensnares them night and day. In vain conceal'd they lie

Love tracks them every where; In vain aloft they fly

Love shoots them flying there. But 't is his joy most sweet,

At early dawn to trace The print of Beauty's feet,

And give the trembler chase. And most he loves through snow

To trace those footsteps fair, For then the boy doth know

None track'd before him there.



Old English Air.
Then, fare thee well! my own dear love,

This world has now for us
No greater grief, no pain above
The pain of parting thus, dear love! the pain of part-

ing thus ! Had we but known, since first we met,

Some few short hours of bliss, We might, in numbering them, forget The deep, deep pain of this, dear love! the deep, deep

pain of this ! But, no, alas ! we've never seen

One glimpse of pleasure's ray, But still there came some cloud between, And chased it all away, dear love! and chased it all

away! Yet, e'en coud those sad moments last,

Far dearer to my heart Were hours of grief, together past, Than years of mirth apart, dear love! than years of

mirth apart! Farewell ! our hope was born in fears,

And nursed 'mid vain regrets ! Like winter suns, it rose in tears, Like them in tears it sets, dear love! like them in

tears it sets!



French Air.
COME, chase that starting tear away,

Ere mine to meet it springs ;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,

Whate'er to-morrow brings !
Like sunset gleams, that linger late

When all is dark'ning fast, Are hours like these we snatch from FateThe brightest and the last.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.
To gild our dark’ning life, if Heaven

But one bright hour allow,
Oh! think that one bright hour is given,

In all its splendour, now!
Let's live it out—then sink in night,

Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell—are touch'd with light-
Then lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

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Maltese Air. Gaily sounds the castanet,

Beating time to bounding feet, When, after daylight's golden set,

Maids and youths by moonlight meet. Oh! then, how sweet to move

Through all that maze of mirth, Lighted by those eyes we love

Beyond all eyes on earth. Then, the joyous banquet spread

On the cool and fragrant ground, With night's bright eye-beams overhead,

And still brighter sparkling round.
Oh! then, how sweet to say

Into the loved one's ear,
Thoughts reserved through many a day

To be thus whisper'd here.


Portuguese Air. Whisp'rings, hoard by wakeful maids,

To whom the night-stars guide usStolen walks through moonlight shades, With those we love beside us.

Hearts beating, at meeting,

Tears starting, at parting :
Oh! sweet youth, how soon it fadas!

Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!


French Air.
HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,

In which our love lies cold and dead,
I count cach flatt'ring hope he gave,

Of joys now lost and charms now fled. Who could have thought the smile he wore,

When first we met, would fade away? Or that a chill would e'er come o'er

Those eyes so bright through many a day?


Welch Air. Bright be thy dreams—may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping :

Those by death or seas removed, Friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee,

All thou 'st ever prized or loved, In dreams come smiling to thee ! There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ;

Still the same-no charm forgotNothing lost that life had given;

Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou 'lt find her yet in Heaven !

No. III.


Swedish Air.
When Love was a child, and went idling round

'Mong flowers the whole summer's day, One morn in the valley a bower he found,

So sweet, it allured him to stay
O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair

A fountain ran darkly beneath'T was Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up there;

Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath.
But Love didn't know-and at his weak years

What urchin was likely to know ?-
That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears

That fountain which murmur'd below.
He caught at the wreath—but with too much haste,

As boys when impatient will do-
It fell in those waters of briny taste,

And the flowers were all wet through.
Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day,

And, though it all sunny appears
With Pleasure's own lustre, each leaf, they say,

Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.


Sicilian Air.. Go, then 't is vain to hover

Thus round a hope that's dead! At length my dream is over,

'T was sweet-'t was false—'t is filed! Farewell; since nought it moves thee,

Such truth as mine to see, Some one, who far less loves thee,

Perhaps more bless'd will be. Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness

New life around me shed ! Farewell, false heart, whose lightness

Now leaves me death instead! Go, now, those charms surrender

To some new lover's sigh, One who, though far less tender,

May be more bless'd than I.



Sicilian Air.
Say, what shall be our sport to-day?

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air,
Too bright, too bold, too high, too gay,

For spirits like mine to dare ! "T is like the returning bloom

of those days, alas! gone by, When I loved each hour-I scarce knew whom,

And was bless'd scarce knew why. Ay, those were days when life had wings,

And flew-oh, flew so wild a height, That, like the lark which sunward springs,

"T was giddy with too much light;
nd, 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.


Swiss Air. O'ER mountains bright with snow and light.

