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.

When the dance and feast are done,
Arm in arm as home we stray,
How sweet to see the dawning sun
O'er her cheeks' warm blushes play!
Then, then the farewell kiss,

And 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 conceal'd they lie

Love tracks them every where;

In vain aloft they fly

Love shoots them flying there.

But 't is his joy most sweet,
At early dawn to trace

The print of Beauty's feet,

And give the trembler chase. And most he loves through snow To trace those footsteps fair, For then the boy doth know

None track'd before him there.

Let's live it out-then sink in night,
Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell-are touch'd with light—
Then lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING!

Portuguese Air.

WHISPRINGS, heard 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?

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

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 sun-set 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!

Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath.

But Love did n'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!
'Tis like the returning bloom

Of those days, alas! gone by,

When I loved each hour-1 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;
And, 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.

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS!

Welsh 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 forgotNothing lost that life had given;

Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou 'It find her yet in Heaven!

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

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 1 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!

323

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,

"T was 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,

OH! DAYS OF YOUTH.
French Air.

On! 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 more can this life bring me
Oue 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? 'T is 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. 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 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.

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!

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 mayst 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.

<< 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 labell'd '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 laugh'd, 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!»

HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS.

Savoyard Air.

How oft, when watching stars grow pale,

And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, To hear a flute through yonder vale

1 from my casement lean.

«Oh! come, my love!» each note it utters seems to say; «Oh! come, my love! the night wears fast away!»>

No, ne'er to mortal ear

Can words, though 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, though they nought to others speak,
He knows their language well.

« I come, my love?» each sound they utter 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.

"T IS WHEN THE CUP IS SMILING.
Italian Air.

'T IS when the cup is smiling before us,

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true That 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,
And on t' other a blue eye beams, boy, beams,

'T is enough, 't wixt the wine and the glancing, To disturb even a saint from his dreams. Though this life like a river is flowing,

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, While the grape on its bank still is growing, And such eyes light the waves as they run.

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 him!

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 through thousands he 'll run,
While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.

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 stain'd by disgrace?
Death may dissever the chain,
Oppression will cease when we're gone;
But the dishonour, 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

Thrill'd to the world's very core? Thus to live cowards and slavesOh! ye free hearts that lie dead! Do you not, e'en in your graves, Shudder, as o'er you we tread?

THOUGH "T IS ALL BUT A DREAM.

French Air.

THOUGH 't is all but a dream, at the best,
And still when happiest soonest o'er,
Yet, even in a dream to be bless'd

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-t is all but a dream, etc. By friendship we oft are deceived,

And find the love we clung to past;
Yet friendship will still be believed,

And love trusted on to the last.
The web in the leaves the spider weaves

Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men ;
Though often she sees it broke by the breeze,
She spins the bright tissue again.
Ay-t is all but a dream, etc.

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 sunshine 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
Through sparkling floods to gain her!