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,
And now bursts 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 noon-tide come, when he
Into his bark leapt smilingly,
And left poor Hope behind.
"I go," said Love, "to sail awhile
"Across this sunny main;"
And then so sweet, his parting smile,
That Hope, who never dreamt 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 bestowed;
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 flow 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 naught beyond.
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
Thro' twilight's dim delay,
The cold remains of lustre gone,
Of fire long past away.
MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING 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;
Tho' 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 EVEN WHEN FIRST WE LOVED.
(CASHMERIAN AIR.)
Oh, no—not even 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.
Altho' 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 rov'st;
May life be for thee one summer's day,
And all that thou wishest and all that thou lov'st
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,
Tho' 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 set 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 past,
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 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, even 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 nurst mid vain regrets:
Like winter suns, it rose in tears,
Like them in tears it sets,
Dear love!
Like them in tears it sets.
GAYLY SOUNDS THE CASTANET.
(MALTESE AIR.)
Gayly 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
Thro' all that maze of mirth,
Led by light from eyes we love
Beyond all eyes on earth.
Then, the joyous banquet spread
On the cool and fragrant ground,
With heaven's bright sparklers overhead,
And still brighter sparkling round.
Oh, then, how sweet to say
Into some loved one's ear,
Thoughts reserved thro' 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, too, the farewell kiss—
The 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 every where;
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 give the trembler chase.
And if, thro' virgin snow,
He tracks her footsteps fair,
How sweet for Love to know
None went 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 the deepening gloom, if Heaven
But one bright hour allow,
Oh, think that one bright hour is given,
In all its splendor, 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!
Come, chase that starting tear, etc.
JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING!
(PORTUGUESE AIR.)
Whisperings, heard by wakeful maids,
To whom the night-stars guide us;
Stolen walks thro' 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!
Wanderings far away from home,
With life all new before us;
Greetings warm, when home we come,
From hearts whose prayers watched o'er us.
Tears starting,
At parting;
Hearts beating,
At meeting;
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some!
To some, how bright and 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 flattering 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 thro' many a day?
Hear me but once, etc.
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;—
'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flowerets 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
The fountain that 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.
This garland he now wears night and day;
And, tho' it all sunny appears
With Pleasure's own light, 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 today?
There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air,
Too bright, too high, too wild, 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.
And, tho' 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.
BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS.
(WELSH AIR.)
Bright be thy dreams—may all thy weeping
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping.
May those by death or seas removed,
The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee,
All thou hast 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 as she was—no charm forgot—
No lustre lost that life had given;
Or, if changed, but changed to what
Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven!
GO, THEN—'TIS VAIN.
(SICILIAN AIR.)
Go, then—'tis vain to hover
Thus round a hope that's dead;
At length my dream is over;
'Twas sweet—'twas false—'tis fled!
Farewell! since naught it moves thee,
Such truth as mine to see—
Some one, who far less loves thee,
Perhaps more blest 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, tho' far less tender,
May be more blest than I.
THE CRYSTAL-HUNTERS.
(SWISS AIR.)
O'er mountains bright
With snow and light,
We Crystal-Hunters speed along;
While rocks and caves,
And icy wares,
Each instant echo to our song;
And, when we meet with store 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.
Not half so oft the lover dreams
Of sparkles from his lady's eyes,
As we of those refreshing gleams
That tell where deep the crystal lies;
Tho', next to crystal, we too grant,
That ladies' eyes may most enchant.
O'er mountains bright, etc.
Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose
The golden sunset leaves its ray,
So like a gem the floweret glows,
We hither bend our headlong way;
And, tho' we find no treasure there,
We bless the rose that shines so fair.
O'er mountains bright
With snow and light,
We Crystal-Hunters speed along;
While rocks and caves,
And icy waves,
Each instant echo to our song,
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 'twould have to tell
Of wandering 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.
