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University of Virginia Library

English melodies

By Charles Swain

Swain, Charles (1801-1874)

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[In a world of things ideal]

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I.

PART FIRST. SONGS AND LYRICAL PIECES

'TWAS COMING FROM THE VILLAGE CHURCH.

FORGET NOT THE UNHAPPY.

THE WOODBINE AND THE WILD ROSE.

I'VE GROWN SO NERVOUS LATELY.

NIGHT AND SILENCE.

BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES.

MY POOR OLD NURSE.

NATURE AND FASHION.

THE SUN OF LIFE.

THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.

A HOLLOW AND A WHISTLING WIND.

I CANNOT SAY THAT EVERY DAY.

THE WOOD RANGERS.

WHY SHOULD THY VOICE.

THE HEART'S MUSIC.

THE HAIL IS BEATING.

HE'S CROSSING O'ER THE BRIDGE, JANE.

THE FIRST COUPLE.

THE NIGHT COMES COLD.

COME, LET ME TAKE THY HAND IN MINE.

THE ROAR OF THE TEMPEST.

MORN ON THE MEADOW.

EVER COMPLAINING.

DOWN THE FROZEN VALLEY.

ENOUGH AND TO SPARE.

AFFECTION UNREQUITED.

THOU WERT NOT THERE.

THE FATHERLESS HOME.

THE ROSE THOU GAV'ST.

THE CUP OF REGRET.

WHEN YOUTH WAS OURS.

WHEN OTHERS SPOKE.

COME, TELL THOSE EYES.

TO THE WORLDLING.

THE WINTER OF LIFE.

OH! EARLY CAME.

THEY SAY I HAVE NO CAUSE FOR GRIEF.

FROM THE ORIEL WINDOW.

FIVE IN THE MORNING.

I CANNOT PRETEND TO SAY.

CHILDHOOD'S HEART.

TEARS OF GLADNESS.

'TIS BETTER THAT LIFE SHOULD BE MERRY.

LUTE AND TAMBOURINE.

THOU LOV'ST ME NOT.

WHAT'S THE USE OF EXISTENCE.

TO HIM WHO FOR SIX DAYS.

FAME.

THOUGH YE LIVE WITH SOME FOR YEARS.

WHAT NEED OF WORDS.

THE MOON HATH FILLED HER HORN.

THE ANGEL OF THE STORM.

OH! SOME WILL REMEMBER.

ABSENT FRIENDS.

IF THOU COULD'ST TEACH.

“WHERE PARTING IS NO MORE.”

IF THIS WORLD WE INHABIT.

THE FAIRY OF THE MOONBEAM.

EACH MAY SPEAK OF THE WORLD.

THOUGH THE LEAVES OF THE ROSE.

MANY HOPE THAT THE HEART.

THE WIFE'S RICHES.

BIRD AND RIVER.

THE LOVING HEART.

OH! FIRST TIME CAME.

TRUE LOVELINESS.

SPIRIT OF SONG.

2.

PART SECOND. SONGS AND LYRICAL PIECES

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179

FAME.

Some, with no place while they're living,
Take a proud place when life ends;
Some with no friend—kind and giving—
When they die have worlds of friends:
Oh! the longing—oh! the seeking—
For that love which never came;
Oh! the weary heart, heart breaking
For that mocking wreath of fame!

I could weep for those I knew not,
Saw not, ne'er on earth shall see;
I could blush for those that threw not
Some balm o'er their misery;
They whose genius, like a glory,
Scatter'd light where'er it came:
Woe, alas, the poet's story!
Woe the heart betray'd to fame!