Chapter XVI: Preface (5)

Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free. Sing--for the pride of the Tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave-- How vain was their boast, for the LORD hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free.

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the LORD! His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword-- Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? For the LORD hath looked out from his pillar of glory,[2] And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free!

[1] I have so much altered the character of this air, which is from the beginning of one of Avison's old-fashioned concertos, that, without this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, be recognized.

[2] "And it came to pass, that, in the morning watch the LORD looked unto the host of the Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians."--_Exod_. xiv. 24.

GO, LET ME WEEP.

(AIR.--STEVENSON.)

Go, let me weep--there's bliss in tears, When he who sheds them inly feels Some lingering stain of early years Effaced by every drop that steals. The fruitless showers of worldly woe Fall dark to earth and never rise; While tears that from repentance flow, In bright exhalement reach the skies. Go, let me weep.

Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew More idly than the summer's wind, And, while they past, a fragrance threw, But left no trace of sweets behind.-- The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves Is cold, is faint to those that swell The heart where pure repentance grieves O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well. Leave me to sigh.

COME NOT, OH LORD.

(AIR.--HAYDN.)

Come not, oh LORD, in the dread robe of splendor
Thou worest on the Mount, in the day of thine ire;
Come veiled in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender,
Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire!

LORD, thou rememberest the night, when thy Nation[1]
Stood fronting her Foe by the red-rolling stream;
O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation,
While Israel basked all the night in its beam.

So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold Thee,
From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove;
While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold Thee,
Oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy Love!

[1] "And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp of Israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light by night to these"--_Exod_. xiv. 20.

WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S TEARS.

(AIR.--STEVENSON.)

Were not the sinful Mary's tears
An offering worthy Heaven,
When, o'er the faults of former years,
She wept--and was forgiven?

When, bringing every balmy sweet
Her day of luxury stored,
She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet
The precious odors poured;--
And wiped them with that golden hair,
Where once the diamond shone;
Tho' now those gems of grief were there
Which shine for GOD alone!

Were not those sweets, so humbly shed--
That hair--those weeping eyes--
And the sunk heart, that inly bled--
Heaven's noblest sacrifice?

Thou that hast slept in error's sleep,
Oh, would'st thou wake in Heaven,
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep,
"Love much" and be forgiven![1]

[1] "Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much."--St. Luke, vii.47.

AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS.

(AIR.--HAYDN.)

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean,
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee,
My God! silent to Thee--
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee,

As still to the star of its worship, tho' clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,
My GOD! trembling to Thee--
True, fond, trembling, to Thee.

BUT WHO SHALL SEE.

(AIR.--STEVENSON.)

But who shall see the glorious day
When, throned on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
Which hides the nations now?[1]
When earth no more beneath the fear
Of this rebuke shall lie;[2]
When pain shall cease, and every tear
Be wiped from every eye.[3]

Then, Judah, thou no more shall mourn
Beneath the heathen's chain;
Thy days of splendor shall return,
And all be new again.[4]

The Fount of Life shall then be quaft
In peace, by all who come;[5]
And every wind that blows shall waft
Some long-lost exile home.

[1] "And he will destroy, in this mountain, the face of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over all nations."--Isaiah, xxv. 7.

[2] "The rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth."--Isaiah, xxv. 8.

[3] "And GOD shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; neither shall there be any more pain."--Rev. xxi:4.

[4] "And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new."--Rev. xxi. 5.

[5] "And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."--Rev. xxii. 17.

ALMIGHTY GOD!

CHORUS OF PRIESTS.

(AIR.--MOZART.)

Almighty GOD! when round thy shrine The Palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,[1] (Emblem of Life's eternal ray, And Love that "fadeth not away,") We bless the flowers, expanded all,[2] We bless the leaves that never fall,

And trembling say,--"In Eden thus "The Tree of Life may flower for us!" When round thy Cherubs--smiling calm, Without their flames--we wreathe the Palm. Oh God! we feel the emblem true-- Thy Mercy is eternal too, Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes, That crown of Palm which never dies, Are but the types of Thee above-- Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love!

[1] "The Scriptures having declared that the Temple of Jerusalem was a type of the Messiah, it is natural to conclude that the Palms, which made so conspicuous a figure in that structure, represented that Life and Immortality which were brought to light by the Gospel."--"Observations on the Palm, as a sacred Emblem," by W. Tighe.

[2] "And he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubim, and palm-trees, and _open flowers_."--1 Kings, VI. 29.

OH FAIR! OH PUREST!

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER.

(AIR.--MOORE)

Oh fair! oh purest! be thou the dove That flies alone to some sunny grove, And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, All vestal white, in the limpid spring. There, if the hovering hawk be near, That limpid spring in its mirror clear Reflects him ere he reach his prey And warns the timorous bird away, Be thou this dove; Fairest, purest, be thou this dove,

The sacred pages of God's own book Shall be the spring, the eternal brook, In whose holy mirror, night and day, Thou'lt study Heaven's reflected ray;-- And should the foes of virtue dare, With gloomy wing, to seek thee there, Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie Between Heaven and thee, and trembling fly! Be thou that dove; Fairest, purest, be thou that dove.

