III.
Who ever lov'd, but had the thought

That he and all he lov'd must part ?
Fill’d with this fear, 1 flew and caught

The fading image to my heart-
And cried“ Oh Love! is this thy doom?

“Oh light of youth's resplendent day!
“Mustye then lose your golden bloom,

“And thus, like sunshine, die away?”

SING-SING-MUSIC WAS GIVEN.
AIR.—The Humours of Ballamaguiry, or, the Old Langolee.

I.
SING--sing-Music was given,
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;

Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks,

But love from the lips his true archery wings;
And she, who but feathers the dart, when she speaks,
At once sends it home to the heart when she sings.

Then, sing--sing-Music was given,
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;

Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.

II.
When Love, rock'd by his mother,
Lay sleeping, as calm as slumber could make him,

“Hush, hush,” said Venus, no other
“Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake him.”
Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while,

Till faint from his lips a soft melody broke,
And Venns, enchanted, look'd on with a smile,
While Love to his own sweet singing awoke.

Then, sing-sing-Music was given,
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;

Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.
“Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows

Less and less earthly.” I would quote the entire passage, but that I fear to put my own humble imitation of it out of countenance.

NATIONAL AIRS.

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It is Cicero, I believe, who says “natura ad modos ducimur;” and the abundance of wild indigenous airs which als most every country, except England possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his assertion. The lovers of this simple but interesting kind of music are here presented with the first number of a collection, which I trust their contributions will enable us to continue. A pretty air without words resembles one of those half creatures of PLATO, which are described as wandering, in search of the remainder of themselves, through the world. To supply this other half, by uniting with congenial words the many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none, or only such as are unintelligible to the generality of their hearers, is the object and ambition of the present work. Neither is it our intention to confine ourselves to what are strictly called National Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble Hippocrene with

NATIONAL AIRS.

No. I.

A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.

Spanish Air.

1. “A TEMPLE to Friendship,” said Laura, enchanted,

“I'll build in this garden--the thought is divine !" Her temple was built, and she now only wanted

An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her

A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent, But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant.

II. “ Oh! never,” she cried, “could I think of enshrining

“ An image whose looks are so joyless and dim! “But yon little god upon roses reclining,

“We'll make, if you please, Sir, a Friendship of him.” So the bargain was struck ; with the little god laden

She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove:
Farewell,”

,” said the sculptor, “ you're not the first maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love."

FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER.

Portuguese Air.

I
Flow on, thou shining river ;

But, ere thou reach the sea,
Seek Ella's bower, and give her

The wreaths I fling o'er thee. * The thought is taken from a song by Le Prieur, called, « La Statue de l'Amitié.”

And tell her thus, if she'll be mine,

The current of our lives shall be,
With joys along their course to shine,
Like those sweet flowers on thee.

II.
But if, in wandering thither,

Thou find'st she mocks my prayer,
Then leave those wreaths to wither

Upon the cold bank there.
And tell her--thus, when youth is o'er,

Her lone and loveless charms shall be Thrown by upon life's weedy shore,

Like those sweet flowers from thee.

ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE.

Indian Air.

I.
ALL that's briglit must fade,-

The brightest still the fleetest;

All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest.

Stars that shine and fall;
The flower that drops in springing;

These, alas ! are types of all
To which our hearts are clinging.
All that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest !

II.
Who would seek or prize

Delights that end in aching ?
Who would trust to ties

That every hour are breaking ?
Better far to be

In utter darkness lying,
Then be blest with light and see

That light for ever flying.
All that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest;

All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest!

SO WARMLY WE MET.

Hungarian Air.

I.
So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,

That which was the sweeter even I could not tell-
That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted,

Or that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell.
To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another,

Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss;
Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other
In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this.

II.
The first was like day-break-new, sudden, delicious,

The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet-
The last was that farewell of daylight, more precious,

More glowing and deep, as ʼtis nearer its set.
Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow

To think that such happiness could not remain;
While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to-mor-

TOW

Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.
AIR..The Bells of St. Petersburgh.

I.

Those evening bells ! those evening bells !
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime !

II.
Those joyous hours are past away!
And many a heart that then was gay
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells !