Good night, good night, my dearest-
How fast the moments fly!

"T is time to part-thou hearest
That hateful watchman's cry.
Past twelve o'clock ! past twelve!

Yet stay a moment longer :
Alas! why is it so ?-

The wish to stay grows stronger
The more 't is time to go.

Past one o'clock! past one!

Now wrap thy cloak about thee;

The hours must sure go wrong,
For, when they 're pass'd without thee,
They 're, oh! ten times as long.
Past two o'clock ! past two!

Again that dreadful warning!
Had ever time such flight?
And see the sky-'t is morning-
So now, indeed, good night.
Past three o'clock ! past three!

THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE.

ON to the field! our doom is sea!'d

To conquer or be slaves :

The sun shall see our nation free,
Or shine upon our graves!

Farewell, oh! farewell, my love!

May Heaven thy guardian be, And send bright angels from above, . To bring thee back to me.

On to the field-the battle-field,

Where freedom's standard waves! This sun shall see our tyrant yield, Or shine upon our graves. Hark! the trumpet's signal blastTake this last farewell!

Yet, oh! not the last;

On to the field!

For hope whispers fondly that hearts so united,

So happy, ev'n death would be loth to destroy,

And, checking his dark hand, would pause ere he blighted

A love but just opening in sunshine and joy.

Onward to the battle-field,

Where freedom's standard waves!

This sun shall see our tyrant yield,

Or shine upon our graves!

HUSH, HUSH!

« HUSH, hush!»-how well
That sweet word sounds,
When Love, the little sentinel,
Walks his night rounds!
Then, if a foot but dare
One rose-leaf crush,
Myriads of voices in the air,
Whisper « Hush, hush!»

<< Hark, hark! 't is he,»
The night-elves cry,

And hush their fairy harmony

While he steals by.

But if his silv'ry feet

One dew-drop brush,

Voices are heard, in chorus sweet, Whisp'ring, « Husb, hush!»

SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE?

SAY, what shall we dance?

Shall we bound along the moonlight plain,
To music of France, of Italy, Greece, or Spain?
Shall we,
like them who rove

Through bright Granada's grove,

To the light bolero's measures move?
Or prefer the Guraxia's soft languishing lay,
And thus to its sounds die away?

Say, what shall we dance?

Sound the gay chords

Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore
That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er.
Hark! 't is the light march, to whose measured time,
The Polonaise, by her lover led,

Delights through the gay saloon with slow step to tread;
Or, sweeter still, through moonlight walks,
Whose dim shadows serve to hide

The blush raised by him who talks

Of love the while by her side.

Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating sound Like dreams, we go gliding around.

Say, which shall we dance?

THE EVENING GUN.
REMEMBREST thou that setting sun,
The last I saw with thee?
When loud we heard the evening gun,
Peal o'er the twilight sea.
The sounds appear'd to sweep,
Far o'er the verge of day,
Into realms beyond the deep
They seem'd to die away.

Oft, when the toils of day are done,
In pensive dreams of thee,

I sit to hear that evening gun
Peal o'er the stormy sea:
And while o'er billows curl'd

The distant sounds decay,

I weep, and wish from this rough world Like them, to die away.

BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

The brilliant black eye

May in triumph let fly

All its darts, without caring who feels 'em;
But the soft eye of blue,
Though it scatter wounds too,

Is much better pleased when it heals 'em.
Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!

The soft eye of blue,

Though it scatter wounds too,.

Is much better pleased when it heals 'em, dear Fanny!

The black eye may say,
«Come and worship my ray,-

By adoring, perhaps you may move me!»>
But the blue eye, half hid,

Says, from under its lid,

«I love, and am yours if

you

love me! >>

Dear Fanny! dear Fanny! The blue eye, half hid,

Says, from under its lid,

<< I love, and am yours if you love me!» dear Fanny!

Then tell me, oh! why,

In that lovely eye,

Not a charm of its tint I discover;

Or why should you wear

The only blue pair

That ever said « No » to a lover?

Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!

Oh! why should you wear
The only blue pair

That ever said « No» to a lover, dear Fanny?

CEASE, OH! CEASE TO TEMPT.

CEASE, oh! cease to tempt
My tender heart to love!

It never, never can

So wild a flame approve.

All its joys and pains
To others I resign;

But be the vacant heart,

The careless bosom mine.

Then cease, oh! cease to tempt

My tender heart to love!

It never, never can

So wild a flame approve.

Say, oh! say no more

That lovers' pains are sweet!

I never, never can

Believe the fond deceit. Weeping day and night, Consuming life in sighs,This is the lover's lot,

And this I ne'er could prize. Then say, oh! say no more That lovers' pains are sweet!

I never, never can

Believe the fond deceit.

