Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hark! from yonder holy pile
Wedding-bells are ringing;
White-rob'd forms, who crowd the aisle,
Solemn chaunts are singing.
See the happy bride appear—
Yet her footsteps falter;
Wherefore should she shed a tear,
At the sacred altar?
'Tis not that she wishes now
From her love to sever;
'Tis—that should he break his vow,
She is lost for ever.

II

Causeless are thy fears, fair bride,
Vain the doubts that grieve thee;
View him kneeling at thy side,
Think not he'll deceive thee.
Binding be his bridal oath,
And his love increasing;
And may Heav'n bestow on both
Pleasures never ceasing!
May that hand protect thee still,
Thine now fondly pressing;
And in ev'ry earthly ill,
Be thy guard and blessing!

III

Youth! the hope her bosom knows
Dies if you forsake her;
Never let her sigh for those
From whose arms you take her.
All her fondness ne'er forget,
E'en when youth is over;
Never let the wife regret
That she bless'd the lover.
May thy cares to her alone
Frankly be confided;
May the ties that make you one
Never be divided!

THEY MAY TALK OF SCENES THAT ARE BRIGHT AND FAIR.

[_]

(French Air.)

I

They may talk of scenes that are bright and fair,
Where summer seems always shining;
And art may spread its attractions there,
With the beauties of nature combining:
But a charm to me has never appear'd
In the most romantic places,
Till a cheerful voice was distinctly heard,
And I look'd upon friendly faces.
Of the smoothest lakes, and the greenest trees,
The eye must in time be weary;
With friends we can live without things like these,
For the prospect can never be dreary.

II

Whene'er we look back upon former days,
And the joys that once were dearest;
'Midst those which mem'ry oft surveys,
Our friends appear first and clearest:

We cease to remember the sweetest spot,
If it offer'd seclusion only;
Earth's loveliest bowers delight us not,
If those bowers are always lonely.
A scene may be fair, but we still need one
To be near to us while we view it:
So a garden may bloom, but it needs a sun
To give splendour and freshness to it.

III

To me those places have brightest seem'd,
Where cheerfulness most abounded,
Where eyes with pleasure have often beam'd,
And the voice of mirth resounded:
The simplest pleasures must welcome be
When a friendly hand prepares them;
Gay scenes can never be gay to me
Till a lov'd companion shares them;
For a charm to me has never appear'd
In the most romantic places,
Till a cheerful voice was distinctly heard,
And I look'd upon friendly faces.

THOUGH NOW WE PART.

[_]

(Unknown Air.)

I

Though now we part,
My sanguine heart
Looks forward to a brighter day,
When time shall heal
The wounds we feel,
And sorrow pass away.

Though deep regret
Must linger yet,
And darken half the days we see,
In all I do
I'll live for you,
And you must live for me.
And surely thus
Life offers us
Some comfort for the ills we've had;
For whilst we're dear
To others here,
We cannot be quite sad.

II

These days, alas!
Too soon will pass;
Yet, when I leave thee, ne'er repine;
Where'er I rove,
The links of love
Shall still as fondly twine.
Then murmur not,
For love has got
Elastic links that never part;
Go where we will,
They lengthen still,
And fasten round the heart.
Then, though we part,
My sanguine heart
Looks forward to a brighter day,
When time shall heal
The wounds we feel,
And sorrow pass away.

III

When grief destroys
Our fickle joys,
And throws a shade o'er all we touch,
To weary men
Hope offers then
Her anchor for a crutch:

And as we glide
Along life's tide,
And mourn the balmy breath that's gone,
Whene'er we fail,
Hope fills our sail,
And gently wafts us on.
Then, though we part,
My sanguine heart
Looks forward to a brighter day,
When time shall heal
The wounds we feel,
And sorrow pass away.

OH, DO NOT GIVE WAY TO THE SHADOWS OF CARE

[_]

(Tyrolese Air.)

I

Oh, do not give way to the shadows of care!
They will darken the dawn of your happiest hours;
Count the flowers which are strew'd in your path, but beware
How you reckon the thorns which are under the flowers.
The thorns which you tread on may wound you to-day,
But to-morrow may offer some balm for the wound;
And think not, when sunshine enlivens your way,
That embryo tempests are gathering round.

II

You blame me, and say that my spirits are light,
That I trifle with all the dark shadows you see;
But if in my prospect one portion is bright,
Dear Anna! it borrows its brightness from thee:
And when Care in his course pays a visit to us,
Your name ever proves an omnipotent spell;
And I banish despondency, arguing thus—
“Oh, I love one who loves me, and all will be well!”

III

Then look forward like me—I will never despond,
Till your lips shall have cancell'd our mutual vow;
There's a tranquil futurity smiling beyond
The light clouds that appear to encircle us now:
Though the mists of the morning the skies may obscure,
Though the sun for a while may with storms be o'ercast,
Yet at noon he'll shine forth more majestic and pure,
From the transient eclipse he unsullied has pass'd.

IN HOURS OF GRIEF, WHEN EV'RY THOUGHT RENEWS.

[_]

(Italian Air.)

I

In hours of grief, when ev'ry thought renews
A host of treasur'd joys we're doom'd to lose,
Hope fades away, her soothing smiles are vain,
Time seems to feel the weight of Sorrow's chain.
Why does Time move so slow in mournful years?
His wings are heavy, they are wet with tears:
But in life's sunshine, when with fond delay
We wish to linger in the flow'ry way,
His rapid plumage wafts him on so fast,
That, ere we feel him present, Time is past.

II

In Anna's absence, when each thought is gloom,
Save one dear thought of meetings yet to come,
Life like a polar winter wears away,
In ceaseless night, without one sunny ray;
I feel becalm'd upon a waveless sea,
Far from the happy scenes belov'd by me.
But Oh! in Anna's presence, when at last
Our joys atone for countless sorrows past,
Swift fly the hours, and, ere the anxious heart
Can feel that we have met—'tis time to part.