ANGEL OF CHARITY.

(AIR.--HANDEL)

Angel of Charity, who, from above,
Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And Pity's soul is in thy tear.
When on the shrine of God were laid
First-fruits of all most good and fair,
That ever bloomed in Eden's shade,
Thine was the holiest offering there.

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given
But as our guides to yonder sky;
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven,
There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.
But, long as Love, Almighty Love,
Shall on his throne of thrones abide,
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above,
Smiling for ever by His side!

BEHOLD THE SUN.

(AIR.--LORD MORNINGTON.)

Behold the Sun, how bright From yonder East he springs, As if the soul of life and light Were breathing from his wings.

So bright the Gospel broke Upon the souls of men; So fresh the dreaming world awoke In Truth's full radiance then.

Before yon Sun arose, Stars clustered thro' the sky-- But oh how dim, how pale were those, To His one burning eye!

So Truth lent many a ray,
To bless the Pagan's night--
But, Lord, how weak, how cold were they
To Thy One glorious Light!

LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAY.

(AIR.--DR. BOYCE.)

Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid, When we shall see thy Angel hovering o'er This sinful world with hand to heaven extended, And hear him swear by Thee that time's no more?[1] When Earth shall feel thy fast consuming ray-- Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day?

When thro' the world thy awful call hath sounded-- "Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment wake, ye Dead!" And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded, The Saviour shall put forth his radiant head;[2] While Earth and Heaven before Him pass away[3]-- Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day?

When, with a glance, the Eternal Judge shall sever Earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright, And say to _those_, "Depart from me for ever!" To _these_, "Come, dwell with me in endless light!"[4] When each and all in silence take their way-- Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day?

[1] And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the earth, lifted up his hand to heaven, and swear by Him that liveth for ever and ever...that there should be time no longer."--_Rev_. x. 5, 6.

[2] "They shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven--and all the angels with him."--_Matt_. xxiv. 90, and xxv. 80.

[3] "From whose face the earth and the heaven fled away."--_Rev_. xx. ii.

[4] "And before Him shall be gathered all nations, and He shall separate them one from another.

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you, etc.

"Then shall He say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, etc.

"And these shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal."

--_Matt_ xxv. 32, _et seq_.

OH, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE.

(AIR.--HAYDN.)

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art, Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart Shall all other passions disown; Like some pure temple that shines apart, Reserved for Thy worship alone.

In joy and in sorrow, thro' praise and thro' blame, Thus still let me, living and dying the same, In _Thy_ service bloom and decay-- Like some lone altar whose votive flame In holiness wasteth away.

Tho' born in this desert, and doomed by my birth To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth, On Thee let my spirit rely-- Like some rude dial, that, fixt on earth, Still looks for its light from the sky.

WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL.

(AIR.--STEVENSON.)

Weep, weep for him, the Man of God--[1]
In yonder vale he sunk to rest;
But none of earth can point the sod[2]
That flowers above his sacred breast.
Weep, children of Israel, weep!

His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain.[3]
His words refreshed like Heaven's dew--
Oh, ne'er shall Israel see again
A Chief, to GOD and her so true.
Weep, children of Israel, weep!

Remember ye his parting gaze,
His farewell song by Jordan's tide,
When, full of glory and of days,
He saw the promised land--and died.[4]
Weep, children of Israel, weep!

Yet died he not as men who sink,
Before our eyes, to soulless clay;
But, changed to spirit, like a wink
Of summer lightning, past away.[5]
Weep, children of Israel, weep!

[1] "And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab."-- _Deut_. xxxiv, 8.

[2] "And, he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab...but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day."--_Ibid_. ver. 6.

[3] "My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the dew."--_Moses' Song_.

[4] "I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither."--_Deut_. xxxiv. 4.

[5] "As he was going to embrace Eleazer and Joshua, and was still discoursing with them, a cloud stood over him on the sudden, and he disappeared in a certain valley, although he wrote in the Holy Books that he died, which was done out of fear, lest they should venture to say that, because of his extraordinary virtue, he went to GOD."--_Josephus_, book iv. chap. viii.

LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY BREEZE.

(AIR. BEETHOVEN.)

Like morning, when her early breeze Breaks up the surface of the seas, That, in those furrows, dark with night, Her hand may sow the seeds of light--

Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er The Spirit, dark and lost before, And, freshening all its depths, prepare For Truth divine to enter there.

Till David touched his sacred lyre. In silence lay the unbreathing wire; But when he swept its chords along, Even Angels stooped to hear that song.

So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh LORD, Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord-- Till, waked by Thee, its breath shall rise In music, worthy of the skies!

COME, YE DISCONSOLATE.

(AIR.--GERMAN.)

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,
Come, at God's altar fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish--
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying,
Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure,
Here speaks the Comforter, in GOD'S name saying--
"Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure."

Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us
What charm for aching hearts _he_ can reveal,
Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us--
"Earth has no sorrow that GOD cannot heal."

AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS COME.

(AIR.--STEVENSON.)