DEAR FANNY.

SHE has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool; She has wit, but you must not be caught so;

Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool,

And 't is not the first time I have thought so,
Dear Fanny.

<< She is lovely!» Then love her, nor let the bliss fly; 'T is the charm of youth's vanishing season:

Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny
That Love reasons much better than Reason,
Dear Fanny?

DID NOT.

"T WAS a new feeling-something more
Than we had dared to own before,

Which then we hid not, which then we hid not:
We saw it in each other's eye,

And wish'd, in every murmur'd sigh,

To speak, but did not; to speak, but did not.

She felt my lips' impassion'd touch—
'T was the first time I dared so much,
And yet she chid not, and yet she chid not;
But whisper'd o'er my burning brow,
«Oh! do you doubt I love you now?»>
Sweet soul! I did not, sweet soul! I did not.

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
I press'd it closer, closer still,

Though gently bid not, though gently bid not;
Till-oh! the world hath seldom heard
Of lovers, who so nearly err'd,
And yet who did not, and yet who did not.

FANNY, DEAREST !

On! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,

Fanny, dearest! for thee I'd sigh; And every smile on my cheek should turn To tears, when thou art nigh.

But, between love, and wine, and sleep,

So busy a life I live,

That even the time it would take to weep

Is more than my heart can give. Then bid me not to despair and pine,

Fanny, dearest of all the dears!

The love, that 's order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest! thy image lies;
But, oh! the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimm'd too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty's light,

Who view it through sorrow's tear;
And 't is but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear.

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow-
Fanny, dearest! the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.

FANNY WAS IN THE GROVE.

FANNY was in the grove,

And Lubin, her boy, was nigh; Her eye was warm with love,

And her soul was warm as her eye. Oh! oh! if Lubin now would sue, Oh! oh! what could Fanny do?

Fanny was made for bliss,

But she was young and shy; And when he had stolen a kiss,

She blush'd, and said with a sigh« Oh! oh! Lubin, ah! tell me true, Oh! oh! what are you going to do?»

They wander'd beneath the shade,

Her eye was dimm'd with a tear, For ah! the poor little maid

Was thrilling with love and fear. Oh! oh! if Lubin would but sue, Oh! oh! what could Fanny do!

Sweetly along the grove

The birds sang all the while, And Fanny now said to her love,

With a frown that was half a smile

« Oh! oh! why did Lubin sue? Oh! oh! why did Lubin sue?»>

Viver en Cadenas.

FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.

FROM life without freedom, oh! who would not fly?
For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?
Hark-hark! 't is the trumpet! the call of the brave,
The death-song of tyrants and dirge of the slave.
Our country lies bleeding-oh! fly to her aid;
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade.
From life without freedom, oh! who would not fly?
For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains-
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains!
On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed.
And oh! even if Freedom from this world be driven,
Despair not at least we shall find her in heaven.
In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains-
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains.

Roses now unheeded sigh;

Where's the hand to wreathe them? Songs around neglected lie,

Where's the lip to breathe them? Here's the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touch-
Oh! how that touch enchanted!
Spring may bloom, but she we loved
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness!
Time, that once so fleetly moved,

Now hath lost its fleetness.
Years were days, when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid,

Nor Pity wept a dearer!

Here's the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touch-
Oh! how that touch enchanted!

HOLY BE THE PILGRIM'S SLEEP.

HOLY be the Pilgrim's sleep,

From the dreams of terror free;
And may all, who wake to weep,
Rest to-night as sweet as he!
Hark! hark! did I hear a vesper swell!

No, no 't is my loved Pilgrim's prayer:
No, no-'t was but the convent bell,
That tolls upon the midnight air.

Holy be the Pilgrim's sleep!
Now, now again, the voice I hear,
Some holy man is wandering here.

O Pilgrim where hast thou been roaming?
Dark is the way, and midnight 's coming.
Stranger, I've been o'er moor and mountain,
To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain.
And, Pilgrim, say, where art thou going?
Dark is the way, the winds are blowing.
Weary with wandering, weak, I falter,
To breathe my vows at Agnes' altar.
Strew, then, oh! strew his bed of rushes;
Here he shall rest till morning blushes.

Peace to them whose days are done,
Death their eyelids closing;
Hark! the burial-rite 's begun-
'T is time for our reposing.
Here, then, my Pilgrim's course is o'er :
'Tis my master! 't is my master!

more;

Welcome here once

Come to our shed-all toil is over; Pilgrim no more, but knight and lover.

HERE'S THE BOWER.

HERE's the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touch

Oh! how that touch enchanted!

I CAN NO LONGER STIFLE.

I CAN no longer stifle

How much I long to rifle
That little part
They call the heart
Of you, you lovely trifle!

