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 roll'd like torrents near,
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear!

Sleep, mute Bard! 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!

No. V.

DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING. Danish Air.

Do not say that life is waning,

Or that Hope's sweet day is set:
While I've thee and love remaining,
Light is in the horizon yet.

Do not think those charms are flying,
Though 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.

Hindoo Air.

Dost thou not hear the silver bell, Through yonder lime-trees ringing? 'Tis my lady's light gazelle,

To me her love-thoughts bringingAll 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 tying!
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest,
Who thus sends 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 't was not in fields or bowers,

'T was on her lips she found ye! Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers,

'T was on her lips she found ye!

NO-LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.

Spanish Air.

No-leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth and love and hope have pass'd 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 pass'd away.

Oh! had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light:
But now thou break'st like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,
When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies.
No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth and love and hope have pass'd away.

WHERE ARE THE VISIONS?
Air Unknown.

WHERE are the visions that round me once hover'd,
Forms that had grace in their shadows alone,
Looks, fresh as light from a star just discover'd,

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 look'd, when the wizard had spoken,
On to the dim-shining ruins of day,
And there, in that light, like a talisman broken,

Saw the bright fragments of H ope melt away.

«Oh lend me thy wings, Time,» I hastily utter'd,
Impatient to catch the last glimmer that shone ;
But scarcely again had the dark wizard flutter'd
His wing o'er my head, ere the light all was gone.

WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY. German Air.

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, Hilliho! hilliho! hilliho! hilliho!

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, Hilliho! hilliho! hilliho! hilliho!

OH! GUARD OUR AFFECTION.

Scotch Air.

On guard our affection, and ne'er let it feel

The blight which this world o'er the warmest will steal:
While the faith of all round us is fading or past,
Let our truth, at least, keep its bloom to the last,
It is safer for Love to be watchful and weep,
As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep;
For death on his slumber, cold death, follows fast,
While the love that is wakeful lives on to the last.

And though, as Time gathers his clouds o'er our head,
A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread,
Yet transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast,
So that Love's soften'd light may shine through to the
last.

IF IN LOVING, SINGING.
Spanish Air.

IF in loving, singing, night and day,
We could trifle merrily life away,
Like atoms dancing in the beam,
Or day-flies skimming o'er the stream;
Like summer odours, 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 play'd so bright,
No day-flies ever danced so light,
Nor odours ever mix'd their sigh
So close as thou and I.

SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER !

Air unknown.

« SLUMBER, oh slumber! if, sleeping, thou makest My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wakest.>>> Thus sung I to a maiden,

Who slept one summer's day,
And, like a flower o'er-laden

With noon-tide sunshine, lay.

Slumber, oh slumber! if, sleeping, thou makest My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wakest.

<< 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, ye winds, o'er her cheeks; If murm'ring she charm thus, I'm lost when she speaks.

TOO PLAIN, ALAS!
French Air.

Too plain, alas! my doom is spoken,
Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er:
Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken-
Thou lovest no more, thou lovest no more!
Though kindly still those eyes behold me,

The smile is gone which once they wore;
Though fondly still those arms enfold me,
"T is not the same-thou lovest no more!
Too long my dream of bliss believing,

I've thought thee all thou wert before; But now, alas! there's no deceiving

'T is all too plain-thou lovest no more! Oh! thou as soon the dead couldst waken As lost affection's life restore, Give peace to her that is forsaken,

Or bring back him who loves no more.

BRING THE PRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER.
Russian Air.

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-
'T is 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 through 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!
"T is 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.

WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD. Italian Air. WHEN abroad in the world thou appearest, And the young and the lovely are there, To my heart while of all thou 'rt the dearest, To my eyes thou 'rt of all the most fair.

They pass one by one,

Like waves of the sea,

That say to the sun,

« See how bright we can be!» But where's the light like thine, In sun and shade to shine!

No, no, no, no, no!

