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o'er sea;

none, love,

see ;

'Tis time enough, when its flowers HERE, TAKE MY HEART.

decay, To think of the thorns of Sorrow;

HERE, take my heart, 'twill be safe in And Joy, if left on the stem to-day,

thy keeping,

While I go wandering o'er land and May wither before to-morrow. Then why, dearest ! so long

Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleepLet the sweet moments fly over ?

ing, Though now, blooming and young,

What need I care, so my heart is Thou hast me devoutly thy lover.

with thee? Yet time from both, in his silent lapse, If, in the race we are destined to run, Some treasure may steal or borrow;

love, Thy charms may be less in bloom,

They who have light hearts the perhaps,

happiest beOr I less in love to.morrow.

Happier still must be they who have
And that will be my case when mine

is with thee? WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH

No matter where I may now be a rover, DELAYS.

No matter how many bright eyes I When on the lip the sigh delays,

Should Venus' self come and ask me to As if ’twould linger there for ever ; When eyes would give the world to gaze,

love her, Yet still look down, and venture

I'd tell her I could not-my heart is

with thee ! never; When, though with fairest nymphs we There let it lie, growing fonder and rove,

fonderThere's one we dream of more than

And should Dame Fortune turn truant anyIf all this is not real love, 'Tis something wondrous like it, Why,— let her go—I've a treasure beFanny !

yond her,

As long as my heart's out at interest To think and ponder, when apart,

with thee ! On all we've got to say at meeting; And yet when near, with heart to heart,

Sit mute, and listen to their beating : OH! CALL IT BY SOME BETTER To see but one bright object move,

NAME.
The only moon, where stars are many-
If all this is not downright love, Oh! call it by some better name,
I prithee say what is, my Fanny ! For Friendship is too cold,

And love is now a worldly flame,
When Hope foretells the brightest, best, Whose shrine must be of gold ;
Though Reason

on the darkest And passion, like the sun at noon, reckons

That burns o'er all he sees, When Passion drives us to the west, Awhile as warm, will set as soon,Though prudence to the eastward Oh! call it none of these.

beckons ; When all turns round, below, above, Imagine something purer far,

And our own heads the most of any- More free from stain of clay, If this is not stark, staring love, Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are,

Then you and I are sages, Fanny. Yet human still as they :

to me,

And if thy lip for love like this Oh! come and court her hither,
No mortal word can frame,

Ye breezes mild and warm-
Go, ask of angels what it is,

One winter's gale would wither
And call it by that name !

So soft, so pure a form.
The fields where she was straying

Are blest with endless light,

With zephyrs always playing POOR WOUNDED HEART!

Through gardens always bright

Then, now, oh May! be sweeter Poor wounded heart!

Than e'er thou'st been before
Poor wounded heart, farewell !

Let sighs from roses meet her
Thy hour is come,

When she comes near our shore.
Thy hour of rest is come;
Thou soon wilt reach thy home,

Poor wounded heart, farewell ! The pain thou'lt feel in breaking

PALE BROKEN FLOWER! Less bitter far will be,

PALE broken flower! what art can now Than that long, deadly course of aching,

recover thee?

Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy This life has been to thee

breathPoor breaking heart, poor breaking

In vain the sunbeams seek
heart, farewell!

To warm that faded cheek!
There-broken heart,

The dews of heaven, that once like balm
Poor broken heart, farewell !

fell over thee, The pang is o'er

Now are but tears, to weep thy early The parting pang is o’er,

death Thou now wilt bleed no more,

So droops the maid whose lover hath Poor broken heart, farewell !

forsaken her; No rest for thee but dying,

Thrown from his arms, as lone and Like waves whose strife is past,

lost as thou; On death's cold shore thus early lying, In vain the smiles of all Thou sleep'st in peace at last

Like sunbeams round her fallPoor broken heart, poor broken heart, The only smile that could from death farewell !

awaken her, That smile, alas ! is gone to others

now.

THE EAST INDIAN. COME May, with all thy flowers.

Thy sweetly-scented thorn, Thy cooling evening showers,

Thy fragrant breath at morn : When May-flies haunt the willow,

When May-buds tempt the bee, Then o'er the shining billow

My love will come to me.

THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. BEING weary of love, I flew to the grove,

And chose me a tree of the fairest; Saying, “Pretty Rose-tree, thou my

mistress shalt be, I'll worship cach bud that thou bearest. For the hearts of this world are

hollow,

And fickle the smiles we follow;
And 'tis sweet, when all their witcheries

pall,
To have a pure love to fly to :

From Eastern Isles she's winging

Through watery wilds her way, And on her cheek is bringing

The bright sun's orient ray ;

So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mis- So blithe that even the slumbers tress shalt be,

Which hung around us seem gone, And the only one now I shall sigh to.' Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers When the beautiful hue of thy cheek

Again beguile them on. through the dew

Then, as each to his favourite sultana Of morning is bashfully peeping, In sleep is still breathing the sigh, 'Sweet tears,' I shall say (as I brush The name of some black-eyed Tirana them away),

Half breaks from our lips as we lie. * At least there's no art in this weep. Then, with morning's rosy twinkle, ing.'