Awake, arise, thy light is come;[1]
The nations, that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb--
The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
From every nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
Their homage to thy rising lustre.[2]

Lift up thine eyes around, and see
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,
To thee return thy home-sick daughters.[3]

And camels rich, from Midians' tents,
Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.[4]

See, who are these that, like a cloud,[5]
Are gathering from all earth's dominions,
Like doves, long absent, when allowed
Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions.

Surely the isles shall wait for me,[6]
The ships of Tarshish round will hover,
To bring thy sons across the sea,
And waft their gold and silver over.

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace[7]--
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious
Shall beautify our Holy Place,
And make the ground I tread on glorious.

No more shall dischord haunt thy ways,[8]
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation;
But thou shalt call thy portal Praise,
And thou shalt name thy walls Salvation.

The sun no more shall make thee bright,[9]
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee;
But God, Himself, shall be thy Light,
And flash eternal glory thro' thee.

Thy sun shall never more go down;
A ray from heaven itself descended
Shall light thy everlasting crown--
Thy days of mourning all are ended.[10]

My own, elect, and righteous Land!
The Branch, for ever green and vernal,
Which I have planted with this hand--
Live thou shalt in Life Eternal.[11]

[1] "Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee."--_Isaiah_, xl.

[2] "And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising."--_Isaiah_, xl.

[3] "Lift up thine eyes round about, and see; all they gather themselves together, they come to thee: thy sons shall come from afar, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side."--_Isaiah_, lx.

[4] "The multitude of camels shall cover thee; the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah; all they from Sheba shall come; they shall bring gold and incense."--_Ib_.

[5] "Who are these that fly as a cloud and as the doves to their windows?"--_Ib_.

[6] "Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships of Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and their gold with them."--_Ib_.

[7] "The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee; the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious."--_Ib_.

[8] "Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls, Salvation, and thy gates, Praise.--_Isaiah_, lx.

[9] "Thy sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory."--_Ib_.

[10] "Thy sun shall no more go down...for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended."--_Ib_.

[11] "Thy people also shall be all righteous; they shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands."--_Ib_.

THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT.

(AIR.--CRESCENTINI.)

There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary-- What may that Desert be? 'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come Are lost, like that daylight, for 'tis not their home.

There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes The water he pants for but sparkles and flies-- Who may that Pilgrim be? 'Tis Man, hapless Man, thro' this life tempted on By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone.

There is a bright Fountain, thro' that Desert stealing To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing-- What may that Fountain be? 'Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under ground, By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found.

There is a fair Spirit whose wand hath the spell To point where those waters in secrecy dwell-- Who may that Spirit be? 'Tis Faith, humble Faith, who hath learned that where'er Her wand bends to worship the Truth must be there!

SINCE FIRST THY WORD.

(AIR.--NICHOLAS FREEMAN.)

Since first Thy Word awaked my heart, Like new life dawning o'er me, Where'er I turn mine eyes, Thou art, All light and love before me. Naught else I feel, or hear or see-- All bonds of earth I sever-- Thee, O God, and only Thee I live for, now and ever.

Like him whose fetters dropt away
When light shone o'er his prison,[1]
My spirit, touched by Mercy's ray,
Hath from her chains arisen.
And shall a soul Thou bidst be free,
Return to bondage?--never!
Thee, O God, and only Thee
I live for, now and ever.

[1] "And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a light shined in the prison...and his chains fell off from his hands."--_Acts_, xii. 7.

HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE.

(AIR.--ROUSSEAU.)

Hark! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling;
Earth's weary children to repose;
While, round the couch of Nature falling,
Gently the night's soft curtains close.
Soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining,
Numberless stars, thro' yonder dark,
Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining
From out the veils that hid the Ark.

Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest,
Thou who in silence throned above,
Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest
Thy watch of Glory, Power, and Love.
Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely,
Our souls awhile from life withdrawn
May in their darkness stilly, purely,
Like "sealed fountains," rest till dawn.

WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE SAINTED?

(AIR.--HASSE.)

Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted?
Thro' what Elysium more bright
Than fancy or hope ever painted,
Walk ye in glory and light?
Who the same kingdom inherits?
Breathes there a soul that may dare
Look to that world of Spirits,
Or hope to dwell with you there?

Sages! who even in exploring
Nature thro' all her bright ways,
Went like the Seraphs adoring,
And veiled your eyes in the blaze--
Martyrs! who left for our reaping
Truths you had sown in your blood--
Sinners! whom, long years of weeping
Chastened from evil to good--

Maidens! who like the young Crescent,
Turning away your pale brows
From earth and the light of the Present,
Looked to your Heavenly Spouse--
Say, thro' what region enchanted
Walk ye in Heaven's sweet air?
Say, to what spirits 'tis granted,
Bright, souls, to dwell with you there?

HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S WING.

(AIR--ANONYMOUS.)

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing,
Whose theme is in the skies--
Like morning larks that sweeter sing
The nearer Heaven they rise,

Tho' love his magic lyre may tune,
Yet ah, the flowers he round it wreathes,
Were plucked beneath pale Passion's moon,
Whose madness in their ode breathes.