'Mong them all there is nothing like thee; No, no, no, no!

There is nothing like thee 'mong them all. When of old, without farewell or warning, Beauty's self used to steal from the skies, Wrap a mist round her head of a morning, And post down to earth in disguise;

No matter what crowd

Around her might be,

Men peep'd through the cloud,

And whisper'd « 't is she !»

So thou, where thousands are, Dost shine the only star!

No, no, no, no, no!

'Mong them all there is nothing like thee; No, no, no, no!

There is nothing like thee 'mong them all.

KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY MINE.
German Air.

KEEP those eyes still purely mine,
Though far off I be;

When they must for others shine,
Then think they 're turn'd on me.
Should those lips, as now, respond
To sweet minstrelsy,

When their accents seem most fond,
Then think they 're breathed for me.

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own,
If, when all on thee

Fix their charmed thoughts alone,
Thou think'st the while on me.

No. VI.

HOPE COMES AGAIN.

Old English Air.

HOPE comes again-to this heart long a stranger;
Once more she sings me her flattering strain:
But hush! gentle syren, for ah! there's less danger
In still suffring on, than in hoping again.

Long, long in sorrow too deep for repining,

Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain; And joy, coming now like a sudden light shining O'er eyelids long darken'd, would bring me but pain. Fly, then, ye visions that hope would shed o'er me: Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me, But, ah! in forgetting how once I was blest!

I WOULD TELL HER I LOVE HER.

Italian Air.

I WOULD tell her I love her,
Did I know but the way;
Could my lips but discover
What a lover should say,-
Could my lips but discover

What a lover should say.
Though I swear to adore her
Every morning I rise,

Yet, when once I'm before her,

All my eloquence flies.

Oh, ye gods! did ye ever

Such a simpleton know?

I'm in love, and yet never

Have the heart to say so,

No, no, ne'er have the heart to say soNo, no, ne'er have the heart to say so.

Having pluck'd up a spirit

One moonshiny night,
Then, thought I, «< I'll defer it
Till to-morrow's daylight-
Yes,» thought I, « I'll defer it

Till to-morrow's daylight.»>
But, alas! the pale moon-beam
Could not frighten me more,
For I found by the noon-beam
I was dumb as before.
Oli, ye gods! did ye ever

Such a simpleton know?
I'm in love, and yet never

Have the heart to say so.

No, no, ne'er have the heart to say soNo, no, ne'er have the heart to say so.

OH SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHTEST. Spanish Air.

Он say, thou best and brightest,

My first love and my last,

When he, whom now thou slightest,
From life's dark scene hath past,

Will kinder thoughts then move thee?
Will pity wake one thrill

For him who lived to love thee,
And, dying, loved thee still?
If, when that hour recalling

From which he dates his woes,
Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling,

Ah! blush not while it flows:
But, all the past forgiving,

Bend gently o'er his shrine,
And say, « This heart, when living,
With all its faults, was mine!»

WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR.

Florentine Air.

WHEN night brings the hour

Of star-light and joy,
There comes to my bow'r
A fairy-wing'd boy;
With eyes so bright,
So full of wild arts,
Like nets of light,

To tangle young hearts;
With lips in whose keeping
Love's secret may dwell,
Like Zephyr asleep in
Some rosy sea-shell.
Guess who he is-

Name but his name,

And his best kiss,

For reward, you may claim.

Where'er o'er the ground

He prints his light feet, The flowers there are found

Most shining and sweet. His looks, as soft

As lightning in May,

Though dang'rous oft,

Ne'er wound but in play. And oh, when his wings Have brush'd over my lyre, You'd fancy its strings Were all turning to fire. Guess who he is

Name but his name, And his best kiss,

For reward, you may claim.

LIKE ONE, WHO DOOM'D.
Indian Air.

LIKE one, who doom'd o'er distant seas

His weary path to measure,

When home at length, with fav'ring breeze,

He brings the far-sought treasure:
His ship, in sight of shore, goes down-
That shore to which he hasted;

And all the wealth he thought his own
Is o'er the waters wasted.

