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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.

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 love! 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,

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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 whisper'd here.

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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 lightThen lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING: Portuguese Air.

WHISP'RINGS, hoard by wakeful maids,

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

Hearts beating, at meeting,-
Tears starting, at parting;

Oh! sweet youth, how soon it fades!

Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!

HEAR ME BUT ONCE.

French Air.

HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,
In which our love lies cold and dead,
I count each 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?

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS!
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 forgot-
Nothing lost that life had given;
Or, if changed, but changed to what
Thou 'lt find her yet in Heaven!

No. III.

WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.
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.

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!

"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-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,
"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.

GO, THEN-T IS VAIN.
Sicilian Air..

Go, then 't is vain to hover

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

'Twas sweet-'t was false-'t is fled! 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.

THE CRYSTAL HUNTERS.
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.
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.

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 way.

And, though we find no treasure there, We bless the rose that shines so fair. O'er mountains, etc.

Short as the Persian's prayer, his prayer at close of

day,

Must be each vow of Love's repeating; Quick let him worship Beauty's precious rayEven while he kneels that ray is fleeting!

ROW GENTLY HERE
Venetian Air.

Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the tide,

That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom we glide.

Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes to see,

Oh! think what tales 't would have to tell of wand'ring youths like me!

Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for up I go,

To climb yon light balcony's height, while thou keep'st watch below.

Ah! did we take for heaven above but half such pains as we

Take day and night for woman's love, what angels we should be!

PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS!
Catalonian Air.

PEACE to the slumberers!
They lie on the battle plain,
With no shroud to cover them;

The dew and the summer rain
Are all that weep over them.
Vain was their bravery!

The fallen oak lies where it lay, Across the wintry river;

But brave hearts, once swept away, Are gone, alas! for ever.

Woe to the conqueror!

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs Of whom his sword bereft us,

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

OH! DAYS OF YOUTH.
French Air.

OH! 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 remain-
No, 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.

WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE.
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

skies,

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.

WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER.
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.

WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS?
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 buy my love-knots ?"

All at that sweet cry assembled ;

Some laugh'd, some blush'd, and some trembled.

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SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN.
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 Son,

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

No. IV.

NETS AND CAGES.
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,

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 wrough
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!

WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA
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.

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."

GO, NOW, AND DREAM.
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 splend Often will shine again, bright as she then didBut, ah! never more will the beam she saw burn In those happy eyes at your meeting return.

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