When I remember all

The friends, so linked together,
I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one

Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

HARK! THE VESPER HYMN
IS STEALING.
Russian Air.

HARK! the vesper hymn is stealing
O'er the waters, soft and clear;
Nearer yet and nearer pealing,
Soft it breaks upon the ear.
Jubilate, Amen.

Farther now, now farther stealing,
Soft it fades upon the ear,
Jubilate, Amen.

Now like moonlight waves retreating
To the shore, it dies along;
Now, like angry surges meeting,
Breaks the mingled tide of song.
Jubilate, Amen.

Hush again, like waves, retreating
To the shore, it dies along,
Jubilate, Amen.

LOVE AND HOPE.
Swiss Air.

AT morn, beside yon summer sea,
Young Hope and Love reclined;
But scarce had noontide come, when he
Into his bark leaped smilingly,

And left poor Hope behind.

'I go,' said Love, 'to sail a while
Across this sunny main ;'
And then so sweet his parting smile,
That Hope, who never dreamed of guile,
Believed he'd come again.

She lingered there till evening's beam Along the waters lay,

And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream,

Oft traced his name, which still the stream

As often washed away.

At length a sail appears in sight,

And toward the maiden moves! 'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright,

His golden bark reflects the light,
But ah! it is not Love's.

Another sail-'twas Friendship showed
Her night-lamp o'er the sea;
And calm the light that lamp be-
stowed:

But Love had lights that warmer glowed,
And where, alas! was he?

Now fast around the sea and shore Night threw her darkling chain, The sunny sails were seen no more, Hope's morning dreams of bliss were

o'er

Love never came again!

THERE COMES A TIME.

German Air.

THERE comes a time, a dreary time,
To him whose heart hath flown
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet
prime,

And made each flower its own.
"Tis when his soul must first renounce
Those dreams so bright, so fond;
Oh! then's the time to die at once,
For life has nought beyond.

There comes a time, etc.

When sets the sun on Afric's shore,
That instant all is night;
And so should life at once be o'er,
When Love withdraws his light-
Nor, like our northern day, gleam on
Through twilight's dim delay,
The cold remains of lustre gone,
Of fire long passed away.

Oh! there comes a time, etc.

ING THEME. Swedish 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 wantoned by, Were still upon thy strings.

OH! NO-NOT E'EN WHEN FIRST
WE LOVED.
Cashmerian Air.

OH! no-not e'en when first we loved,
Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses moved,

But now thy virtues bind my heart. What was but Passion's sigh before,

Has since been turned to Reason's vow; And though I then might love thee more, Trust me, I love thee better now!

Although my heart in earlier youth Might kindle with more wild desire, Believe me, it has gained in truth

Much more than it has lost in fire. The flame now warms my inmost core, That then but sparkled o'er my brow; And though I seemed to love thee more, Yet, oh! I love thee better now.

PEACE BE AROUND THEE.
Scotch Air.

PEACE be around thee, wherever thou rovest ;

May life be for thee one summer's day,

thou lovest,

Come smiling around thy sunny way! If sorrow e'er this calm should break, May even thy tears pass off so lightly; Like spring-showers, they'll only make The smiles that follow shine more brightly!

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all, And daily dooms some joy to death, O'er thee let years so gently fall,

They shall not crush one flower beneath!

As half in shade and half in sun,

This world along its path advances, May that side the sun's upon

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!

COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS.
French Air.

WHILE I touch the string,
Wreathe my brows with laurel,
For the tale I sing

Has, for once, a moral.
Common sense, one night,
Though not used to gambols,
Went out by moonlight,

With Genius on his rambles.
While I touch the string, etc.

Common Sense went on,

Many wise things saying, While the light that shone Soon sent Genius straying. One his eye ne'er raised

From the path before him,
T' other idly gazed

On each night-cloud o'er him.
While I touch the string, etc.

So they came at last

To a shady river; Common Sense soon passed,

Safe, as he doth ever; While the boy, whose look

Was in heaven that minute, 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, 'tis said,
Died of that cold river!

While I touch the string, etc.

THEN, FARE THEE WELL.
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 Jove! the pain of parting 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 could 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!

GAILY SOUNDS THE CASTANET.
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 whispered here!

When the dance and feast are done,
Arm in arm as home we stray,
How sweet to see the dawning sun
O'er her cheek's warm blushes play;
Then, then the farewell kiss,

And words whose parting tone
Lingers still in dreams of bliss,
That haunt young hearts alone.

LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY.
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 concealed they lie--

Love tracks them everywhere; In vain aloft they fly

Love shoots them flying there. But 'tis his joy most sweet,

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

And most he loves through snow
And give the trembler chase.
To trace those footsteps fair,
For then the boy doth know

None tracked before him there.

COME, CHASE THAT STARTING
TEAR AWAY.
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 darkening fast,

Are hours like these we snatch from
Fate-

The brightest and the last.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc. To gild our darkening 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 touched with light

Then lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

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'Twas Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up there;

Love knew it, and jumped 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 murmured 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.

SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY?

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!
'Tis like the returning bloom

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

And was blest-I 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,

'Twas giddy with too much light;