POOR WOUNDED HEART! POOR wounded heart! Poor wounded heart, farewell! Thy hour of rest is come; Thou soon wilt reach thy home, Poor wounded heart, farewell! The pain thou'lt feel in breaking Than that long, deadly course of aching, This life has been to thee Poor breaking heart, poor breaking heart, farewell! II. There broken heart, Poor broken heart, farewell! The pang is o'er The parting pang is o'er, Thon now wilt bleed no more, Poor broken heart, farewell! Like waves whose strife is past, Poor broken heart, poor broken heart, farewell! THE EAST INDIAN. I. COME May, with all thy flowers, Then o'er the shining billow From Eastern Isles she's winging The bright sun's orient ray: Oh! come and court her hither, Ye breezes mild and warm- III. The fields where she was straying Let sighs from roses meet her 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. So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her; Like sun-beams round her fall The only smile that could from death awaken her, THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. I. BEING weary of love, I flew to the grove, Saying, "Pretty Rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be, For the hearts of this world are hollow, L And 'tis sweet, when all their witcheries pall, So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be, II. When the beautiful hue of thy cheek through the dew "Sweet tears," I shall say (as I brush them away), And the thorns of thy stem are not like them So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be, SHINE OUT, STARS! I. SHINE out, Stars! let Heaven assemble Lights that move not, lights that tremble, Let the flower-beds all lie waking, II. And would Love too bring his sweetness, Oh, what glory, what completeness, Then would crown this bright May eve. Shine out, Stars! let night assemble Lights that move not, lights that tremble, THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA. I. OH! the joys of our evening posada, When, resting at close of the day, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, II. Then, as each to his favourite sultana TELL HER, OH TELL HER. I. TELL her, oh tell her, the lute she left lying II. Tell her, oh tell her, the tree that, in going, And not a bright leaflet has fallen from it yet. III. So while away from that arbour forsaken, True as the lute that no sighing can waken, NIGHTS OF MUSIC. I. NIGHTS of music, nights of loving, When this faithful lute recorded II. Nights of song, and nights of splendour, OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. I. OUR first young love resembles No, no-all life before us, Howe'er its lights may play, Can shed no lustre o'er us Our summer sun may squander Our autumn beam may, like a dream But no-let life before us Bring all the light it may, "Twill shed no lustre o'er us Like that first trembling ray. |