IF THOU HAST CRUSH'D A FLOWER.

Their sweetness gives me back the tears,
And the free trust of early years

My gentle child!

The spirit of my infant prayer

Shines in the depths of quiet there;
And home and love once more are mine,
Found in that dewy calm divine,

My gentle child!

Oh! heaven is with thee in thy dreams,
Its light by day around thee gleams:
Thy smile hath gifts from vernal skies:
Look on me with thy cloudless eyes,

My gentle child!

IF THOU HAST CRUSH'D A FLOWER.

"O cast thou not

Affection from thee! In this bitter world
Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast;
Watch-guard it-suffer not a breath to dim
The bright gem's purity!"

If thou hast crush'd a flower,

The root may not be blighted; If thou hast quench'd a lamp, Once more it may be lighted: But on thy harp or on thy lute,

The string which thou hast broken, Shall never in sweet sound again Give to thy touch a token !

If thou hast loosed a bird

Whose voice of song could cheer thee, Still, still he may be won

From the skies to warble near thee:

But if upon the troubled sea

Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded,

Hope not that wind or wave will bring
The treasure back when needed.

If thou hast bruised a vine,

The summer's breath is healing, And its clusters yet may glow

Through the leaves their bloom revealing:

But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown

With a bright draught fill'd-oh! never Shall earth give back that lavish'd wealth To cool thy parch'd lip's sever!

The heart is like that cup,

If thou waste the love it bore thee; And like that jewel gone,

Which the deep will not restore thee;

419

And like that string of harp or lute
Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd:-
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon for ever shatter'd.

BRIGHTLY HAST THOU FLED.
BRIGHTLY, brightly hast thou fled,
Ere one grief had bow'd thy head,
Brightly did'st thou part!

With thy young thoughts pure from spot,
With thy fond love wasted not,

With thy bounding heart.

Ne'er by sorrow to be wet,

Calmly smiles thy pale cheek yet,
Ere with dust o'erspread:

Lilies ne'er by tempest blown,

White rose which no stain hath known,
Be about thee shed!

So we give thee to the earth,
And the primrose shall have birth
O'er thy gentle head;

Thou, that like a dewdrop borne
On a sudden breeze of morn,
Brightly thus hast fled!

THE BED OF HEATH.

SOLDIER, awake! the night is past;
Hear'st thou not the bugle's blast?
Feel'st thou not the dayspring's breath?

Rouse thee from thy bed of heath!

Arm, thou bold and strong!

Soldier, what deep spell hath bound thee?
Fiery steeds are neighing round thee;

Banners to the fresh wind play,

Rise, and arm; 'tis day, 'tis day!

And thou hast slumber'd long.

"Brother, on the heathery lea
Longer yet my sleep must be ;
Though the morn of battle rise,
Darkly night rolls o'er my eyes.

Brother, this is death!

"Call me not when bugles sound, Call me not when wine flows round; Name me but amidst the brave;

Give me but a soldier's grave

But my bed of heath!"

FAIRY SONG.-WHAT WOKE THE BURIED SOUND. 421

"Ne'er on earthborn lily's stem
Will we hang the dewdrop's gem;
Ne'er shall reed or cowslip's head
Quiver to our dancing tread,

By sweet fount or murmuring shore,
Never more!"

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.-

Jh! 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 Tone, 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.

It 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!"

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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!