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,
Telling of joys that yet remain—
No, never more can this life bring me
One joy that equals 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;
'Tis not that now no joys remain;
Oh, 'tis 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, blest my sight,
Oh what a vision then came o'er me!
Long years of love, of calm and pure delight,
Seemed in that smile to pass before me.
Ne'er did the peasant 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?
Ah! woman's faith is like her brightness—
Fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers,
Or aught that's known for grace and lightness.
Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of day,
Should be each vow of Love's repeating;
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray—
Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting!
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.
Peace to the slumberers!
Vain was their bravery!—
The fallen oak lies where it lay,
Across the wintry river;
But brave hearts, once swept away,
Are gone, alas! forever.
Vain was their bravery!
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!
Woe to the conqueror!
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 blest thee then.
WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS?
(PORTUGUESE AIR.)
Hymen, late, his love-knots selling,
Called 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 dreamt 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 laughed, some blushed, and some trembled.
"Here are knots," said Hymen, taking
Some loose flowers, "of Love's own making;
"Here are gold ones—you may trust 'em"—
(These, of course, found ready custom).
"Come, buy my love-knots!
"Come, buy my love-knots!
"Some are labelled 'Knots to tie men—
"Love the maker—Bought of Hymen.'"
Scarce their bargains were completed,
When the nymphs all cried, "We're cheated!
"See these flowers—they're drooping sadly;
"This gold-knot, too, ties but badly—
"Who'd buy such love-knots?
"Who'd buy such love-knots?
"Even this tie, with Love's name round it—
"All a sham—He never bound it."
Love, who saw the whole proceeding,
Would have laughed, but for good breeding;
While Old Hymen, who was used to
Cries like that these dames gave loose to—
"Take back our love-knots!
"Take back our love-knots!"
Coolly said, "There's no returning
"Wares on Hymen's hands—Good morning!"
SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN.
(TO AN AIR SUNG AT ROME, ON CHRISTMAS EVE.)
See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking
O'er our sight,
And Earth from sin awaking,
Hails the light!
See those groups of angels, winging
From the realms above,
On their brows, from Eden, bringing
Wreaths of Hope and Love.
Hark, their hymns of glory pealing
Thro' the air,
To mortal ears revealing
Who lies there!
In that dwelling, dark and lowly,
Sleeps the Heavenly Son,
He, whose home's above,—the Holy,
Ever Holy One!
NETS AND CAGES.[1]
(SWEDISH AIR.)
Come, listen to my story, while
Your needle 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 learned to frame,
That none, in all our vales and groves,
E'er caught so much small game:
But gentle Sue, less given to roam,
While Cloe's nets were taking
Such lots of Loves, sat still at home,
One little Love-cage making.
Come, listen, maids, etc.
Much Cloe laughed 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, tho' she charm'd into them
New game each hour, the youngest Love
Was able to break thro' them.
Come, listen, maids, etc.
Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought
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, tho 'tis 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,
And not, like Cloe, sigh!
[1] Suggested by the following remark of Swift's;—"The reason why so few marriages are happy, is, because young ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages."
WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA.
(VENETIAN AIR.)
When thro' 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 tho' 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,
"'Twill waft thee safe over
"Yon silent Lagoon."
GO, NOW, AND DREAM.
(SICILIAN AIR.)
Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber—
Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number.
Of Pain's bitter draught the flavor ne'er flies,
While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies.
Go, then, and dream, etc.
That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendid,
Often will shine again, bright as she then did—
But, never more will the beam she saw burn
In those happy eyes, at your meeting, return.
Go, then, and dream, etc.
TAKE HENCE THE BOWL.
(NEAPOLITAN AIR.)
Take hence the bowl;—tho' beaming
Brightly as bowl e'er shone,
Oh, it but sets me dreaming
Of happy days now gone.
There, in its clear reflection,
As in a wizard's glass,
Lost hopes and dead affection,
Like shades, before me pass.