ISABEL.

[_]

(Spanish Air.)

I

Wake, dearest, wake! and, again united,
We'll rove by yonder sea;
And where our first vows of love were plighted
Our last farewell shall be.
There oft I've gaz'd on thy smiles delighted,
And there I'll part from thee,
Isabel!

II

Dark is my doom; and from thee I sever,
Whom I have lov'd alone:
'Twere cruel to link thy fate for ever
With sorrows like my own.
Go—smile on more lively friends, and never
Lament me when I'm gone,
Isabel!

III

And when at length in these lonely bowers
Some happier youth you see,
And you cull for him spring's sweetest flowers,
And he sings of love for thee;
When you laugh with him at these vanish'd hours,
O! tell him to love like me,
Isabel!

IV

May his harp in mirthful moments bless thee
With measures light and gay;
And if mournful thoughts should e'er oppress thee,
And cloud thy youthful day,
May he with unchanging love caress thee,
And kiss thy tears away,
Isabel!

YOUTH'S BOSOM, WHEN JOY FLOURISHES.

[_]

(French Air.)

I

Youth's bosom, when joy flourishes,
Feels as if it were made for him;
In the visions his heart nourishes
Nothing is dark or dim:
The only sounds he loves to hear
Are those which fill the soul with bliss;
Whilst smiling friends surround him here,
No world can equal this,
Thus wandering, still endeavouring
Never to think that mortals die,
Death seems like a blight, severing
Every human tie.

II

When one whom he lov'd perishes,
Former joys from his grasp are hurl'd;
Then the sorrowing heart cherishes
Thoughts of a purer world;
And pleasure loses all the spells
Which dazzle youth's delighted eye,
Whilst all he looks on sadly tells
Of pleasure long gone by.
No more we view death fearfully,
But like a path where danger lies,
When friends seek it we move cheerfully,
Following all we prize.

III

Where then are the tints hovering
Over the path of early years?
Where then is the veil covering
Sorrows and fruitless tears?

Those early tints disperse, and leave
The shades that end our childish mirth;
The veil is gone—and we perceive
The checquered scenes of earth.
Oh! when from the heart chillingly
Fall the blossoms of hope and love,
Then it shrinks from the world, willingly
Soaring to hopes above.

CAN WE BANISH THE PAST? CAN WE EVER RENOUNCE.

[_]

(Bohemian Air.)

I

Can we banish the past? can we ever renounce
The friends and the pleasures belov'd by us once?
Ah! no: we in sorrow seek comfort alone,
In all that reminds us of days that are gone.
Let us talk of her then; 'tis a theme ever dear;
And we'll whisper her name till we fancy her here:
Surrounded by objects that endear'd by her touch,
We can never lament her, or love her too much.

II

Come, sing me the songs which she often has heard,
The past will revive with each note and each word;
If the future can offer no brightness to us,
We may steal a sad comfort from memory thus.
There are some who shrink back from such records with dread;
It is wise, if they wish not to think of the dead:
But dearest in death, as in life she must be,
And all that she valued is valued by me!

III

O touch not her harp! it has ever remain'd,
Since the hour that she left it, unmov'd, unprofan'd;
Not a hand o'er its strings has been suffer'd to stray,
It would chase her last thrilling vibration away:

Then awake not its music, for Oh! there's a tone,
There's a spell which belongs to that one harp alone;
But the spirit that call'd forth its sweetness is fled,
And its cadence would sound like a voice from the dead.

IV

Oh, touch not her harp! 'tis my only delight,
And I hear its sad notes 'mid the silence of night;
Her voice seems to utter her favourite words,
And her finger's soft pressure seems still on the chords:
And I fancy her then, as she shone upon earth,
In the bloom of her beauty, the dawn of her worth;
Not a soul was more pure, not a form was more fair—
In the haunts of the lovely, the loveliest there!

V

In that city, which, whilst in its splendour it stood,
Vesuvius whelm'd in its withering flood,
The projects of life, and mirth's liveliest breath,
Were changed in an instant to darkness and death.
Yet the wine-cup still stands in the desolate halls,
And the names which in pastime were carv'd on the walls;
For the relics of life and enjoyment will last
Long after life's transient enjoyments are past.

VI

It was thus with my heart when the prospect was gay,
The hopes that were dear to me melted away;
Where joy seem'd to shine, I met nothing but gloom,
And the friend who had lov'd me was cold in her tomb:
Yet here I see all that her fancy preferr'd,
And this is the room where her accents were heard;
And whilst we are here, though of pleasure bereft,
We feel that the relics of pleasure are left.

“At Pompeii we entered what is called a coffee-house, the marks of cups being visible on the stone.”
“A barrack for soldiers, the columns of which are scribbled with their names and jests.”—

Travels in Italy, Greece, and the Ionian Isles, by H. W. Williams, Esq.

WHEN METEOR-LIGHTS DANCE O'ER THE FEN.

[_]

(German Air.)

I.

When meteor-lights dance o'er the fen,
I guide the twinkling ray;
I haunt the path of wand'ring men,
And lead their steps astray:
When lovers meet to whisper, then
I prattle all they say;
We vanish in some shady glen
Before the dawn of day.

We know the token which unites
Two hearts—no longer two;
We tell the tar on stormy nights
His absent love is true;
We fan the flame of beacon lights,
And all his hopes renew:
When maiden ladies dream of sprites,
We make the lamps burn blue.

II.

I make the pallid misers quake,
In golden chains who dwell;
Ere mortal hopes are hatch'd, I break
The unsubstantial shell:
Before the dawn, the dew I shake
From heath and purple bell;
When stolen kisses rustics take,
We make them kiss and tell.