We Crystal Hunters speed along,
While grots and caves, and icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song ;
And, when we meet with stores of gems,
We grudge not kings their diadems.

mountains bright with snow and light, We Crystal Hunters speed along. While grots and caves, and icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song. No lover half so fondly dreams

Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, As we of those refreshing gleams

That tell where deep the crystal lies; Though, next to crystal, we too grant That ladies' eyes may most enchant.

O'er mountains, etc. Sometimes, when o'er the Alpine rose,

The golden sunset leaves its ray, So like a gem the flow'ret glows,

We thither hend our headlong wav,

And, though we find no treasure there, Short as the Persian's prayer, his prayer at close of We bless the rose that shines so fair.

day, O'er mountains, etc.

Must be each vow of Love's repeating ;
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray-

Even while he kneels that ray is fleeting !
Venetian Air.

Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the

Catalonian Air. tide, That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom PEACE to the slumberers ! we glide.

They lie on the battle plain, Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry

With no shroud to cover them; eyes to see,

The dew and the summer rain Oh! think what tales 't would have to tell of wand'ring Are all that weep over them. youths like me!

Vain was their bravery !

The fallen oak lies where it lay, Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for

Across the wintry river; up I go,

But brave hearts, once swept away, To climb yon light balcony's height, wbile thou keep'st watch below.

Are gone, alas ! for ever. Ah! did we take for heaven above but half such Woe to the conqueror! pains as we

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs
Fake day and night for woman's love, what angels Of whom his sword bereft us,
we should be !

Ere we forget the deep arrears
Of vengeance they have left us !


French Air.
On! days of youth and joy, long clouded,

Why thus for ever haunt my view ?
When in the grave your light lay shrouded,

Why did not Memory die there too ? Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me,

Whispering of joys that yet remainNo, no, never can this life bring me

One joy that equal's youth's sweet pain. Dim lies the way to death before me,

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; Sunshine of youth that once fell o'er me,

Where is your warmth, your glory now? 'Tis not that then no pain could sting me

”T is not that now no joys remain ; Oh! it is that life no more can bring me

One joy so sweet as that worst pain.


Sicilian Air.
When thou shalt wander by that sweet light

We used to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,

Ere I could doubt or thou deceive-
Oh! then, remembering how swift went by.
Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh.
Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own

That love like ours was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments thrown aside

When past the summer's heat ;
And wish in vain to know again
Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then.


Venetian Air.
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, ne'er dream of summer

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 promised hours ?

Oh! woman's faith is like her brightness,
Fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers,

Or aught that 's known for grace and lightness.


Portuguese Air.
Hymen late, his love-knots selling,
Call’d at many a maiden's dwelling :
None could doubt, who saw or knew them,
Hymen's call was welcome to them.

“Who'll buy my love-knots ?

Who 'll buy my love-knots ?
Soon as that sweet cry resounded,
How his baskets were surrounded !
Maids who now first dream'd of trying
These gay knots of Hymen's tying;
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him ;-

“Who 'll buy my love-knots ?

Who 'll bay my love-knots ?"
All at that sweet cry assembled ;
Some laugh’d, some blush'd, and some trembled

“ Here are knots," said Hymen, taking Some loose flowers, “ of Love's own making ; Here are gold ones you may trust 'em"(These, of course, found ready custom.)

“Come buy my love-knots !

Come buy my love-knots ! Some are labellid .Knots to tie men'‘Love the maker'— Bought of Hymen.'' Scarce their bargains were completed, When the nymphs all cried, “We're cheated ! See these flowers—they 're drooping sadly; This gold-knot, too, ties but badly

Who'd buy such love-knots ?

Who'd buy such love-knots ? Even this tie, with Love's name round itAll a sham—he never bound it.” Love, who saw the whole proceeding, Would have laugh’d, but for good-breeding; While Old Hymen, who was used to Cries like that these dames gave loose to

“Take back our love-knots!

Take back our love-knots !"Coolly said, “There's no returning Wares on Hymen's hands—Good morning !"

That none, in all our vales and groves,

Ere caught so much small game: While gentle Sue, less given to roam,

When Cloe's nets were taking These flights of birds, sat still at home, One small, neat Love-cage making.

Come, listen, maids, etc. Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task;

But mark how things went on:
These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask

Their name and age, were gone!
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove,

That, though she charm'd into them
New game each hour, the youngest Love
Was able to break through them.

Come, listen, maids, etc.