Each cup I drain brings hither
Some scene of bliss gone by;—
Bright lips too bright to wither,
Warm hearts too warm to die.
Till, as the dream comes o'er me
Of those long vanished years,
Alas, the wine before me
Seems turning all to tears!
FAREWELL, THERESA!
(VENETIAN AIR.)
Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that over
Heaven's pale night-star gathering we see,
Will scarce from that pure orb have past ere thy lover
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.
Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee,
Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow;
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee;
Oh, think how changed, love, how changed art thou now!
But here I free thee: like one awaking
From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell;
'Tis over—the moon, too, her bondage is breaking—
Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!
HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS.
(SAVOYARD AIR.)
Oft, when the watching stars grow pale,
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale
I from my casement lean.
"Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!"
Never to mortal ear
Could words, tho' warm they be,
Speak Passion's language half so clear
As do those notes to me!
Then quick my own light lute I seek,
And strike the chords with loudest swell;
And, tho' they naught to others speak,
He knows their language well.
"I come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"I come, my love!—thine, thine till break of day."
Oh, weak the power of words,
The hues of painting dim
Compared to what those simple chords
Then say and paint to him!
WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE.
(GERMAN AIR.)
When the first summer bee
O'er the young rose shall hover,
Then, like that gay rover,
I'll come to thee.
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim—
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him!
When the first summer bee, etc.
Then, to every bright tree
In the garden he'll wander;
While I, oh, much fonder,
Will stay with thee.
In search of new sweetness thro' thousands he'll run,
While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.
Then, to every bright tree, etc.
THO' 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.
(FRENCH AIR.)
Tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er,
Yet, even in a dream, to be blest
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.
The bosom that opes
With earliest hopes,
The soonest finds those hopes untrue:
As flowers that first
In spring-time burst
The earliest wither too!
Ay—'tis all but a dream, etc.
Tho' by friendship we oft are deceived,
And find love's sunshine soon o'ercast,
Yet friendship will still be believed.
And love trusted on to the last.
The web 'mong the leaves
The spider weaves
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men;
Tho' often she sees
'Tis broke by the breeze,
She spins the bright tissue again.
Ay—'tis all but a dream, etc.
WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING.
(ITALIAN AIR.)
When the wine-cup is smiling before us,
And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true,
Then the sky of this life opens o'er us,
And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue.
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,
We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus;
For him but two bright eyes were shining—
See, what numbers are sparkling for us!
When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams,
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,
To disturb even a saint from his dreams.
Yet, tho' life like a river is flowing,
I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on,
So the grape on its bank is still growing,
And Love lights the waves as they run.
WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME?
(NEAPOLITAN AIR.)
Where shall we bury our shame?
Where, in what desolate place,
Hide the last wreck of a name
Broken and stained by disgrace?
Death may dissever the chain,
Oppression will cease when we're gone;
But the dishonor, the stain,
Die as we may, will live on.
Was it for this we sent out
Liberty's cry from our shore?
Was it for this that her shout
Thrilled to the world's very core?
Thus to live cowards and slaves!—
Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead,
Do you not, even in your graves,
Shudder, as o'er you we tread?
NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY SCHOOLS.
(MAHRATTA AIR.)
Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools;
Give me the sage who's able
To draw his moral thoughts and rules
From the study of the table;—
Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass
This world and all that's in it.
From the bumper that but crowns his glass,
And is gone again next minute!
The diamond sleeps within the mine,
The pearl beneath the water;
While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine.
The grape's own rosy daughter.
And none can prize her charms like him,
Oh, none like him obtain her,
Who thus can, like Leander, swim
Thro' sparkling floods to gain her!
HERE SLEEPS THE BARD.
(HIGHLAND AIR.)
Here sleeps the Bard who knew so well
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell;
Whether its music rolled like torrents near.
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear.
Sleep, sleep, mute bard; alike unheeded now
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow;—
That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay;
That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away!
DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING.
