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SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN.
Sung at Rome, on Christmas Eve.
See, the dawn from heaven is breaking o'er our sight,
NETS AND CAGES.
COME, listen to my story, while
Your needle's task you ply;
While some, perhaps, may sigh.
Such florid songs as ours,
Can speak her thoughts by flowers.
Your needle's task you ply;
Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves,
Such nets had learn’d to frame, That none, in all our vales and groves,
Ere caught so much small game : While gentle Sue, less given to roam,
When Cloe's nets were taking These flights of birds, sat still at home, One small, neat Love-cage making. Come, listen, maids, etc.
Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task;
But mark how things went on: These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask
Their name and age, were gone!
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove,
That, though she charm'd into them New game each hour, the youngest Love Was able to break through them.
Come, listen, maids, etc.
Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought
Of bars too strong to sever,
And caged him there for ever;
Whate'er their looks or ages,
"Tis wiser to make Cages.
The task your fingers ply. May all who hear, like Susan smile,
Ah! not like Cloe sigh!
WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA.
Night breathes her cool air,
I'll come to thee there.
I'll know thee afar,
His own Evening Star.
In garb, then, resembling
Some gay gondolier,
c. Our bark, love, is near :
Those clouds o'er the moon, 'Twill waft thee safe over
Yon silent Lagoon.”
GO, NOW, AND DREAM.
1. Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumberMoments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number. Of Pain's bitter draught the flavour never flies, While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies !
II. That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendid, Often will shine again, bright as she then did — But, ahl never more will the beam she saw burn In those happy eyes at your meeting return.
TAKE HENCE THE BOWL.
Brightly as bowl e'er shone,
Of days, of nights now gone.
As in a wizard's glass,
Some friend who once sat by~
Warm hearts, too warm to die!
Of those long vanish'd years,
Seems turning all to tears.
Yon moon this moment gath'ring we see,
Shall scarce from her pure orb have pass'd, ere thy lover
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.
Long, like that dim cloud, I've hang around thee,
Dark’ning thy prospects, sadd’ning thy brow;
From fearful slumber, this dream thou'lt tell;
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell !
HOW OFT WHEN WATCHING STARS.
How oft, when watching stars grow pale,
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, To hear a flute through yonder vale
I from my casement lean. “Oh! come, my love !" each note it utters seems to say; “Oh! come, my love! the night wears fast away!” No, ne'er to mortal ear
Can words, though warm they be, Speak Passion's language half so clear
As do those notes to me!
Then quick my own light lute I seek,
And strike the chords with loudest swell; And, though they nought to others speak,
He knows their language well. “I come, my love !" each sound they utter seems to say; "I come, my love! thine, thine till break of day.” Oh! weak the power of words,
The hues of painting dim, Compared to what those simple chords
Then say and paint to him.