There, there, far from thee,

Deceitful world, my home should be-
Where, come what might of gloom and pain,
False hope should ne'er deceive again!
The lifeless sky, the mournful sound
Of unseen waters, falling round-

The dry leaves quivering o'er my head,
Like man, unquiet even when dead-
These-ay-these should wean
My soul from Life's deluding scene,
And turn each thought, each wish I have,
Like willows, downward towards the grave.

As they who to their couch at night
Would welcome sleep, first quench the light,
So must the hopes that keep this breast
Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest.
Cold, cold, my heart must grow,
Unchanged by either joy or woe,

Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown
Within their current turns to stope.

SHE SUNG OF LOVE.

AIR-The Munster Man.

SHE sung of love-while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,

As if to feed with their soft fire

The soul within that trembling shell.
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek,
And play'd around those lips that sung
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak,
If love could lend their leaves a tongue.

But soon the West no longer burn'd,
Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew;
And, when to gaze again I turn'd

The minstrel's form seem'd fading too,
As if her light and heaven's were one,
The glory all had left that frame;

And from her glimmering lips the tone,
As from a parting spirit, came.'

The thought here was suggested by some beautiful lines in Mr Rogers's Poem of Human Life, beginning

Who ever loved, but had the thought That he and all he loved must part? Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught

That fading image to my heartAnd cried, «Oh Love! is this thy doom? Oh light of youth's resplendent day! then lose your golden bloom, And thus, like sunshine, die away?»

Must

ye

SING-SING-MUSIC WAS GIVEN.

AIR-The Humours of Ballamaguiry, or the Old Langolee.

SING-sing-Music was given

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in heaven,

By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks,

But love from the lips his true archery wings;
And she who but feathers the dart when she speaks,
At once sends it home to the heart when she sings.
Then sing-sing-Music was given

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in heaven,

By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.

When Love, rock'd by his mother, Lay sleeping as calm as slumber could make him, «Hush, hush,» said Venus, « no other

Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake him.»> Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while,

Till faint from his lips a soft melody broke,
And Venus, enchanted, look'd on with a smile,
While Love to his own sweet singing awoke!
Then sing-sing-Music was given
To brighten the gay and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.

Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows
Less and less earthly.

I would quote the entire passage, but that I fear to put my own humble imitation of it out of countenance.

ADVERTISEMENT.

It is Cicero, I believe, who says « natura ad modos ducimur;» and the abundance of wild indigenous airs which almost every country, except England, possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his assertion. The lovers of this simple but interesting kind of music are here presented with the first number of a collection, which I trust their contributions will enable us to continue. A pretty air without words resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, which are described as wandering, in search of the remainder of themselves,

through the world. To supply this other half, by uniting with congenial words the many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none, or only such as are unintelliCible to the generality of their hearers, is the object and ambition of the present work. Neither is it our intention to confine ourselves to what are strictly called National Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble Hippocrene with its song.

T. M.

NATIONAL AIRS.

No. I.

A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.'

Spanish Air.

« A TEMPLE to Friendship,» said Laura, enchanted, «< I'll build in this garden-the thought is divine!»> Iler temple was built, and she now only wanted

An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent, But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. «Oh! never,» she cried, « could I think of enshrining An image whose looks are so joyless and dim! But yon little god upon roses reclining,

We'll make, if you please, Sir, a Friendship of him.»> So the bargain was struck, with the little god laden She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: «Farewell,» said the sculptor, «you're not the first maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love.»

FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. Portuguese Air.

FLOW on, thou shining river;

But, ere thou reach the sea,
Seek Ella's bower, and give her
The wreaths I fling o'er thee.
And tell her thus, if she 'll be mine,
The current of our lives shall be,
With joys along their course to shine,
Like those sweet flowers on thee.
But if, in wandering thither,

Thou find'st she mocks my prayer,
Then leave those wreaths to wither
Upon the cold bank there.
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er,
Her lone and loveless charms shall be
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore,

Like those sweet flowers from thee.

ALL THAT 'S BRIGHT MUST FADE. Indian Air.