Do not say that life is waning,
Or that hope's sweet day is set;
While I've thee and love remaining,
Life is in the horizon yet.
Do not think those charms are flying,
Tho' thy roses fade and fall;
Beauty hath a grace undying,
Which in thee survives them all.
Not for charms, the newest, brightest,
That on other cheeks may shine,
Would I change the least, the slightest.
That is lingering now o'er thine.
THE GAZELLE.
Dost thou not hear the silver bell,
Thro' yonder lime-trees ringing?
'Tis my lady's light gazelle;
To me her love thoughts bringing,—
All the while that silver bell
Around his dark neck ringing.
See, in his mouth he bears a wreath,
My love hath kist in tying;
Oh, what tender thoughts beneath
Those silent flowers are lying,—
Hid within the mystic wreath,
My love hath kist in trying!
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest.
Who thus hath breathed her soul to me.
In every leaf thou bearest;
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her the fairest!
Hail ye living, speaking flowers,
That breathe of her who bound ye;
Oh, 'twas not in fields, or bowers;
'Twas on her lips, she found ye;—
Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers,
'Twas on her lips she found ye.
NO—LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.
No—leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,
To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead,
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No—leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light;
But now thou comest like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,
When wrecked and lost his bark before him lies!
No—leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
Since youth, and love, and hope have past away.
WHERE ARE THE VISIONS.
"Where are the visions that round me once hovered,
"Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone;
"Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered,
"And voices that Music might take for her own?"
Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me,
Heard me say, "Where are those visions, oh where?"
And pointing his wand to the sunset before me,
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, "There."
Fondly I looked, when the wizard had spoken,
And there, mid the dim-shining ruins of day,
Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken,
The last golden fragments of hope melt away.
WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY.
Wind thy horn, my hunter boy,
And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs;
Hunting is the hero's joy,
Till war his nobler game supplies.
Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet,
While hunters shout and the, woods repeat,
Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!
Wind again thy cheerful horn,
Till echo, faint with answering, dies:
Burn, bright torches, burn till morn,
And lead us where the wild boar lies.
Hark! the cry, "He's found, he's found,"
While hill and valley our shouts resound.
Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!
OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION.
Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel
The blight that this world o'er the warmest will steal:
While the faith of all round us is fading or past,
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last.
Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to weep,
As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep;
For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast,
White the love that is wakeful lives on to the last.
And tho', as Time gathers his clouds o'er our head,
A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread,
Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast,
So that Love's softened light may shine thro' to the last.
SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER.
"Slumber, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st
"My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st."
Thus sung I to a maiden,
Who slept one summer's day,
And, like a flower overladen
With too much sunshine, lay.
Slumber, oh slumber, etc.
"Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks;
"If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks."
Thus sing I, while, awaking,
She murmurs words that seem
As if her lips were taking
Farewell of some sweet dream.
Breathe not, oh breathe not, etc.
BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER.
Bring the bright garlands hither,
Ere yet a leaf is dying;
If so soon they must wither.
Ours be their last sweet sighing.
Hark, that low dismal chime!
'Tis the dreary voice of Time.
Oh, bring beauty, bring roses,
Bring all that yet is ours;
Let life's day, as it closes,
Shine to the last thro' flowers.
Haste, ere the bowl's declining,
Drink of it now or never;
Now, while Beauty is shining,
Love, or she's lost for ever.
Hark! again that dull chime,
'Tis the dreary voice of Time.
Oh, if life be a torrent,
Down to oblivion going,
Like this cup be its current,
Bright to the last drop flowing!
IF IN LOVING, SINGING.
If in loving, singing, night and day
We could trifle merrily life away,
Like atoms dancing in the beam,
Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream,
Or summer blossoms, born to sigh
Their sweetness out, and die—
How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side,
Thou and I could make our minutes glide!
No atoms ever glanced so bright,
No day-flies ever danced so light,
Nor summer blossoms mixt their sigh,
So close, as thou and I!