We know the token which unites,
Two hearts—no longer two;
We tell the tar on stormy nights
His absent love is true;
We fan the flame of beacon lights,
And all his hopes renew:
When maiden ladies dream of sprites,
We make the lamps burn blue.

IT IS IN THE VOICE OF YEARS THAT ARE GONE.

[_]

(Swiss Air.)

I

“It is” in “the voice of years that are gone,”
In the tale that descends from father to son,
We enrol for ever the hero's name,
And circle his tomb with the laurel of fame.

II

His glory time's progress diminishes not,
His actions survive without stain, without blot;
The banner and trophy shall over him wave,
And the tears of his country shall water his grave.

III

His name is the beacon that shines from afar,
To encourage our sons 'mid the dangers of war;
To teach them to do as their fathers have done,
And to live in “the voice of years that are gone.”

IV

Hast thou gaz'd on the sea in the stillness of night,
When the moon o'er the waves throws a tremulous light;
When a long line of glory shines radiantly through
The expanse of the ocean's more shadowy blue?

V

Oh! as bright as the radiance that beams o'er the flood,
Is the course which is trod by the great and the good;
And as purely the light of their valour and worth
Shines forth 'mid the spiritless shadows of earth.

“It is the voice of years that are gone.”—Ossian.

IN HAPPIER HOURS.

[_]

(German Air.)

I

In happier hours,
My pleasure all day
Was to rove with the thoughtless,
Or dance with the gay;
Through life, as I sported,
No clouds I could see,
And the hearts that were gayest
Were dearest to me.
But now, in affliction,
How chang'd is the view!
Though gay hearts are many,
Sincere ones are few

II

Though some come around us
To laugh and to jest,
In sickness or sorrow
They shrink from the test;
Their love and their friendship
Endures for a while;
While fortune is smiling,
They also can smile;
Like flowers that wither
When daylight is gone,
And lose all their sweetness
When out of the sun.

III

But you in my sorrow
Still faithfully came,
And, though I am alter'd,
I find you the same;

Whene'er you come near me
No pleasure you find,
Yet always leave something
Like pleasure behind:
Like the night-blowing Cereus,
Which sheds its perfume,
And opens its blossoms
'Mid darkness and gloom.

TO THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD IN SORROW I CAME.

[_]

(Sicilian Air.)

I

To the home of my childhood in sorrow I came,
And I fondly expected to find it the same—
Full of sunshine and joy, as I thought it to be
In the days when the world was all sunshine to me:
Those scenes were unalter'd by time, and I stood
Looking down on the village half hid by the wood;
That happy abode, where I us'd to possess
A father's affection, a mother's caress.

II

To others those scenes are as bright as before,
But I can rejoice in their brightness no more;
I stand in the home of my childhood alone,
For the friends of my childhood are all of them gone:
'Twas joy shar'd by others—the laugh and the jest
That gave to this spot all the charms it possess'd;
And here the remembrance oppresses me most,
Of all I once valued—of all I have lost.

III

How vain was my pray'r, that the place might retain
Its delights—if I e'er should behold it again!
Those who made it delightful no longer are near,
And loneliness seems so unnatural here.

Thus he who in age in a ball-room has been,
Where in youth his gay spirit gave life to the scene,
Is sad, though the scene is unchang'd,—and to him
The dance must be cheerless, the brilliancy dim.

IV

Oh! where are the scenes, ever happy and new,
And the eye with felicity always in view,
And the juvenile thoughtlessness, laughing at fear,
Which reign'd in my bosom when last I was here?
And where are the hopes that I us'd to enjoy,
The hopes of a light-hearted spirited boy;
When the present and past had as little of gloom
As I then thought of finding in moments to come?

GO, MY OWN DARLING BOY.

[_]

(Irish Air.)

I

Go, my own darling boy,
Though to see thee depart
Blights the last bud of joy
In my desolate heart:
Thou art call'd to the field
Where thy father was slain;
And thy mother must yield
All she values again.

II

My child only thinks
Of the conqueror's wreath;
My coward heart shrinks
With forebodings of death;
Thy friends may be seen
Giving laurels to thee;
But branches as green
Will then wave over me.

III

The young may assuage
Half their parting regrets;
But care clings to age
Till it doats, and forgets:
The young who deplore,
May yet meet thee in joy;
But thy mother no more
Shall behold thee, dear boy!

THINK NOT OF THE FUTURE, THE PROSPECT IS UNCERTAIN.

[_]

(Welsh Air.)

I

Think not of the future, the prospect is uncertain;
Laugh away the present, while laughing hours remain:
Those who gaze too boldly through Time's mystic curtain
Soon will wish to close it, and dream of joy again.
I, like thee, was happy, and, on hope relying,
Thought the present pleasure might revive again;
But receive my counsel! Time is always flying,
Then laugh away the present, while laughing hours remain.

II

I have felt unkindness, keen as that which hurts thee;
I have met with friendship fickle as the wind;
Take what friendship offers ere its warmth deserts thee;
Well I know the kindest may not long be kind.
Would you waste the pleasure of the summer season,
Thinking that the winter must return again
If our summer's fleeting, surely that's a reason
For laughing off the present, while laughing hours remain.

THE DANCE IS DESERTED, THE REVELLERS GONE.

[_]

(Florentine Air.)

I

The dance is deserted, the revellers gone,
The gay scene is alter'd, its splendour is flown;
Like gardens, whose summer profusion of bloom
Too quickly is follow'd by winter and gloom:
Oh! where are the eyes that shone brightest to-night?
And where are the sweet lips that whisper'd delight?
Morn's tell-tale ray
Chas'd them away;
Eyes that have shone all night, shrink from the day.

