Wand'rings far away from home,
With life all new before us;

Greetings warm, when home we come,

From hearts whose prayers watch'd o'er us. Tears starting,

At parting;

Hearts beating,

At meeting;

Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some!

To some, how bright and fleeting!

WHEN FIRST I MET THEE.

HEN first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.

I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go;

When

The heart whose hopes could make it Trust one so false, so low,

Deserves that thou shouldst break it.

every tongue thy follies named,

I fled the unwelcome story;

Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends

Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go,-

Some day, perhaps, thou 'lt waken

From pleasure's dream, to know

The grief of hearts forsaken.

Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee:

The few, who loved thee once, have fled,
And they, who flatter, scorn thee.

Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreath it ;

The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank cold hearts beneath it.

Go-go-though worlds were thine,

I would not now surrender

One taintless tear of mine

For all thy guilty splendour.

And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever;
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou'st lost for ever;

On her who, in thy fortune's fall,

With smiles had still received thee,

And gladly died to prove thee all

Her fancy first believed thee.

Go-go-'tis vain to curse,

"Tis weakness to upbraid thee;

Hate cannot wish thee worse

Than guilt and shame have made thee.

THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE.

(A BUFFO SONG.)

HERE'S something strange, I know not what,
Come o'er me,

Some phantom I've for ever got
Before me.

I look on high, and in the sky
"Tis shining;

On earth, its light with all things bright
Seems twining.

In vain I try this goblin's spells

To sever;

Go where I will, it round me dwells
For ever.

And then what tricks by day and night
It plays me;

In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite

Waylays me.

Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue
'Tis glancing;

Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat,
Comes dancing.

By whispers round of every sort
I'm taunted.

Never was mortal man, in short,
So haunted.

THEN FIRST FROM LOVE.

HEN first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs,
Did Painting learn her fairy skill,
And cull the hues of loveliest flow'rs,

To picture woman lovelier still.
For vain was every radiant hue,

Till Passion lent a soul to art,
And taught the painter, ere he drew,
To fix the model in his heart.

Thus smooth his toil awhile went on,
Till, lo, one touch his art defies;
The brow, the lip, the blushes shone,

But who could dare to paint those eyes?

"T was all in vain the painter strove ;

So turning to that boy divine,

"Here take," he said, "the pencil, Love,

No hand should paint such eyes but thine."