How purer far the sacred lute,
Round which Devotion ties
Sweet flowers that turn to heavenly fruit,
And palm that never dies.

Tho' War's high-sounding harp may be.,
Most welcome to the hero's ears,
Alas, his chords of victory
Are wet, all o'er, with human tears.

How far more sweet their numbers run,
Who hymn like Saints above,
No victor but the Eternal One,
No trophies but of Love!

GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT,

(AIR.--STEVENSON.)

Go forth to the Mount; bring the olive-branch home,[1] And rejoice; for the day of our freedom is come! From that time,[2] when the moon upon Ajalon's vale, Looking motionless down,[3] saw the kings of the earth, In the presence of God's mighty champion grow pale-- Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth! Go forth to the Mount--bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our freedom is come!

Bring myrtle and palm--bring the boughs of each tree That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.[4] From that day when the footsteps of Israel shone With a light not their own, thro' the Jordan's deep tide, Whose waters shrunk back as the ark glided on[5]-- Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride! Go forth to the Mount--bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

[1] And that they should publish and proclaim in all their cities, and in Jerusalem, saying, "Go forth unto the mount, and fetch olive-branches,'! etc.--_Neh_. viii. 15.

[2] "For since the days of Joshua the son of Nun unto that day had not the children of Israel done so; and there was very great gladness."-- _Ib_. 17.

[3] "Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon and thou Moon, in the valley of Ajalon."--_Josh_. x. 12.

[4] "Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and myrtle-branches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths."

--_Neh_. viii. 15.

[5] "And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground."--_Josh_. iii. 17.

IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER.

(AIR.--HAYDN.)

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,
When the Spirit leaves this sphere.
Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her
To those she long hath mourned for here?

Hearts from which 'twas death to sever.
Eyes this world can ne'er restore,
There, as warm, as bright as ever,
Shall meet us and be lost no more.

When wearily we wander, asking
Of earth and heaven, where are they,
Beneath whose smile we once lay basking,
Blest and thinking bliss would stay?

Hope still lifts her radiant finger
Pointing to the eternal Home,
Upon whose portal yet they linger,
Looking back for us to come.

Alas, alas--doth Hope deceive us?
Shall friendship--love--shall all those ties
That bind a moment, and then leave us,
Be found again where nothing dies?

Oh, if no other boon were given,
To keep our hearts from wrong and stain,
Who would not try to win a Heaven
Where all we love shall live again?

WAR AGAINST BABYLON.

(AIR.--NOVELLO.)

"War against Babylon!" shout we around,
Be our banners through earth unfurled;
Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound--
"War against Babylon!" shout thro' the world!
Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,[1]
Thy day of pride is ended now;
And the dark curse of Israel's daughters
Breaks like a thundercloud over thy brow!
War, war, war against Babylon!

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,[2]
Set the standard of God on high;
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields.
"Zion" our watchword, and "vengeance" our cry!
Woe! woe!--the time of thy visitation[3]
Is come, proud land, thy doom is cast--
And the black surge of desolation
Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last!
War, war, war against Babylon!

[1] "Oh thou that dwellest upon many waters...thine end is come."--_Jer_. li. 13.

[2] "Make bright the arrows; gather the shields...set up the standard upon the walls of Babylon"--_Jer_. li. 11, 12.

[3] "Woe unto them! for their day is come, the time of their visitation!"--_Jer_. l. 27.

A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC.

ADVERTISEMENT.

These verses were written for a Benefit at the Dublin Theatre, and were spoken by Miss Smith, with a degree of success, which they owed solely to her admirable manner of reciting them. I wrote them in haste; and it very rarely happens that poetry which has cost but little labor to the writer is productive of any great pleasure to the reader. Under this impression, I certainly should not have published them if they had not found their way into some of the newspapers with such an addition of errors to their own original stock, that I thought it but fair to limit their responsibility to those faults alone which really belong to them.

With respect to the title which I have invented for this Poem, I feel even more than the scruples of the Emperor Tiberius, when he humbly asked pardon of the Roman Senate for using "the outlandish term, _monopoly_." But the truth is, having written the Poem with the sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought that an unintelligible word of this kind would not be without its attraction for the multitude, with whom, "If 'tis not sense, at least 'tis Greek." To some of my readers, however, it may not be superfluous to say, that by "Melologue," I mean that mixture of recitation of music, which is frequently adopted in the performance of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and of which the most striking example I can remember is the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of Racine.

T.M.

MELOLOGUE

A SHORT STRAIN OF MUSIC FROM THE ORCHESTRA.

_There_ breathes a language known and felt
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone;
Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt,
That language of the soul is felt and known.
From those meridian plains,
Where oft, of old, on some high tower
The soft Peruvian poured his midnight strains,
And called his distant love with such sweet power,
That, when she heard the lonely lay,
Not worlds could keep her from his arms away,[1]
To the bleak climes of polar night,
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky,
The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly,
And sings along the lengthening waste of snow,
Gayly as if the blessed light
Of vernal Phoebus burned upon his brow;
Oh Music! thy celestial claim
Is still resistless, still the same;
And, faithful as the mighty sea
To the pale star that o'er its realm presides,
The spell-bound tides
Of human passion rise and fall for thee!

