« EelmineJätka »
Were hours of grief, together past, Than years of mirth apart, dear love! than years of mirth apart!
Farewell ! our hope was born in fears,
And nursed’mid vain regrets! Like winter suns, it rose in tears, Like them in tears it sets, dear love ! like them in tears
it sets !
GAILY SOUNDS THE CASTANET.
Beating time to bounding feet,
Maids and youths by moonlight meet.
Through all that maze of mirth,
Beyond all eyes on earth.
Then, the joyous banquet spread
On the cool and fragrant ground,
And still brighter sparkling round.
Into the loved one's ear,
To be thus whisper'd here.
When the dance and feast are done,
Arm in arm as home we stray,
O’er her cheek's warm blushes play!
And words whose parting tone
That haunt young hearts alone.
LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY.
Who makes young hearts his prey,
Ensnares them night and day.
Love tracks them every where;
At early dawn to trace
And give the trembler chase.
To trace those footsteps fair,
None track'd before him there.
COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY.
Ere mine to meetit springs;
Whate'er to-morrow brings !
When all is dark’ning fast,
Butone bright hour allow,
In all its splendour, now!
Let's live it out--then sink in night,
Like waves that from the shore
Then, chase that starting tear, etc.
JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING!
To whom the night-stars guide us-
Hearts beating, at meeting,
Tears starting, at parting;
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!
HEAR ME BUT ONCE.
In which our love lies cold and dead,
Of joys now lost and charms now fled, Who could have thought the smile he wore,
When first we met, would fade away ? Or that a chill would e'er come o'er
Those eyes so bright through many a day?
WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.
When Love was a child, and went idling round,
'Mong flowers the whole summer's day, One morn in the valley a bower he found,
So sweet, it allured him to stay.
O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair,
A fountain ran darkly beneath'Twas Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up there;
Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath.
But Love didn't know-and at his weak years
What urchin was likely to know ?-
That fountain which murmur'd below.
He caught at the wreath--but with too much haste,
As boys when impatient will do
And the flowers were all wet through.
Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day,
And, though it all sunny appears
Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.
SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY ?
There's nothing on earth, in sea or air,
For spirits like mine to dare!
Of those days, alas ! gone by,
And was bless'd I scarce knew why.
And flew-oh, flew so wild a height,
'Twas giddy with too much light;
With that sun, too, nearly set,
For a few gay soarings yet.
BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS!
Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping
Those by death or seas removed,
All thou'st ever prized or loved,
There may the child, whose love lay deepest,
Still the same--uo charm forgot.
Or, if changed, but changed to what