II

And she, who the fairest was seen to advance,
All lightness and loveliness, leading the dance,
Beholds in her slumbers the youth she prefers,
Whose hand gave its tenderest pressure to hers;
Again sees those looks which her heart can explain
In visions he speaks, and she listens again.
Pleasure at last
Would vanish too fast,
If we could not dream over the bliss of the past.

III

Above her soft pillow, bright fairies are seen,
Who float in the air round the form of their queen;
Her light wand is wav'd o'er the slumberer's head,
And shades of past pleasures encircle her bed:
“Oh! bright,” cries the sprite, “are the visions I bring;
“I smile, and reality loses its sting:
“If you should miss
“Tangible bliss,
“You'll know the worth of a minute like this.

IV

“On the face of the ocean, in sunshine or shade,
“The tints imperceptibly brighten, or fade;
“Each varying cloud, or each glittering ray,
“Makes the face of the ocean more sombre, or gay:
“Some hearts change as quickly; the friend of the past,
“The dearest, the best, is forgotten at last;
“Faith which appears
“Hallow'd by tears
“Is lost in the sunshine of happier years.

V

“Yes! this is the world: like the changeable wind,
“Thus destiny sports with the hopes of mankind;
“And since so uncertain their joys when awake,
“We Fairies keep watch in the night for their sake;
“All daylight disasters we snatch from their view,
“While friends seem all constant, and lovers all true:
“And when they weep—
“Though wounds are deep,
“I with my wand bring a solace in sleep.”

O LEAVE ME TO MY SORROW.

[_]

(Irish Air.)

I

O leave me to my sorrow,
For my heart is oppress'd to-day;
O leave me, and to-morrow—
Dark shadows may pass away:
There's a time when all that grieves us
Is felt with a deeper gloom;
There's a time when hope deceives us,
And we dream of bright days to come,

II

In winter, from the mountain,
The stream like a torrent flows;
In summer, the same fountain
Is calm as a child's repose:
Thus, in grief, the first pangs wound us,
And tears of despair gush on;
Time brings forth new flowers around us,
And the tide of our grief is gone.

OH! CUPID'S BOW.

[_]

(Spanish Air.)

I

Oh! Cupid's bow
Is not to blame
For half the woe
Which bears his name:
Another child
Assumes his form;
He's just as wild,
And just as warm:
He copies each
Seductive wile,
His gentle speech,
His winning smile:
With subtle flame
He tips his darts,
Andt akes his aim
At female hearts;
His wings we view
As amply plum'd;
His blindness too
Is well assum'd:
That nymph is wise
Who cautious moves;
Flirtation's eyes
Oft mimick Love's.

II

When first he glides
To woman's feet,
Flirtation hides
His worst deceit;
His eyes are shut,
His wings conceal'd,
And nothing but
His smiles reveal'd:
The nymph awhile
But half approves,
Yet thinks the smile
Is really Love's:
She feels for one
Who never feels,
Whose heart is stone,
While hearts he steals;
And when he wins,
Ah! fickle swain,
He soon begins
The game again;
And while she sighs,
Her sadness proves,
Flirtation's eyes
Have mimick'd Love's.

COME LET US PASS THE SOCIAL GLASS.

[_]

(Swiss Air.)

I

Come, let us pass the social glass;
Each shall toast his fancy;
First let me name a black-ey'd lass,
Here's a health to Nancy!
Then fill up the sparkling cup,
Care's a pallid spectre;
This take for my fair one's sake,
And you'll find it nectar.

II

Now I can boast a merry toast
Fairer far than any;
Bright blue eyes delight me most:
Here's a health to Fanny!
Then fill up the sparkling cup,
Care's a pallid spectre;
This take for my fair one's sake,
And you'll find it nectar.

III

O I can prize no common eyes,
Black and blue may vary;
I know where expression lies:
Here's a health to Mary!
Then fill up the sparkling cup,
Care's a pallid spectre;
This take for my fair one's sake,
And you'll find it nectar.

“TOUJOURS LE MEME” WAS ENGRAV'D ON THE TOKEN.

[_]

(French Air.)

I

“Toujours le même” was engrav'd on the token,
The ring Rosa gave to the youth she preferr'd;
Sadly she gazed from her casement, heart-broken,
And wav'd a farewell,—but she spoke not a word.
He sigh'd adieu, and she thought sigh'd sincerely,
Whilst fondly he cried, “Oh remember my name;
“When far away, I shall love thee as dearly,
“As fondly, as faithfully, toujours le même!”

II

When he was gone, for a time he roved blindly
'Midst beauties, and sigh'd at the liveliest ball;
But when fair maids on his sadness look'd kindly,
The sad one had smiles to bestow on them all!
If on the past the gay youth e'er reflected,
New pleasures were sought to drown sorrow and shame,
Soon he forgot Rosa's smile, and neglected
Her ring—and its motto of toujours le même.

III

Rosa was sad; for a time she persuaded
Her fond heart that chance his return might defer;
But when the hopes she had cherish'd, all faded,
His coldness, his falsehood, were fatal to her.
Ah! is it strange while men wildly are roving,
Their thoughts and their vows are not ever the same?
Man loves again, and ne'er suffers from loving;
But woman, sweet woman, is toujours le même.

HARK, THE CONVENT BELLS ARE RINGING.

[_]

(Portuguese Air.)

I

Hark! the convent bells are ringing,
And the nuns are sweetly singing,
“Holy Virgin, hear our prayer;”
See the novice comes to sever
Ev'ry worldly tie for ever;
“Take, Oh take her to your care!”
Still radiant gems are shining,
Her jet-black locks entwining;
And her robes around her flowing
With sunny tint glowing,
But all her rays are dim;
“Splendours brighter
“Now invite her,
“While we chaunt our vesper hymn.”