[1] "A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian woman in the streets of Cozco, and would have taken her to his home, but she cried out, 'For God's sake, Sir, let me go; for that pipe, which you hear in yonder tower, calls me with great passion, and I cannot refuse the summons; for love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife, and he my husband.'"--"_Garcilasso de la Véga_," in Sir Paul Ryeaut's translation.

GREEK AIR

List! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings,
While, from Ilissus' silvery springs,
She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn;
And by her side, in Music's charm dissolving,
Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving,
Dreams of bright days that never can return;
When Athens nurst her olive bough
With hands by tyrant power unchained;
And braided for the muse's brow
A wreath by tyrant touch unstained.
When heroes trod each classic field
Where coward feet now faintly falter;
When every arm was Freedom's shield,
And every heart was Freedom's altar!

FLOURISH OF TRUMPETS.

Hark, 'tis the sound that charms
The war-steed's wakening ears!--
Oh! many a mother folds her arms
Round her boy-soldier when that call she hears;
And, tho' her fond heart sink with fears,
Is proud to feel his young pulse bound
With valor's fever at the sound.
See, from his native hills afar
The rude Helvetian flies to war;
Careless for what, for whom he fights,
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights:
A conqueror oft--a hero never--
Yet lavish of his life-blood still,
As if 'twere like his mountain rill,
And gushed forever!

Yes, Music, here, even here,
Amid this thoughtless, vague career,
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power.--
There's a wild air which oft, among the rocks
Of his own loved land, at evening hour,
Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks,
Whose every note hath power to thrill his mind
With tenderest thoughts; to bring around his knees
The rosy children whom he left behind,
And fill each little angel eye
With speaking tears, that ask him why
He wandered from his hut for scenes like these.
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar;
Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears;
And the stern eyes that looked for blood before
Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears.

SWISS AIR.--"RANZ DES VACHES."

But wake, the trumpet's blast again,
And rouse the ranks of warrior-men!
Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs,
And Freedom's spirit guides the laboring storm,
'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallowed form,
And like Heaven's lightning sacredly destroys.
Nor, Music, thro' thy breathing sphere,
Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear
Of Him who made all harmony,
Than the blest sound of fetters breaking,
And the first hymn that man awaking
From Slavery's slumber breathes to Liberty.

SPANISH CHORUS.

Hark! from Spain, indignant Spain,
Burst the bold, enthusiast strain,
Like morning's music on the air;
And seems in every note to swear
By Saragossa's ruined streets,
By brave Gerona's deathful story,
That, while _one_ Spaniard's life-blood beats,
That blood shall stain the conqueror's glory.

SPANISH AIR.--"YA DESPERTO."

But ah! if vain the patriot's zeal,
If neither valor's force nor wisdom's light
Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal
Which shuts so close the books of Europe's right--
What song shall then in sadness tell
Of broken pride, of prospects shaded,
Of buried hopes, remembered well
Of ardor quenched, and honor faded?
What muse shall mourn the breathless brave,
In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine?
What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave?
Oh Erin, Thine!

SET OF GLEES,

MUSIC BY MOORE.

THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.

When o'er the silent seas alone, For days and nights we've cheerless gone, Oh they who've felt it know how sweet, Some sunny morn a sail to meet.

Sparkling at once is every eye, "Ship ahoy!" our joyful cry; While answering back the sounds we hear, "Ship ahoy!" what cheer? what...cheer?

Then sails are backed, we nearer come, Kind words are said of friends and home; And soon, too soon, we part with pain, To sail o'er silent seas again.

HIP, HIP, HURRA!

Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim, He who shrinks from a bumper I pledge not to him; Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what hue, Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true. Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Come charge high, again, boy, nor let the full wine Leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight may shine; Here's "the friends of our youth--tho' of some we're bereft, May the links that are lost but endear what are left!" Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Once more fill a bumper--ne'er talk of the hour; On hearts thus united old Time has no power. May our lives, tho', alas! like the wine of to-night, They must soon have an end, to the last flow as bright. Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since Time's glass will run Even faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one; Here's the poet who sings--here's the warrior who fights-- Here's the, statesman who speaks, in the cause of men's rights! Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

Come, once more, a bumper!--then drink as you please, Tho', _who_ could fill half-way to toast such as these? Here's our next joyous meeting--and oh when we meet, May our wine be as bright and our union as sweet! Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!

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, 'tis he!"
The night elves cry,
And hush their fairy harmony,
While he steals by;
But if his silvery feet
One dew-drop brush,
Voices are heard in chorus sweet,
Whispering, "Hush, hush!"

THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE.

HE.

On to the field, our doom is sealed,
To conquer or be slaves:
This sun shall see our nation free,
Or set upon our graves.

SHE.

Farewell, oh farewell, my love,
May heaven thy guardian be,
And send bright angels from above
To bring thee back to me.

HE.