You can no longer doubt it,
So let me be about it;
Or on my word,

And by the Lord,
I'll try to do without it.

This pretty thing's as light, Sir, As any paper kite, Sir;

And here and there,

And God knows where, She takes her wheeling flight, Sir. Us lovers, to amuse us, Unto her tail she nooses;

There, hung like bobs

Of straw, or nobs,

She whisks us where she chuses.

I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR.

I SAW the moon rise clear

O'er hills and vales of snow,
Nor told my fleet rein-deer
The track I wish'd to go.
But quick he bounded forth;
For well my rein-deer knew
I've but one path on earth-

The path which leads to you.

The gloom that winter cast

How soon the heart forgets!
When summer brings, at last,
The sun that never sets.
So dawn'd my love for you;
Thus chasing every pain,
Than summer sun more true,
'T will never set again.

JOYS THAT PASS AWAY.

Joys that pass away like this,
Alas! are purchased dear,

If every beam of bliss

Is follow'd by a tear.

Fare thee well! oh, fare thee well!

Soon, too soon, thou 'st broke the spell,
Oh! I ne'er can love again

The girl whose faithless art
Could break so dear a chain,

And with it break my heart.
Once, when truth was in those eyes,
How beautiful they shone!
But now that lustre flies,

For truth, alas! is gone.

Fare thee well! oh, fare thee well!
How I've loved my hate shall tell.
Oh! how lorn, how lost would prove

Thy wretched victim's fate,

If, when deceived in love,

He could not fly to hate!

LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP.

LIGHT Sounds the harp when the combat is overWhen heroes are resting, and joy is in bloomWhen laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume.

"

LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL.

YOUNG Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade,
Where man ne'er had wander'd, nor sun-beam play'd:
« Why thus in darkness lie?» whisper'd young Love,
« Thou, whose gay hours should in sun-shine move.»
« I ne'er,» said the Dial, « have seen the warm sun,
So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one.»

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade,
And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly play'd;
There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye,
While, all mark'd with sun-shine, her hours flew by.
«Oh! how,» said the Dial, « can any fair maid,
That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade ?»

But night now comes on, and the sun-beam 's o'er,
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more.
Then cold and neglected, while bleak rain and winds
Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds
That Love had but number'd a few sunny hours,
And left the remainder to darkness and showers!

LOVE AND TIME.

"T is said-but whether true or not Let bards declare who 've seen 'emThat Love and Time have only got

One pair of wings between 'em. In courtship's first delicious hour,

The boy full oft can spare 'em; So, loitering in his lady's bower, He lets the grey-beard wear 'em. Then is Time's hour of play; Oh! how he flies away!

But short the moments, short as bright, When he the wings can borrow;

If Time to-day has had his flight,

Love takes his turn to-morrow.
Ab! Time and Love! your change is then
The saddest and most trying,

When one begins to limp again,
And t' other takes to flying.

Then is Love's hour to stray;
Oh! how he flies away!

But there's a nymph-whose chains I feel,
And bless the silken fetter-

Who knows-the dear one!-how to deal
With Love and Time much better.
So well she checks their wanderings,
So peacefully she pairs 'em,

That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings,
And Time for ever wears 'em.

This is Time's holiday;
Oh! how he flies away!

'T is not on the cheek of rose
Love can find the best repose:
In my heart his home thou 'lt see;
There he lives, and lives for thee.

Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam,
While he makes that eye his home.
No-the eye with sorrow dim
Ne'er can be a home for him.
Yet, 't is not in beaming eyes
Love for ever warmest lies:
In my heart his home thou 'It see;
There he lives, and lives for thee.

LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER CLOUD.

PAIN and sorrow shall vanish before us

Youth may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Oh! if to love thee more

Each hour I number o'er-
If this a passion be
Worthy of thee,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last :
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Rest, dear bosom ! no sorrows shall pain thee,
Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
Beam, bright eyelid! no weeping shall stain thee,
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.

Oh! if there be a charm
In love, to banish harm-
If pleasure's truest spell
Be to love well,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.

LOVE, WAND'RING THROUGH THE GOLDEN MAZE.

LOVE, wand'ring through the golden maze Of my beloved's hair,

Traced every lock with fond delays,

And, doting, linger'd there.
And soon he found 't were vain to fly;
His heart was close confined,
And every curlet was a tie-
A chain by beauty twined.

LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE.

LOVE, my Mary, dwells with thee;

On thy cheek his bed I see.

No-that cheek is pale with care;

Love can find no roses there.

MERRILY EVERY BOSOM BOUNDETH.

THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY.

MERRILY every bosom boundeth,

Merrily, oh! merrily, oh! Where the Song of Freedom soundeth, Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!