FAIRY SONG.-WHAT WOKE THE BURIED SOUND. 421

WHAT WOKE THE BURIED SOUND.

WHAT Woke the buried sound that lay
In Memnon's harp of yore?

What spirit on its viewless way
Along the Nile's green shore?
Oh! not the night, and not the storm,
And not the lightning's fire,

But sunlight's torch, the kind, the warm,

This, this awoke the lyre.

What wins the heart's deep chords to pour
Thus music forth on life?

Like a sweet voice prevailing o'er
The truant sounds of strife.-

Oh! not the conflict 'midst the throng,

Not e'en the trumpet's hour;

Love is the gifted and the strong,
To wake that music's power!

VOL. II-36

OH! IF THOU WILT NOT GIVE THINE HEART
OH! if thou wilt not give thine heart,

Give back mine own to me,"
Or bid thine image thence depart,
And leave me lone, but free

Yet no! this mournful love of mine,
I would not from me cast!

Let me but dream 'twill win me thine
By its deep truth at last.

Can aught so fond, so faithful, live
Through years without reply?
Oh if thine heart thou wilt not give,
Give me a thought, a sigh!

LOOK ON ME THUS NO MORE.

Ir is thy pity makes me weep,
My soul was strong before;
Silent, yet strong its griefs to keep
From vainly gushing o'er!

Turn from me, turn those gentle eyes

In this fond gaze my spirit dies.

Look on me thus no more!

Too late that softness comes to bless,

My heart's glad life is o'er;

It will but break with tenderness,

Which cannot now restore!

The lyre-strings have been jarr'd too long,
Winter hath touch'd the source of song!
Look on me thus no more!

SING TO ME, GONDOLIER !

SING to me, Gondolier!

Sing words from Tasso's lay

While blue, and still, and clear,

Night seems but softer day

The gale is gently falling,
As if it paused to hear

Some strain the past recalling-
Sing to me Gondolier!

"Oh, ask me not to wake

The memory of the brave;
Bid no high numbers break
The silence of the wave.

* The first two lines of this song are literally translated from the German.

O'ER THE FAR BLUE MOUNTAINS.-ETC.

Gone are the noble hearted,

Closed the bright pageants here;
And the glad song is departed

From the mournful Gondolier!"

O'ER THE FAR BLUE MOUNTAINS
O'ER the far blue mountains,
O'er the white sea foam,
Come, thou long parted one,
Back to thine home!

When the bright fire shineth,
Sad looks thy place,
While the true heart pineth
Missing thy face.

Music is sorrowful

Since thou art gone,

Sisters are mourning thee,

Come to thine own!

Hark! the home voices call
Back to thy rest;
Come to thy father's hall,
Thy mother's breast!

O'er the far blue mountains,
O'er the white sea foam,
Come, thou long parted one,
Back to thine home!

O THOU BREEZE OF SPRING!

O THOU breeze of spring!
Gladdening sea and shore,
Wake the woods to sing,
Wake my heart no more
Streams have felt the sighing
Of thy scented wing,
Let each fount replying
Hail thee, breeze of spring,
Once more!

O'er long buried flowers

Passing not in vain,

Odors in soft showers

Thou hast brought again.
-Let the primrose greet thee,

Let the violet pour

Incense forth to meet thee

Wake my heart no more!
No more!

From a funeral urn
Bower'd in leafy gloom,
Even thy soft return

Calls not song or bloom.
Leave my spirit sleeping
Like that silent thing;
Stir the founts of weeping
There, O breeze of spring,
No more!

COME TO ME, DREAMS OF HEAVEN. COME to me, dreams of heaven!

My fainting spirit bear

On your bright wings, by morning given, Up to celestial air.

Away, far, far away,

From bowers by tempests riven,

Fold me in blue, still, cloudless day,

O blessed dreams of heaven!

Come but for one brief hour,

Sweet dreams! and yet again,

O'er burning thought and memory shower

Your soft effacing rain!

Waft me where gales divine,

With dark clouds ne'er have striven,

Where living founts for ever shine

O blessed dreams of heaven!

GOOD-NIGHT.

DAY is past!

Stars have set their watch at last,
Founts that through the deep woods flow
Make sweet sounds, unheard till now,
Flowers have shut with fading light-
Good-night!

LET HER DEPART.-ETC.

Peace to all!

Dreams of heaven on mourners fall!
Exile! o'er thy couch may gleams
Pass from thine own mountain streams;
Bard! away to worlds more bright—
Good-night!

Wrapt in a cloud of glorious dreams,
She breathes and moves alone,
Pining for those bright bowers and streams
Where her beloved is gone.

Let her depart!

HOW CAN THAT LOVE SO DEEP, SO LONE.

How can that love so deep, so lone,

So faithful unto death,

Thus fitfully in laughing tone,

In airy word, find breath?

Nay, ask how on the dark wave's breast,

The lily's cup may gleam,

Though many a mournful secret rest,

Low in the unfathom'd stream.

That stream is like my hidden love,
In its deep cavern's power,

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