Like him this heart, through many a track
Of toil and sorrow straying,

One hope alone brought fondly back,
Its toil and grief repaying.
Like him, alas! I see that ray

Of hope before me perish,
And one dark minute sweep away
What took whole years to cherish.

FEAR NOT THAT, WHILE AROUND THEE.

French Air.

FEAR not that, while around thee
Life's varied blessings pour,
One sigh of hers shall wound thee
Whose smile thou seek'st no more.

No, dead and cold for ever

Let our past love remain; Once gone, its spirit never,

Shall haunt thy rest again. Fear not that, while around thee

Life's varied blessings pour, One sigh of hers shall wound thee, Whose smile now charms no more.

May the new ties that bind thee

Far sweeter, happier prove,

Nor e'er of me remind thee,

But by their truth and love. Think how, asleep or waking, Thy image haunts me yet; But, how this heart is breaking, For thy own peace forget. Fear not that, while around thee Life's varied blessings pour, One sigh of hers shall wound thee, Whose smile now charms no more.

LOVE ALONE.

French Air.

Ir thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes,
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies.
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne;
Her right divine is given by love alone.

What would the rose, with all her pride, be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Maidens unloved, like flow'rs in darkness thrown,
Wait but that light which comes from love alone.

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear,
Ah! trust them not-they 'll fade from year to year.
Wouldst thou still have them shine as first they shone,
Go fix thy mirror in love's eyes alone.

THE GARLAND I SEND THEE.
Italian Air.

THE garland I send thee was cull'd from those bow'rs
Where thou and I wander'd, in long vanish'd hours.
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays,
But bears some remembrance of those happy days.

The roses were gather'd by that garden gate,
Where our meetings, though early, seem'd always too
late;

Where, ling'ring full oft, through a summer night's

moon,

Our partings, though late, appear'd always too soon.

The rest were all cull'd from the banks of that glade, Where, watching the sunset, so often we 've stray'd, And mourn'd, as the time flew, that love had no pow'r To bind in his chain even one happy hour.

HOW SHALL I WOO?
Italian Air.

IF I speak to thee in friendship's name,
Thou think'st I talk too coldly;
If I mention love's devoted flame,
Thou say'st I speak too boldly.
Between these two unequal fires
Why doom me thus to hover?

I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires ;
If more thou seek'st,—a lover.

Which shall it be? how shall I woo?
Fair one, chuse between the two.

Though the wings of Love will brightly play
When first he comes to woo thee,

There's a chance that he may fly away,

As fast as he flies to thee.

While Friendship, though on foot she come,

No flights of fancy trying,

Will, therefore, oft be found at home,

When Love abroad is flying.

Which shall it be? how shall I woo?

But if neither feeling suits thy heart,
Let's see (to please thee) whether
We may not learn some precious art
To mix their charms together.
One feeling, still more sweet, to form
From two, so sweet already,-
A friendship that, like love, is warm,
A love, like friendship, steady.
Thus let it be, thus let me woo;
Dearest, thus we 'll join the two.

SPRING AND AUTUMN.'
French Air.

EV'RY season hath its pleasures:
Spring may boast her flow'ry prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.
So life's year begins and closes;

Days, though short'ning, still can shine; What, though youth gave loves and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine. Phillis, when she might have caught me, All the spring look'd coy and shy; Yet, herself, in autumn sought me, When the flow'rs were all gone by. Ah, too late-she found her lover,

Calm and free, beneath his vine,
Drinking to the spring-time over,
In his best autumnal wine.

Thus may we, as years are flying,
To their flight our pleasures suit,
Nor regret the blossoms dying,

While we still can taste the fruit.
Oh, while days like this are ours,

Where's the lip that dares repine? Spring may take our loves and flow'rs, So autumn leaves us friends and wine.