II

Now the lovely maid is kneeling,
With uplifted eyes appealing;
“Holy Virgin, hear our prayer;”
See, the abbess bending o'er her,
Breathes the sacred vow before her,
“Take, Oh take her to your care!”
Her form no more possesses
Those dark luxuriant tresses;
The solemn words are spoken,
Each earthly link is broken,
And all earthly joys are dim;
“Splendours brighter
“Now invite her,
“While we chaunt our vesper hymn.”

WE MEET AGAIN, BUT NOT IN BLISS.

[_]

(Scotch Air.)

I

We meet again, but not in bliss,
As we have met in moments past;
One sad remembrance darkens this—
Too well we know it is the last:
You go to fight in foreign lands,
Far, far across the raging main;
Long years must pass before our hands
Can meet in friendship's grasp again.

II

But though we meet as altered men,
In form and strength, less young and gay;
Though eyes may beam less brightly then,
And joy from some may pass away;

Yet promise this before we part,
Though there is much which time may chill,
We'll meet unchang'd in warmth of heart,
And keep our friendship blooming still.

III

We'll talk of all the merry days,
The days so darkly closing thus;
We'll sing again our jovial lays,
Reviving thoughts most dear to us:
Our former jests shall gaily pass,
And bring back frolics—far remov'd;
Again we'll fill the social glass.
To all the Scottish maids we loved.

IV

Though some sad proofs the world affords,
That kindness often masks deceit;
Though many part with warmest words,
Yet change to coldness when they meet;
In me such change you ne'er shall view;
Our parting was no studied form;
The voice that warmly spoke adieu,
Shall speak a welcome just as warm.

V

But should you all at length return
In safety to your native shore,
And seek the friend you lov'd, and learn
His hand can welcome you no more:
Though pleasure's voice, and beauty's smile,
Around your happy homes may be;
E'en then perhaps you'll pause awhile,
And heave one secret sigh for me.

THERE CAME FROM THE WARS ON A JET BLACK STEED.

[_]

(Welsh Air.)

I

There came from the wars on a jet black steed,
A Knight with a snowy plume:
He flew o'er the heath like a captive freed
From a dungeon's dreary gloom.

II

And gaily he rode to his lordly home,—
But the towers were dark and dim;
And he heard no reply, when he called for some
Who were dearer than life to him.

III

The gate which was hurled from its ancient place
Lay mould'ring on the bare ground,
And the Knight rushed in, but saw not a trace
Of a friend, as he gazed around!

IV

He flew to the grove, where his mistress's lute
Had charmed him with love's sweet tone:
But 'twas desolate now, and the strings were mute,
And she he adored was gone.

V

The wreaths were all dead in Rosalie's bower,
And Rosalie's dove was lost;
And the winter's wind had withered each flower
On the myrtle she valued most.

VI

But a cypress grew where the myrtle's bloom
Once scented the morning air;
And under its shade was a marble tomb,
And Rosalie's name was there!

FLY FORWARD MY BOAT! BEAR ME OVER THE OCEAN.

[_]

(Scotch Air.)

I

Fly forward, my boat! bear me over the ocean,
To yonder luxuriant meadows and trees:
Compar'd with my wishes, how slow is your motion,
How feeble the tide, and how languid the breeze!
For on that sunny land there is one who sits viewing
Each cloud on the sky and each speck on the sea;
Who with love's eager glance ev'ry bark is pursuing:
Then onward—for Anna is watching for me!

II

Like beautiful birds in their fulness of feather.
Yon vessels unfurl all their sails to the wind;
Oh! would that we all could fly forward together!
But no, they leave my little boat far behind:
Yet, my light little boat! all those gay barks are chasing
Fame, fortune, or friends, far away o'er the sea;
They know not the charms of the isle they are passing,
They know not that Anna is watching for me.

III

One moment she wishes the wind would blow stronger,
Then thinks there is danger and wishes it less;
Now looks on the waves, and then fears to look longer,
And prays for my safety in silent distress.
Though the breeze freshens now, and will soon waft me over,
Though swiftly my boat cuts her way through the sea,
Too slowly she moves for the heart of a lover,
Too slowly for her who sits watching for me.

I'LL WATCH FOR THEE.

[_]

(German Air.)

I

I'll watch for thee,
From my lonely bower;
Come o'er the sea
At the twilight hour;
Come when the day
Passes away,
Come when the nightingale sings on the tree!
Come, and remove
Doubts of thy love;
But if thou lov'st me not—come not to me!

II

Why didst thou say
I was brighter far
Than the bright ray
Of the evening star?
Why didst thou come
Seeking my home,
Till I believ'd that thy love was sincere?
Oh! if thy vow
Wearies thee now
Though I may weep for thee,—never come here!

HAIL, SOURCE OF JOY! THY MAGIC TOUCH HATH GIVEN.

[_]

(Air from Haydn.)

I

Hail, source of joy! thy magic touch hath given
Spirit and eloquence to these mute chords:
Sweet Music, hail! thou wakest thoughts of heaven,
Linking unearthly sounds to earthly words.
Hearts own thy sway! when countless voices raise
Through echoing aisles the song of prayer and praise.

II

The merry dance, the “poetry of motion,”
Owes all its charm, its very birth, to thee;
Footsteps as light as foam upon the ocean,
Robb'd of thy measures, motionless would be.
Hearts own thy sway, when youthful beauty moves
And seems to float upon the tune she loves!

III

Thy soothing cadence lulls affliction's slumbers,
Thy nobler strains arouse the warrior's fire;
And well we know the pathos of thy numbers,
When little Cupid strings Apollo's lyre.
Hearts own thy sway, when lovers glide along
O'er waves whose ripple mingles with their song.

SHE NEVER BLAMED HIM—NEVER.

[_]

(Hindoostanee Air.)