On to the field, the battle-field,
Where freedom's standard waves,
This sun shall see our tyrant yield,
Or shine upon our graves.

THE WATCHMAN.

A TRIO.

WATCHMAN.

Past twelve o'clock--past twelve.

Good night, good night, my dearest-- How fast the moments fly! 'Tis time to part, thou hearest That hateful watchman's cry.

WATCHMAN.

Past one o'clock--past one.

Yet stay a moment longer--
Alas! why is it so,
The wish to stay grows stronger,
The more 'tis time to go?

WATCHMAN.

Past two o'clock--past two.

Now wrap thy cloak about thee--
The hours must sure go wrong,
For when they're past without thee,
They're, oh, ten times as long.

WATCHMAN.

Past three o'clock--past three.

Again that dreadful warning!
Had ever time such flight?
And see the sky, 'tis morning--
So now, _indeed_, good night.

WATCHMAN.

Past three o'clock--past three.

Goodnight, good night.

SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE?

Say, what shall we dance? Shall we bound along the moonlight plain, To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain? Say, what shall we dance? Shall we, like those who rove Thro' bright Grenada's grove, To the light Bolero's measures move? Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay, And thus to its sound die away?

Strike the gay chords, Let us hear each strain from every shore That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er. Hark! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, The Polish lady, by her lover led, Delights thro' gay saloons with step untried to tread, Or sweeter still, thro' moonlight walks Whose shadows serve to hide The blush that's raised by 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? which shall we dance?

THE EVENING GUN.

Remember'st thou that setting sun, The last I saw with thee, When loud we heard the evening gun Peal o'er the twilight sea? Boom!--the sounds appeared to sweep Far o'er the verge of day,

Till, into realms beyond the deep,
They seemed 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.
Boom!--and while, o'er billows curled.
The distant sounds decay,
I weep and wish, from this rough world
Like them to die away.

LEGENDARY BALLADS.

TO

THE MISS FEILDINGS,

THIS VOLUME

IS INSCRIBED

BY

THEIR FAITHFUL FRIEND AND SERVANT,

THOMAS MOORE.

LEGENDARY BALLADS

THE VOICE.

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days, When love, only love was the light of her ways; And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago, It whispered her name from the garden below.

"Alas," sighed the maiden, "how fancy can cheat! "The world once had lips that could whisper thus sweet; "But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep. "Where, oh that beside them this heart too could sleep!"

She sunk on her pillow--but no, 'twas in vain To chase the illusion, that Voice came again! She flew to the casement--but, husht as the grave, In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave.

"Oh sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she said, "From that call of the buried, that cry of the Dead!" And sleep came around her--but, starting, she woke, For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke!

"I come," she exclaimed, "be thy home where it may, "On earth or in Heaven, that call I obey;" Then forth thro' the moonlight, with heart beating fast And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past.

Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone; And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on; But whither she wandered, by wave or by shore, None ever could tell, for she came back no more.

No, ne'er came she back,--but the watchman who stood, That night, in the tower which o'ershadows the flood, Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moonlighted spray, A youth on a steed bear the maiden away.

CUPID AND PSYCHE.

They told her that he, to whose vows she had listened
Thro' night's fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest;--
Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glistened,
And evil the lips she in darkness had prest.

"When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth,
"Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies;
"And there, as the light, o'er his dark features shineth,
"Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs!"

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing,
When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light;
And saw--such a vision!--no image, appearing
To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright.

A youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet morning,
While round him still lingered its innocent ray;
Tho' gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids gave warning
Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay.

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it,
While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine,
His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crowned it
Seemed fresh from the breeze of some garden divine.

Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing,
What late was but love is idolatry now;
But, ah--in her tremor the fatal lamp raising--
A sparkle flew from it and dropt on his brow.

All's lost--with a start from his rosy sleep waking;
The Spirit flashed o'er her his glances of fire;
Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking,
Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire:

"Farewell--what a dream thy suspicion hath broken!
"Thus ever. Affection's fond vision is crost;
"Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but spoken,
"And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!"

HERO AND LEANDER.

"The night wind is moaning with mournful sigh, "There gleameth no moon in the misty sky "No star over Helle's sea; "Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, "One love-kindled star thro' the deep of night, "To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee!"

Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream, Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam No eye but a lover's could see; And still, as the surge swept over his head, "To night," he said tenderly, "living or dead, "Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee!"

But fiercer around him, the wild waves speed; Oh, Love! in that hour of thy votary's need, Where, where could thy Spirit be? He struggles--he sinks--while the hurricane's breath Bears rudely away his last farewell in death-- "Sweet Hero, I die for thee!"

THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN.

"Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee, "So may the stars obey thee "So may each airy "Moon-elf and fairy "Nightly their homage pay thee! "Say, by what spell, above, below, "In stars that wink or flowers that blow, "I may discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether my love loves me, or no, "Whether my love loves me."

"Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee "Hath charms no gold could buy thee; "Its stem enchanted. "By moon-elves planted, "Will all thou seek'st supply thee. "Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, "Bring thence their fairest leaf below; "And thou'lt discover, "Ere night is over, "Whether thy love loves thee or no, "Whether thy love loves thee."