ALL that 's bright must fade,—

The brightest still the fleetest;

All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest.

Stars that shine and fall;

The flower that drops in springing ;These, alas! are types of all

To which our hearts are clinging.

All that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest;

All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest!

The thought is taken from a song by Le Priear, called La Statue de l'Amitié..

Who would seek or prize

Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties

That every hour are breaking? Better far to be

In utter darkness lying, Than be blest with light and see That light for ever flying. All that 's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest; All that 's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest!

SO WARMLY WE MET.
Hungarian Air.

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,

That which was the sweeter even I could not tell

That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted,

Or that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell.
To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another,—
Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss ;
Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other

In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this.
The first was like day-break-new, sudden, delicious,
The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet-
The last was that farewell of daylight, more precious,
More glowing and deep, as 't is nearer its set.
Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow
To think that such happiness could not remain;
While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to-

morrow

Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

AIR-The Bells of St Petersburgh.

THOSE evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime!
Those joyous hours are past away!
And many a heart that then was gay
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells!
And so 't will be when I am gone!
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.
Portuguese Air.

SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ;
Should the cold world come to wake thee
From all thy visions of youth and joy;
Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish
Ilim who once thought thy young heart his own,

The metre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to the air.

OH! COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT SETS.
Venetian Air.

On! come to me when daylight sets;
Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.

When Mirth's awake, and Love begins,
Beneath that glancing ray,

With sound of lutes and mandolins,

To steal young hearts away.
Oh! come to me when daylight sets;
Sweet! then come to me,

When smoothly go our gondolets

O'er the moonlight sea.

Oh! then's the hour for those who love,
Sweet! like thee and me;

When all 's so calm below, above,
In heaven and o'er the sea.
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles,2
And Echo sings again

So sweet, that all with ears and souls
Should love and listen then.

So, come to me when daylight sets;
Sweet! then come to me,

When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.

The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Portuguese words.

2. Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Vénitienne, que chantent les gendoliers à Venise.-ROUSSEAU, Dictionnaire de Mrsique.

OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT.

Scotch Air.

OFT, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light

Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,
Now dimm'd and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken!

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends, so link'd together,
I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garland's dead,
And all but he departed!

Thus in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

«I go,» said Love, « to sail awhile

Across this sunny main :>>

And then so sweet his parting smile,
That Hope, who never dream'd of guile,
Believed he'd come again.

She linger'd 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 wash'd away.

At length a sail appears in sight,
And toward the maiden moves!
T is Wealth that comes; and gay
His golden bark reflects the light,
But ah! it is not Love's.

and bright,

Another sail-'t was Friendship show'd

Her night-lamp o'er the sea;

And calm the light that lamp bestow'd:
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd,
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!

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,

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.

No. II.

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 leap'd smilingly,

And left poor Hope behind.

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 flower its own.
"T is when his soul must first renounce
Those dreams so bright, so fond;
Oh! then 's the time to die at once,
For life has nought beyond.
There comes a time, etc.

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
Through twilight's dim delay,
The cold remains of lustre gone,
Of fire long pass'd away.

Oh! there comes a time, etc.

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 't were 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;

Though 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 wanton'd by, Were still upon thy strings.

OH! NO-NOT E'EN WHEN FIRST WE LOVED.

Cashmerian Air.

On! no-not e'en 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 turn'd to Reason's vow; And, though I then might love thee more,

Trust me, I love thee better now!

Although my heart in earlier youth

Might kindle with more wild desire, Believe me, it has gain'd 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 seem'd to love thee more, Yet, oh! I love thee better now.

PEACE BE AROUND THEE!
Scotch Air.

PEACE be around thee! wherever thou rovest
May life be for thee one summer's day,

And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lovest,
Come smiling around thy sunny way!
If sorrow e'er this calm should break,

May even thy tears pass off so lightly,
That, 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,

Though not used to gambols, Went out by moonlight,

With Genius, on his rambles.

While I touch the string, etc.

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 pass'd,

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, 't is said,

Died of that cold river!

While I touch the string, etc.