I

She never blamed him—never,—
But received him when he came,
With a welcome kind as ever,
And she tried to look the same:
But vainly she dissembled,
For whene'er she tried to smile,
A tear unbidden trembled
In her blue eye all the while.

II

She knew that she was dying
And she dreaded not her doom;
She never thought of sighing
O'er her beauty's blighted bloom.
She knew her cheek was altered,
And she knew her eye was dim;
But her sweet voice only faltered,
When she spoke of losing him.

III

'Tis true that He had lured her
From the isle where she was born;
'Tis true He had inured her
To the cold world's cruel scorn;
But yet she never blamed him
For the anguish she had known;
And though she seldom named him
Yet she thought of Him alone.

IV

She sighed when he caress'd her,
For she knew that they must part;
She spoke not when he press'd her
To his young and panting heart:—
The banners waved around her,
And she heard the bugle's sound—
They pass'd—and strangers found her
Cold and lifeless on the ground.

YOU THINK I AM UNFEELING.

[_]

(Indian Air.)

I

You think I am unfeeling;
But ah! you do not mark the tear
That o'er my cheek is stealing,
When no gay friends are near:
As yet you've met me only
Where all their darker thoughts conceal;
But come when I am lonely,
And own that I can feel.
I scorn the ties which link me
To those who sport on folly's stream;
They know me not who think me
The trifler that I seem.

II

The flaming toy, that flashes
Like some pure planet of the skies,
Soon falls in shapeless ashes,
And of its splendour dies!
As heartless, and as hollow,
Is all the radiance we assume;
And oh! as surely follow
The coldness and the gloom.
Then all the clust'ring roses
We heaped together fade away;
And lonely night discloses
The thoughts we shun'd by day.

WHEN THE EYE OF BEAUTY CLOSES.

[_]

(Venetian Air.)

I

When the eye of Beauty closes,
When the weary are at rest;
When the infant's form reposes,
Lulled upon its mother's breast:
When the moonlight tips the billow,
With a wreath of silver foam;
Then I leave my sleepless pillow,
Then I think of thee and home.

II

Sleep may visit those who languish
Fading on a fevered bed;
Sleep may soothe the mourner's anguish
When a dream restores the dead:
But when Earth itself seems sleeping,
And the breathless summer sky;
Then my lonely vigils keeping,
Then I think of days gone by.

I HAVE SENT BACK EV'RY TOKEN.

[_]

(Italian Air.)

I

I have sent back ev'ry token,
Which you gave me long ago;
When those fond vows first were spoken,
Which are cancelled now I know:
I resign them, but to-morrow
Oh! how lonely shall I be!
They have soothed me in my sorrow;
They reminded me of Thee.

II

Take thy dear harp, 'twill forsake me
As all other joys depart:
But alas! thou canst not make me
Chace its music from my heart:
Tho' I lose it, and these numbers
Which I waken, are the last;
Fancy oft will bless my slumbers
With the sweet notes of the past.

IN HALLS OF PRIDE.

[_]

(Greek Air.)

I

In halls of pride fair Helen lived,
She was a chieftain's daughter;
Who with a friendly hand received,
The gallant Knights who sought her:
Each dawning day new conquests brought,
Each night fond vows were spoken;
To gain her favour champions fought;
And spears (and hearts) were broken.

II

But Helen heard their vows unmoved)
And wished their folly over;
She laughed at love—or if she loved,
It was some secret lover.
And every night alone she went,
Regardless of her pillow,
And stood upon the battlement,
And gazed upon the billow.

III

Why went she there, and who was He
Whose boat lay on the water?
What came he for? it could not be
To woo the Chieftain's daughter!
Oh! no! she surely went to watch
The stars with fond devotion;
And he, as surely came to catch
The fishes in the ocean.

IV

It may be so—yet strange to say,
The Knights were disconcerted,
When seeking her at dawn one day,
The chamber was deserted!
(Of course a good girl ne'er elopes;)
Yet Helen has bereft them
Of sanguine hopes,
And a ladder of ropes
Is all that she has left them!

GO! MAY'ST THOU BE HAPPY.

[_]

(Bavarian Air.)

I

Go! may'st thou be happy,
Though sadly we part;
In life's early summer
Grief breaks not the heart;

The ills that assail us
As speedily pass
As shades o'er a mirror,
Which stain not the glass.

II

Reject not my token,
Though soon thou wilt be
Far over the billows,
Forgetful of me;
To me, and me only,
'Tis anguish to part.
For thou wilt meet kindness
Wherever thou art.

III

And oh! when beholding
A different scene,
When leaves fall around you
That used to be green;
May winter be clothed in
His loveliest form,
With all of his grandeur,
But none of his storm,

THERE'S MUSIC AND MIRTH ON THE OCEAN.

[_]

(Spanish Air.)

I

There's music and mirth on the ocean;
Each gaily trimm'd bark is in motion;
But mine in the race shall be fleetest,
The burthen it bears is the sweetest;
Then fear not, for every billow
Is safe as an infant's soft pillow:
Come! come! the Regatta is gay, Love,
The Rosa shall triumph to-day, Love.

II

No cloud on the sky shall alarm thee,
No wave on the water shall harm thee;
The course of my bark shall be ever
As smooth as the flow of a river;
The soft air of summer shall move us,
And fan the gay banner above us!
Come! come! the Regatta is gay, Love
The Rosa shall triumph to-day, Love.

III

If other proud vessels should chace us,
They'd find it not easy to pass us;
The helmsman forgetting his duty,
Will pause, when he looks on thy beauty;
The charm of thy voice shall mislead him,
The spell of thy smile shall impede him;
Come! come! the Regatta is gay, Love,
The Rosa shall triumph to-day, Love.

WEEP NOT AROUND ME.

[_]

(German Air.)

