« EelmineJätka »
WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE.
O’er the young rose shall hover,
Then, like that gay rover,
I'll come to thee.
While I, oh! much fonder,
Will stay with thee. In search of new sweetness through thousands he'll run, While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.
THOUGH 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.
1. Though 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still when happiest soonest o'er, Yet, even in a dream to be bless'd
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.
The soonest finds those hopes untrue,
And find the love we clung to past;
And love trusted on to the last.
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men;
Ay-'tis all but a dream, etc.
'TIS WHEN THE CUP IS SMILING.
I. 'Tis when the cup is smiling before us,
And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true, That the sky of this life opens o'er us,
And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,
We are better, far better offthus, boy, thus ; For him but two bright eyes were shining
See what numbers are sparkling for us!
When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
And on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, 'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,
To disturb even a saint from his dreams. Though this life like a river is flowing,
I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, While the grape on its bank still is growing,
And such eyes light the waves as they run.
WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME?
Where, in what desolate place,
Broken and stain’d by disgrace?
Oppression will cease when we're gone;
Liberty's cry from our shore?
Thrill'd to the world's very core?
Oh! ye free hearts that lie dead!
Do you not, e'en in your graves,
Shudder, as o'er you we tread ?
NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY SCHOOLS.
Give me the sage who's able
From the sunshine of the table ;-
This world and all that's in it,
The pearl beneath the water,-
The grape's own rosy daughter!
Oh! none like him obtain her,
Through sparkling floods to gain her!
HERE SLEEPS THE BARD!
DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING.
Do not say that life is waning,
Or that Hope's sweet day is set,
Though thy roses fade and fall,
That on other cheeks may shine,
That is ling’ring now o'er thine.
Dost thou not hear the silver bell,
Thro' yonder lime-trees ringing ? 'Tis my Lady's light gazelle,
To me her love-thoughts bringing,
My love hath kist in tying,
Those silent flow'rs are lying!
My love hath kist in tying.
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest, Who thus sends her soul to me
In every leaf thou bearest.
That breathe of her who bound ye,
'Twas on her lips she found ye. Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers,
'Twas on her lips she found ye.
NO,-LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.
Could'st thou, when summer hours are fled,
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed ?
But now thou break’st like sunny skies,
When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies !