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Were hours of grief, together past, Than years of mirth apart, dear love! than years of mirth apart!

V.

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.

Maltese Air.

I.
GAILY sounds the castanet,

Beating time to bounding feet,
When, after daylight's golden set,

Maids and youths by moonlight meet.
Oh! then, how sweet to move

Through all that maze of mirth,
Lighted by those eyes we love

Beyond all eyes on earth.

II.

Then, the joyous banquet spread

On the cool and fragrant ground,
With night's bright eye-beams overhead,

And still brighter sparkling round.
Oh! then, how sweet to say

Into the loved one's ear,
Thoughts reserved through many a day

To be thus whisper'd here.

III.

When the dance and feast are done,

Arm in arm as home we stray,
How sweet to see the dawning sun

O’er her cheek's warm blushes play!
Then, then the farewell kiss,

And words whose parting tone
Lingers still in dreams of bliss,

That haunt young hearts alone.

LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY.

Languedocian Air.

I.
Love is a hunter-boy,

Who makes young hearts his prey,
And in his nets of joy

Ensnares them night and day.
In vain conceal'd they lie-

Love tracks them every where;
In vain aloft they fly-
Love shoots them flying there.

II.
But 'tis his joy most sweet,

At early dawn to trace
The print of Beauty's feet,

And give the trembler chase.
And most he loves through snow

To trace those footsteps fair,
For then the boy doth know

None track'd before him there.

COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY.

French Air.

I.
COME, chase that starting tear away,

Ere mine to meetit springs;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,

Whate'er to-morrow brings !
Like sun-set gleams, that linger late

When all is dark’ning fast,
Are hours like these we snatch from Fate-
The brightest and the last.
Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

II.
Togild our dark’ning life, if Heaven

Butone bright hour allow,
Oh! think that one bright hour is given,

In all its splendour, now!

Let's live it out--then sink in night,

Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell—are touch'd with light-
Then lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING!

Portuguese Air.

I.
WHISPRINGS, heard by wakeful maids,

To whom the night-stars guide us-
Stolen walks through moonlight shades,
With those we love beside us.

Hearts beating, at meeting,

Tears starting, at parting;
Oh! sweet youth, how soon it fades !

Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!

HEAR ME BUT ONCE.

French Air,

I,
HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,

In which our love lies cold and dead,
I count each flatt'ring hope he gave,

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?

NATIONAL AIRS.

No. III.

WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.

Swedish Air.

I.

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.

II.

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.

III,

But Love didn't know-and at his weak years

What urchin was likely to know ?-
That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears

That fountain which murmur'd below.

IV.

He caught at the wreath--but with too much haste,

As boys when impatient will do
It fell in those waters of briny taste,

And the flowers were all wet through.

V.

Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day,

And, though it all sunny appears
With Pleasure's own lustre, each leaf, they say,

Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.

SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY ?

Sicilian dir.

I.
SAY, what shall be our sport-to-day?

There's nothing on earth, in sea or air,
Too bright, too bold, too high, too gay,

For spirits like mine to dare!
"Tis like the returning bloom

Of those days, alas ! gone by,
When I loved each hour I scarce knew whom,-

And was bless'd I scarce knew why.

II.
Ay, those were days when life had wings,

And flew-oh, flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which sunward springs,

'Twas giddy with too much light;
And, though of some plumes bereft,

With that sun, too, nearly set,
I've enough of light and wing still left

For a few gay soarings yet.

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS!

Welch Air.

I.

Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping
Tarn into smiles while thou art sleeping:

Those by death or seas removed,
Friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee,

All thou'st ever prized or loved,
In dreams come smiling to thee!

11. :

There may the child, whose love lay deepest,
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest;

Still the same--uo charm forgot.
Nothing lost that life had given ;

Or, if changed, but changed to what
Thou'lt find her yet in-Heaven !

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