"See, up the dark tree going, "With blossoms round me blowing, "From thence, oh Father, "This leaf I gather, "Fairest that there is growing. "Say, by what sign I now shall know "If in this leaf lie bliss or woe "And thus discover "Ere night is over, "Whether my love loves me or no, "Whether my love loves me."

"Fly to yon fount that's welling "Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, "Dip in its water "That leaf, oh Daughter, "And mark the tale 'tis telling;[1] "Watch thou if pale or bright it glow, "List thou, the while, that fountain's flow, "And thou'lt discover "Whether thy lover, "Loved as he is, loves thee or no, "Loved as he is, loves thee."

Forth flew the nymph, delighted, To seek that fount benighted; But, scarce a minute The leaf lay in it, When, lo, its bloom was blighted! And as she asked, with voice of woe-- Listening, the while, that fountain's flow-- "Shall I recover "My truant lover?" The fountain seemed to answer, "No;" The fountain answered, "No."

[1] The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to this; and we find the Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay leaf, and dipping it into the sacred water.

CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS.

A hunter once in that grove reclined,
To shun the noon's bright eye,
And oft he wooed the wandering wind,
To cool his brow with its sigh,
While mute lay even the wild bee's hum,
Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair,
His song was still "Sweet air, oh come?"
While Echo answered, "Come, sweet Air!"

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise!
What meaneth that rustling spray?
"'Tis the white-horned doe," the Hunter cries,
"I have sought since break of day."
Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs,
The arrow flies from his sounding bow,
"Hilliho-hilliho!" he gayly sings,
While Echo sighs forth "Hilliho!"

Alas, 'twas not the white-horned doe
He saw in the rustling grove,
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow,
Of his own young wedded love.
And, ah, too sure that arrow sped,
For pale at his feet he sees her lie;--
"I die, I die," was all she said,
While Echo murmured. "I die, I die!"

YOUTH AND AGE.

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day, To drooping Age, who crest his way.-- "It is a sunny hour of play, "For which repentance dear doth pay; "Repentance! Repentance! "And this is Love, as wise men say." "Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more, Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.-- "Soft as a passing summer's wind, "Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind? "Repentance! Repentance! "And this is Love--when love is o'er."

"Tell me, what's Love? "said Youth again, Trusting the bliss, but not the pain. "Sweet as a May tree's scented air-- "Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, "Repentance! Repentance! "This, this is Love--sweet Youth, beware."

Just then, young Love himself came by, And cast on Youth a smiling eye; Who could resist that glance's ray? In vain did Age his warning say, "Repentance! Repentance!" Youth laughing went with Love away.

THE DYING WARRIOR.

A wounded Chieftain, lying
By the Danube's leafy side,
Thus faintly said, in dying,
"Oh! bear, thou foaming tide.
"This gift to my lady-bride."

'Twas then, in life's last quiver,
He flung the scarf he wore
Into the foaming river,
Which, ah too quickly, bore
That pledge of one no more!

With fond impatience burning,
The Chieftain's lady stood,
To watch her love returning
In triumph down the flood,
From that day's field of blood.

But, field, alas, ill-fated! The lady saw, instead Of the bark whose speed she waited, Her hero's scarf, all red With the drops his heart had shed.

One shriek--and all was over--
Her life-pulse ceased to beat;
The gloomy waves now cover
That bridal-flower so sweet.
And the scarf is her winding sheet!

THE MAGIC MIRROR.

"Come, if thy magic Glass have power
"To call up forms we sigh to see;
"Show me my, love, in that, rosy bower,
"Where last she pledged her truth to me."

The Wizard showed him his Lady bright,
Where lone and pale in her bower she lay;
"True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight,
"She's thinking of one, who is far away."

But, lo! a page, with looks of joy,
Brings tidings to the Lady's ear;
"'Tis," said the Knight, "the same bright boy,
"Who used to guide me to my dear."
The Lady now, from her favorite tree,
Hath, smiling, plucked a rosy flower:
"Such," he exclaimed, "was the gift that she
"Each morning sent me from that bower!"

She gives her page the blooming rose,
With looks that say, "Like lightning, fly!"
"Thus," thought the Knight, "she soothes her woes,
"By fancying, still, her true-love nigh."
But the page returns, and--oh, what a sight,
For trusting lover's eyes to see!--
Leads to that bower another Knight,
As young and, alas, as loved as he!

"Such," quoth the Youth, "is Woman's love!"
Then, darting forth, with furious bound,
Dashed at the Mirror his iron glove,
And strewed it all in fragments round.

MORAL.

Such ills would never have come to pass,
Had he ne'er sought that fatal view;
The Wizard would still have kept his Glass,
And the Knight still thought his Lady true.

THE PILGRIM.

Still thus, when twilight gleamed, Far off his Castle seemed, Traced on the sky; And still, as fancy bore him. To those dim towers before him, He gazed, with wishful eye; And thought his home was nigh.