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrougho

Of bars too strong to sever,
One Love with golden pinions caught,

And caged him there for ever;
Instructing thereby, all coquettes,

Whate'er their looks or ages,
That, though 't is pleasant weaving Nets,

'Tis wiser to make Cages. Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile

The task your fingers ply-
May all who hear, like Susan smile,

Ah! not like Cloe sigh!


Sung at Rome, on Christmas Eve. SEE, the dawn from heaven is breaking o'er our sight, And Earth, from sin awaking, hails the sight! See, those groups of Angels, winging from the realms

above, On their sunny brows from Eden bringing wreaths

of Hope and Love.
Hark-their hymns of glory pealing through the air,
To mortal ears revealing who lies there!
In that dwelling, dark and lowly, sleeps the heavenly

He, whose home is in the skies,—the Holy One!


Venetian Air. When through the Piazzetta

Night breathes her cool air, Then, dearest Ninetta,

I'll come to thee there.
Beneath thy mask shrouded,

I'll know thee afar,
As Love knows, though clouded,

His own Evening Star.

No. IV.

In garb, then, resembling

Some gay gondolier,
I'll whisper thee. trembling,

“Our bark, love, is near : Now, now, while there hover

Those clouds o'er the moon, 'T will waft thee safe over

Yon silent Lagoon."


Swedish air.
COME, listen to my story, while

Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing some maids will smile,

While some, perhaps, may sigh.
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames

Such florid songs as ours,
Yet Truth, sometimes, like eastern dames,

Can speak her thoughts by flowers.
Then listen, maids, come listen, while

Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing there's some may smile,

While some, perhaps, will sigh.
Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves,

Such nets had learn'd to frame,


Sicilian Air. Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumoer Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number Of Pain's bitter draught the flavour never flies, While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendis Often will shine again, bright as she then did — But, ah! never more will the beam she saw burn In those happy eyes at your meeting return.


“I come, my love!” each sound they utter seems to

say i Neapolitan Air.

“ I come, my love ! thine, thine till break of day.” Take hence the bowl ; though beaming

Oh! weak the power of words,
Brightly as bowl e're shone,

The hues of painting dim,
Oh! it but sets me dreaming

Compared to what those simple chords
Of days, of nights now gone.

Then say and paint to him.
There, in its clear reflection,

As in a wizard's glass,
Lost hopes and dead affection,
Like shades, before me pass.


German Air.
Each cup I drain brings hither

When the first summer bee
Some friend who once sat by-
Bright lips, too bright to wither,

O'er the young rose shall hover,

Then, like that gay rover,
Warm hearts, too warm to die !

I'll come to thee.
Till, as the dream comes o'er me
Of those long vanish'd years,

He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brimThen, then the cup before me

What a meeting, what a meeting for me and him! Seems turning all to tears.

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"

run, Venetian Air.

While I find the sweetness of thousands in one. FAREWELL, Theresa ! that cloud which over

Yon moon this moment gath'ring we see, Shall scarce from her pure path have pass'd, ere thy lover

THOUGH 'T IS ALL BUT A DREAM Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.

French Air

Though 't is all but a dream at the best, Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee,

And still when happiest soonest o'er, Dark’ning thy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow;

Yet, even in a dream to be bless'd With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found

Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. thee;

The bosom that opes with earliest hopes, Oh! think how changed, love, how changed art

The soonest finds those hopes untrue, thou now!

As flowers that first in spring-time burst, But here I free thee: like one awaking

The earliest wither too! From fearful slumber, this dream thou'lt tell;

Ay—'t is all but a dream, etc. The bright moon her spell too is breaking,

By friendship we oft are deceived,
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell !

And find the love we clung to past;
Yet friendship will still be believed,

And love trusted on to the last.

The web in the leaves the spider weaves

Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men;
Savoyard Air.

Though often she sees it broke by the breeze,

She spins the bright tissue again.
How oft, when watching stars grow pale,

Ay—'t is all but a dream, etc.
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale

I from my casement lean.
“Oh! come, my love !" each note it utters seems to


Italian Air. “Oh! come, my love! the night wears fast away! No, ne'er to mortal ear

'Tis when the cup is smiling before us, Can words, though warm they be,

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy Speak Passion's language half so clear

true, As do those notes to me!

That the sky of this life opens o'er us,

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. Then quick my own light lute I seek,

Talk of Adam in Eden reclining, And strike the chords with loudest swell;

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus ; And, though they nought to others speak,

For him but two bright eyes were shiningHe knows their language well.

See what numbers are sparkling for us!

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