Again we're

up
and

goneAlthough thou shouldst die to. While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle

morrow,
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow,

Beguiles the rough way on.
And the thorns of thy stem are not like

them With which hearts wound each other: TELL HER, OH TELL HER. So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be,

TELL her, oh tell her, the lute she left And I'll ne'er again sigh to another.

lying Beneath the green arbour, is still

lying there!

Breezes, like lovers, around it are sighSHINE OUT, STARS!

ing, SHINE out, Stars ! let heaven assemble But not a soft whisper replies to their Round us every festal ray,

prayer. Lights that move not, lights that trem- Tell her, oh tell her, the tree that, in

ble, All to grace this eve of May.

going, Let the flower-beds all lie waking,

Beside the green arbour she playfully And the odours shut up there,

set, From their downy prisons breaking,

Lovely as ever is blushing and blowing Fly abroad through sea and air.

And not a bright leaflet has fallen

from it yet. And would Love, too, bring his sweet

So while ness,

from that arbour for

away With our other joys to weave,

saken, Oh, what glory, what completeness,

The maiden is wandering, oh! let Then would crown this bright May True as the lute that no sighing can

her be Shine out, Stars ! let night assemble

waken, Round us every festal ray,

And blooming for ever unchanged as

the tree ! Lights that move not, lights that trem.

ble, To adorn this eve of May.

NIGHTS OF MUSIC.

Nights of music, nights of loving, THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF Lost too soon, remembered long, GRENADA.

When we went by moonlight roving,

Hearts all love and lips all song. Oh! the joys of our evening posada, When this faithful lute recorded

When, resting at close of the day, All my spirit felt to thee, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, And that smile the song rewarded,

Sit and sing the last sunshine away Worth whole years of fame to me!

eve!

Nights of song and nights of splendour, Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles,

Filled with joys too sweet to last- Through April's earliest day. Joys that, like your star-light tender, No, no—all life before us;

While they shone no shadow cast : Howe'er its lights may play, Though all other happy hours

Can shed no lustre o'er us From my fading memory fly,

Like that first April ray. Of that star-light, of those bowers,

Our summer sun may squander
Not a beam, a leaf, shall die !

A blaze serener, grander,
Our autumn beam may, like a dream

Of heaven, die calm away :
But no-

0-let life before us OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE.

Bring all the light it may, Our first young love resembles «Twill shed no lustre o'er us That short but brilliant ray,

Like that first trembling ray.

AN EVENING IN GREECE.

1827.

In thus connecting together a series of Songs by a thread of poetical narrative, the object has been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to join in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel themselves competent to take a part as singers.

The Island of Zia, where the scene is laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, and was the birthplace of Simonides, Bacchylides, and other eminent persons. An account of its present state may be found in the Travels of Dr. Clarke, who says, that it appeared to him to be the best cultivated of any of the Grecian Isles.'— Vol. vi. p. 174.

T. M. first Ebening.

Virgin of Heaven ! speed their way“The sky is bright-the breeze is fair,

Oh, speed their way,—the chosen

flow'r And the mainsail flowing, full and

Of Zia's youth, the hope and stay freeOur farewell word is woman's pray'r,

Of parents in their wintry hour, And the hope before us—Liberty !

The love of maidens, and the pride * Farewell, farewell.

Of the young, happy, blushing bride, To Greece we give our shining Whose nuptial wreath has not yet

diedblades, And our hearts to you, young Zian All, all are in that precious bark, Maids !

Which now, alas, no more is seen

Though every eye still turns to mark • The moon is in the heavens above,

The moonlight spot where it hath And the wind is on the foaming sea- been. Thus shines the star of woman's love On the glorious strife of Liberty!

Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, Farewell, farewell.

And mothers, your belov'd are To Greece we give our shining blades,

[Maids ! Now may you quench those signal fires, And our hearts to you, young

Zian

Whose light they long look'd back

upon Thus sung they from the bark, that From their dark deck-watching the

flame Turn'd to the sea its gallant prow,

As fast it faded from their view, Bearing within it hearts as brave, With thoughts, that, but for manly As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave; shame, And leaving on that islet's shore, Had made them droop and weep like

Where still the arewell beacons burn, you. Friends, that shall many a day look Home to your chambers ! home, and o'er

pray The long, dim sea for their return, For the bright coming of that day,

gone!

now

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