I

Weep not around me, my sorrows are over,
Gay as a bridal my triumph shall be;
See they are raising a pile for my Lover!
See they are spreading a pillow for me!
Look on my Hero in darkness reposing.
Sad are his slumbers of Ada bereft;
Oh! when the bright flames are over us closing,
Think not I'll sigh for the world I have left.

II

They may be pitied, whose season of mourning
Lingers around them still hopelessly dim;
I shall exult, when yon beacon light burning,
Circles my Amir, and shrouds me with him.

Love in the west, they say, speedily changes,
Losing its lustre like yon setting star;
Love that is pledged on the banks of the Ganges,
Boasts a charm'd spell, like my precious Zinar.

III

Sing me your loud songs of triumph, and tell me
No more of weak fear, for I know not the word:
Shout round my couch, for should torture compel me
To utter one groan, it must never be heard.
Soon shall this body be mouldering ashes,
But my free soul shall be wafted above;
When o'er the valley the fading light flashes
Ada shall rest on the bosom of Love.

I'LL SING TO THEE THE FONDEST LAYS.

[_]

(Scotch Air.)

I

I'll sing to thee the fondest lays
That blue-eyed maiden ever heard;
I'll glean from songs of other days
Each tender thought, each gentle word:
I will not let my fancy rove
To themes that charm the worldly throng:
Oh! no! for fairy dreams of love
And nought but love shall grace my song.

II

I'll twine for thee the fairest flowers
That bloom upon the moss-rose tree;
I'll climb the hills, I'll search the bowers,
To find a garland fit for thee;
I'll breathe to thee each fervent vow
That ever pledged a lover's truth,
And swear the tie that links us now
Shall long outlive the smiles of youth.

III

I'll build for thee the lightest bark
That ever sailed upon the sea;
And when the troubled waves are dark,
My faithful arms shall shelter thee:
To glory's track,—or fortune's smile,
Let other vessels proudly float,
To some secluded sunny isle
I'll gaily steer my precious boat.

HARK! HARK! I HEAR A DISTANT DRUM.

[_]

(Troubadour Air.)

I

Hark! hark! I hear a distant drum;—
The tramp of the steeds,—they come! they come!
With weapons bright and banners gay,
They pass along in proud array;
We view the pomp of war alone,
Its gloom is gone:
And sweet to-night their dreams will be
Of Love, and Joy, and Victory.

II

But yon fair girl, in mute despair,
Looks round for one—who is not there;
She watches them till all are past,
And scarce believes she sees the last.
She lingers still—yet all are gone—
She stands alone!
Her Edward comes not,—where is he?
Alas! can this be Victory?

100

OH! NO! WE NEVER MENTION HER.

[_]

(French Air.)

I

Oh! no! we never mention her,
Her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak
That once familiar word:
From sport to sport they hurry me
To banish my regret;
And when they win a smile from me,
They think that I forget.

II

They bid me seek in change of scene
The charms that others see;
But were I in a foreign land,
They'd find no change in me:
'Tis true that I behold no more
The valley where we met;
I do not see the hawthorn tree—
But how can I forget?

III

For oh! there are so many things
Recall the past to me;—
The breeze upon the sunny hills,
The billows of the sea;
The rosy tint that decks the sky
Before the sun is set;—
Ay, every leaf I look upon
Forbids me to forget.

IV

They tell me she is happy now,
The gayest of the gay;
They hint that she forgets me,
But heed not what they say:
Like me perhaps she struggles with
Each feeling of regret;
But if she loves as I have loved,
She never can forget.

102

I'M SADDEST WHEN I SING.

I

You think I have a merry heart,
Because my songs are gay,
But oh! they all were taught to me
By Friends now far away:
The Bird retains his silver note,
Though bondage chains his wing;
His song is not a happy one—
I'm saddest when I sing!

II

I heard them first in that sweet home
I never more shall see,
And now each song of joy, has got
A plaintive turn for me!
Alas 'tis vain in winter time
To mock the songs of spring,
Each note recalls some withered leaf—
I'm saddest when I sing!

III

Of all the Friends I used to love
My harp remains alone,
Its faithful voice still seems to be
An echo of my own:
My tears when I bend over it
Will fall upon its string,
Yet those who hear me, little think
I'm saddest when I sing!

103

LOVE ADIEU!

I

Once when you tried to vex and grieve me,
Pride for a wonder gave me aid,
And when you said “I wish you'd leave me,”
I to your great surprise—obey'd!
Then to the dim abodes of Learning
In a fine frenzy, off I flew,
And I exclaimed while sagely turning
Classical pages—“Love adieu!”

II

Music I thought my Grief might soften,
But the same songs were still my choice,
Which I had heard you sing so often—
And they were vile without your voice.
Painting I tried,—my sketch for ever
Ended in something too like you;
Charmed with my own work, oh! I never
Could say distinctly “Love adieu.”

III

Then on the stars intently staring,
I with my glass explored the skies;
But in my mind I was comparing
Those orbs of light, with your bright eyes:
So I forsook the shades of Science,
And to my fair Enchantress flew,
'Tis ever thus with Man's defiance,
When he dare utter “Love adieu.”

GOD OF THE FATHERLESS.

I

When the sun gloriously comes forth from the ocean,
Making earth beautiful, chasing shadows away;
Thus do we offer Thee our prayer of devotion,—
God of the Fatherless!—guide us—guard us to-day!

104

II

When o'er the western hills the sunset tints blending,
Show us how quickly fades all that on earth seems bright,
Then to unfading realms our prayer is ascending,—
God of the Fatherless!—guide us—guard us to-night!

FLY AWAY, POOR CAPTIVE BIRD.

I

Fly away!
Poor captive bird
Too long I've heard
Thy notes of woe,
I'll let thee go,
'Tis hard to sing
With fetter'd wing
Then fly away!