"Hall of my Sires!" he said, "How long, with weary tread, "Must I toil on? "Each eve, as thus I wander, "Thy towers seem rising yonder, "But, scarce hath daylight shone, "When, like a dream, thou'rt gone!"

So went the Pilgrim still, Down dale and over hill, Day after day; That glimpse of home, so cheering, At twilight still appearing, But still, with morning's ray, Melting, like mist, away!

Where rests the Pilgrim now? Here, by this cypress bough, Closed his career; That dream, of fancy's weaving, No more his steps deceiving, Alike past hope and fear, The Pilgrim's home is here.

THE HIGH-BORN LADYE.

In vain all the Knights to the Underwald wooed her,
Tho' brightest of maidens, the proudest was she;
Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her,
But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.

"Whosoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling,
"That Knight must the conqueror of conquerors be;
"He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in:--
"None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her
On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree;
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her,
And worshipt at distance the high-born Ladye.

At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo her,
With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea;
His visor was down--but, with voice that thrilled thro her,
He whispered his vows to the high-born Ladye.

"Proud maiden! I come with high spousals to grace thee,
"In me the great conqueror of conquerors see;
"Enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place thee,
"And mine, thou'rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!"

The maiden she smiled, and in jewels arrayed her,
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she;
And proud was the step, as her bridegroom conveyed her
In pomp to his home, of that highborn Ladye.

"But whither," she, starting, exclaims, "have you, led me?
"Here's naught but a tomb and a dark cypress tree;
"Is _this_ the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me?"
With scorn in her glance said the high-born Ladye.

"Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest creatures"--
Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see;
But she sunk on the ground--'twas a skeleton's features
And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye!

THE INDIAN BOAT.

'Twas midnight dark,
The seaman's bark,
Swift o'er the waters bore him,
When, thro' the night,
He spied a light
Shoot o'er the wave before him.
"A sail! a sail!" he cries;
"She comes from the Indian shore
"And to-night shall be our prize,
"With her freight of golden ore;
"Sail on! sail on!"
When morning shone
He saw the gold still clearer;
But, though so fast
The waves he past
That boat seemed never the nearer.

Bright daylight came,
And still the same
Rich bark before him floated;
While on the prize
His wishful eyes
Like any young lover's doted:
"More sail! more sail!" he cries,
While the waves overtop the mast;
And his bounding galley flies,
Like an arrow before the blast.
Thus on, and on,
Till day was gone,
And the moon thro' heaven did hie her,
He swept the main,
But all in vain,
That boat seemed never the nigher.

And many a day
To night gave way,
And many a morn succeeded:
While still his flight,
Thro day and night,
That restless mariner speeded.
Who knows--who knows what seas
He is now careering o'er?
Behind, the eternal breeze,
And that mocking bark, before!
For, oh, till sky
And earth shall die,
And their death leave none to rue it,
That boat must flee
O'er the boundless sea,
And that ship in vain pursue it.

THE STRANGER.

Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded Stranger
Who sleeps her last slumber in this haunted ground;
Where often, at midnight, the lonely wood-ranger
Hears soft fairy music re-echo around.

None e'er knew the name of that heart-stricken lady,
Her language, tho' sweet, none could e'er understand;
But her features so sunned, and her eyelash so shady,
Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern land.

'Twas one summer night, when the village lay sleeping,
A soft strain of melody came o'er our ears;
So sweet, but so mournful, half song and half weeping,
Like music that Sorrow had steeped in her tears.

We thought 'twas an anthem some angel had sung us;--
But, soon as the day-beams had gushed from on high,
With wonder we saw this bright stranger among us,
All lovely and lone, as if strayed from the sky.

Nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended,
For pale was her cheek, with that spirit-like hue,
Which comes when the day of this world is nigh ended,
And light from another already shines through.

Then her eyes, when she sung--oh, but once to have seen them--
Left thoughts in the soul that can never depart;
While her looks and her voice made a language between them,
That spoke more than holiest words to the heart.

But she past like a day-dream, no skill could restore her--
Whate'er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast;
She died with the same spell of mystery o'er her.
That song of past days on her lips to the last.

Not even in the grave is her sad heart reposing--
Still hovers the spirit of grief round her tomb;
For oft, when the shadows of midnight are closing,
The same strain of music is heard thro' the gloom.

BALLADS, SONGS, ETC.

TO-DAY, DEAREST! IS OURS.

To-day, dearest! is ours;
Why should Love carelessly lose it?
This life shines or lowers
Just as we, weak mortals, use it.
'Tis time enough, when its flowers decay,
To think of the thorns of Sorrow
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day,
May wither before to-morrow.

Then why, dearest! so long
Let the sweet moments fly over?
Tho' now, blooming and young
Thou hast me devoutly thy lover;
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse,
Some treasure may steal or borrow;
Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps,
Or I less in love to-morrow.

WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS.

When on the lip the sigh delays,
As if 'twould linger there for ever;
When eyes would give the world to gaze,
Yet still look down and venture never;
When, tho' with fairest nymphs we rove,
There's one we dream of more than any--
If all this is not real love,
'Tis something wondrous like it, Fanny!