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POOR WOUNDED HEART!
Poor wounded heart, farewell !
Less bitter far will be,
This lite has been to theel'oor breaking heart, poor breaking heart, farewell !
Poor broken heart, farewell !
Like waves whose strife is past,
Thou sleep'st in peace at last-
THE EAST INDIAN.
Thy sweetly-scented thorn,
Thy fragrant breath at morn:
When May-buds tempt the bee,
Through wat'ry wilds her way,
The bright sun's orient ray:
Oh! come and court her hither,
Ye breezes mild and warm-
Are blest with endless light,
Through gardens always bright.
Than e'er thou'st been before ;
.When she comes near our shore.
PALE BROKEN FLOWER!
1. PALE broken flower! what art can now recover thee? Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath
In vain the sun-beams seek
To warm that faded cheek ! The dews of heaven, that once like balm fell over thee, Now are bat tears, to weep thy early death!
II. droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her; Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou ;
In vain the smiles of all
Like sun-beams round her fall"The only smile that could from death awaken her,
That smile, alas ! is gone to others now.
THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE.
And chose me a tree of the fairest;
For the hearts of this world are hollow,
And’tis sweet, when all their witcheries pall,
To have a pure love to fly to : So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be, And the only one now I shall sigh to.”
II. When the beautiful hne of thy cheek through the dew
Of morning is bashfully peeping, “Sweet tears,” I shall say (as I brush them away), At least there's no art in this weeping.”
Although thou shouldst die to-morrow,
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow, And the thorns of thy stem are not like them
With which hearts wound each other: So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be,
And I'll ne'er again sigh to another.
SHINE OUT, STARS!
Round us every festal ray,
All to grace this eve of May.
And the odours shut up there,
With our other joys to weave,
Then would crown this bright May eve.
Round us every festal way,
To adorn this eve of May.
THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA.
Wken, resting at close of the day,
We, young Muleteers of Grenada,
Sit and sing the last sunshine away!
Which hung around us seem gone,
In sleep is still breathing the sigh,
Half breaks from our lips as we lie.
Again we're up and gone-
Beguiles the rough way on.
TELL HER, OH TELL HER.
Beneath the green arbour, is still lying there;
Beside the green arbour she playfully set,
The maiden is wandering, oh! let her be
And blooming for ever unchanged as the tree!
NIGHTS OF MUSIC.
Lost too soon, remember'd long,
Hearts all love and lips all song.
When this faithful lute recorded
All my spirit felt to thee,
Fill'd with joys too sweet to last-
While they shone, no shadow cast :
From my fading memory fly,
Not a beam, a leaf, shall die!
OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE.
That short but brilliant ray,
Through April's earliest day.
Howe'er its lights may play,
A blaze serener, grander,
Of heaven, die calm away :
Bring all the light it may,
Like that first trembling ray.