II

Fly away!
I've known the gloom
Of such a doom;
I've seen the stars
Through prison bars,
And prayed to be
At liberty!
Then fly away!

III

Fly away!
'Tis sad to dwell
In such a cell;
To heave a sigh
For yon blue sky,
For hills, and groves,
And early loves;
Then fly away.

105

BEHOLD THE SHIPS.

I

Behold the ships that proudly leave
The shelter of the shore;
The port of safety and of peace,
They ne'er may enter more:
And yet they go exultingly
With sails and flags unfurl'd;
And rush to brave the elements,
Like youth to brave the world!

II

Alas how like! some few are made
To sport on summer seas,
The buffets that they meet, are but
A billow and a breeze:
But some sail under darker skies
In tempest and in strife;
Like mortals who must struggle through
The darker scenes of life!

I'LL FIND YOU OUT.

I

We meet to-night, I do not ask
What gay costume you mean to wear,
Your eyes will peep through veil and mask,
And tell who lurks in ambush there.
Ay, close your eyes, and stain your cheek,
Do what you will to make me doubt—
You must be dumb, for should you speak
One little word, I'll find you out!

106

II

If as a Savoyard you trip,
Your pretty foot my clue will be.
In Gypsy rags, your fingers' tip
Will point my own love out to me:
Beneath a Nun's monastic veil
I know your ruby lip will pout;
Disguise with you is sure to fail,
Wear what you will, I'll find you out!

WHERE IS HE NOW!

I

Where is He now? His boat lies on the shore,
Torn is her sail, her banner flies no more;
Oft on that deck we've seen his manly form,
Spurning the wave, exulting in the storm!
Where is He now?

II

Where is He now? His war-steed roams the plain,
Loose o'er his neck is thrown the useless rein;
Mute is the tongue that urged that courser's flight,
Cold is the heart once fearless in the fight!
Where is He now?

III

Where is He now? His sword is in its sheath,
See where it lies beside his laurel wreath;
Helmet and plume hang idle on the wall!
Hush'd is his harp, and desolate his hall!
Where is He now?

107

I WILL LOVE YOU.

I

I will love you! that is saying
I'll be all you most approve,
Ev'ry deed of mine, obeying
Ev'ry wish of Him I love;
Speak not, for your eyes will guide me,
And the payment that I seek,
Is that you will sit beside me
With a smile upon your cheek.

II

I will love you! round you sporting
When I know your heart's at ease,
Proudly for your sake exerting
Ev'ry talent that can please:
And as surely will I watch you
In the moment of alarm,
Oh! how happy could I snatch you
From a woe, with this weak arm.

THE DESERTED BRIDE.

I

Am I then so soon deserted,
Is my boasted beauty gone?
Was I sought, and was I courted
For my gold alone?
Poorer maids my grief behold!
Love will not be bought with gold.

II

In my home the lover found me,
Then these eyes had ne'er been dim
Many friends were smiling round me,
Yet I welcomed Him!
Oh! how could you change such bliss,
False one! to a doom like this?

108

III

Yet I loved you, and I swerve not
From the love I once profess;
Though such duty you deserve not,
I'll not love you less:
No, I came with my free will,
And alas! I love you still!

IV

Take my gold,—ah, could I weave it
Into Love's own precious chain;
Trust me I would freely give it
Were it mine again.
Faithful Love forgets its pride,
Come to your deserted Bride.

THE LADY'S PAGE.

I

I'll hang up my harp on a willow tree,
And I'll go to the wars again;
For a peaceful home has no charm for me,
And a battle-field no pain;
The Lady I serve will soon be a bride,
With a diadem on her brow;
Ah! why did she flatter my boyish pride?
She is going to leave me now.

II

She took me away from a warlike Lord,
And she gave me a silken suit;
And I thought no more of my Master's sword,
When I danced to my Lady's lute;
And she seemed to think me a Boy above
Her pages of low degree:
Oh had I but loved with a boyish love,
It would have been well for me.

109

III

In my breast I will hide my selfish care,
I will flush my pale cheek with wine;
And when smiles shall welcome the Bridal pair,
I will hasten to give them mine.
I will laugh and sing, though my heart may bleed,
I will dance to the Bridal train;
And if I survive it, I'll mount my steed,
And I'll rush to the wars again.

O SMILE NOT UPON ME.

I

Oh smile not upon me, a frown were less cold
Than a smile so unlike those you gave me of old;
Thy love was my treasure, I mourn its decay—
Sighing!—Sighing!—day after day.

II

You speak to me kindly, and strive to conceal
By the warmth of your words, all the languor you feel;
But I see that in thought you are roving away—
Sighing!—Sighing!—day after day.

III

Go smile upon others and leave me to die,
I shall rest in the tomb where my forefathers lie;
Where once I was happy, 'tis torture to stray—
Sighing!—Sighing!—day after day.

IV

I sit by the river and watch the cascade,
Ah!—once there was mirth in the murmur it made;
But sorrowful now seems the dash of its spray—
Sighing!—Sighing!—day after day.

110

A SOLDIER LAD.

I

A Soldier Lad my Love shall be,
He'll frown on the foe, but He'll smile on me.
I'll deck his helm with plumage light.
I'll make his shield and buckler bright;
And when the trump he hears,
He shall not see my tears.

II

A Soldier Lad my Love shall be,
He'll frown on the foe, but He'll smile on me,
And when I hear the fife and drum,
When all exclaim “They come! They come!”
I know I shall not speak,—
The voice of joy is weak!

III

A Soldier Lad my Love shall be,
He'll frown on the foe, but He'll smile on me,
I'll make him tell of battles fought,
Yet shudder at the tale I sought;
His hand will press my own,
To prove the danger gone.