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STANZAS FOR 'MUSIC.*
["THERE'S NOT A JOY THE WORLD CAN GIVE," &c.]
"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."
THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull
'T is not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which
fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be
Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happi-
Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the
'T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath,
green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.
Oh could I feel as I have felt,
or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though
So, midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow
*These verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr Power, of the Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
["THERE BE NONE OF BEAUTY'S DAUGHTERS."]
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
Is thy sweet voice to me:
And the midnight moon is weaving
So the spirit bows before thee,
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Though the world for this commend thee
Though my many faults defaced me,
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Still thine own its life retaineth
These are words of deeper sorrow
And when thou would solace gather
When her little hands shall
When her lip to thine is press'd,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had bless'd!
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see,
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Even my soul forsakes me now:
BORN in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
(1) Mrs, Charlmont.