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Sicilian Air.

Go, then='tis vainto hover

Thus round a hope that's dead
At length my dream is over,

'Twas sweet-'twas false'tis fled ! Farewell; since nought it moves thee,

Such truth as mine to see,
Some one, who far less loves thee,
Perhaps more bless'd will be.

Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness.

New life around me shed !
Farewell, false heart, whose lightness

Now leaves me death instead!
Go, now, those charms surrender

To some new lover's sigh,
One who, though far less tender,

May be more bless'd than I.


Swiss Air:


O’Er mountains bright with snow and light,

We Crystal Hunters speed along, While grots and caves, and icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song; And, when we meet with stores of gems, We grudge not kings their diadems. O’er mountains bright with snow and light;

We Crystal Hunters speed along,
While grots and caves, and icy waves,
Each instant echo to our song.

No lover half so fondly dreams

Of sparkles from his lady's eyes,
As we of those refreshing gleams

That tell where deep the crystal lies;

Though, next to crystal, we too grant
That ladies' eyes may most enchant.
O’er mountains, etc.

Sometimes, when o'er the Alpine rose

The golden sunset leaves its ray,
So like a gem the flow'ret glows,

We thither bend our headlong way;
And, though we find no treasure there,
We bless the rose that shines so fair.

O'er mountains, etc.


Venetian dir.



Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the tide,
That not an ear on earth may bear, but hers to whom we glide.
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes see,
Oh! think what tales ’twould have to tell of wand'ring youths
like me!

Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for up I go,
To climb yon light balcony's height, while thou keep'st watch

below. Ah! did we take for heaven above but half such pains as we Take day and night for woman's love,what angels we should be !


French Air.

Oh! days of youth and joy, long clouded,

Why thus for ever haunt my view?
When in the grave your light lay shrouded,

Why did not Memory die there too?
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me,

Whispering of joys that yet remain-
No, no, never more can this life bring me

One joy that equals youth's sweet pain.

Dim lies the way to death before me,

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow;
Sunshine of youth that once fell o'er me,

Where is your warmth, your glory now?
"Tis not that then no pain could sting me-

'Tis not that now no joys remain; Oh! it is that life no more can bring me

One joy so sweet as that worst pain.


Venetian Air.


When first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my sight,

Oh! what a vision then came o'er me! Long years of love, of calm and pure delight,

Seem'd in that smile to pass before me. Ne'er did the peasant dream, ne'er dream of summer skies,

Of golden fruit and harvests springing,
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes,
And of the joy their light was bringing.

Where now are all those fondly promised hours ?

Oh I woman's faith is like her brightness,
Fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers,

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness. Short as the Persian's prayer, his prayer at close of day,

Must be each vow of Love's repeating; Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray

Even while he kneels that ray is fleeting!


Catalonian Air.

PEACE to the slumberers !

They lie on the battle-plain,
With no shroud to cover them;

The dew and the summer rain
Are all that weep over them.


Vain was their bravery!

The fallen oak lies where it lay,
Across the wintry river;

But brave hearts, once swept away,
Are gone, alas-! for ever.

Woe to the Conqueror!

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs
Of whom his sword bereft us,

Ere we forget the deep arrears
Of vengeance they have left us !


Sicilian Air.


When thou shalt wander by that sweet light

We used to gaze on so many an eve, When love was new and hope was bright,

Ere I could doubt or thou deceive-
Oh! then, remembering how swift went by
Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh.

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own

That love like ours was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments thrown aside

When past the summer's heat;
And wish in vain to know again

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then.


Portuguese Air.

HYMEN late, his love-knots selling,
Call’d at many a maiden's dwelling:
None could doubt, who saw or knew them,
Hymen's call was welcome to them.

“Who’ll buy my love-knots ?

Who'll buy my love-knots ???
Soon as that sweet cry resounded,
How his baskets were surrounded!

Maids who now first dream'd of trying
These gay knots of Hymen's tying ;
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him;-

“Who'll buy my love-knots ?

Who'll buy my love-knots ?” All that sweet cry assembled; Some laugh’d, some blush'd, and some trembled,

III. “Here are knots,” said Hymen, taking Some loose flowers, “ of Love's own making; Here are goldones—you may trust 'em,”— (These, of course, found ready custom).

“Come buy my love-knots !

Come buy my love-knots ! Some are labell’d 'Knots to tie men''Love the maker'-'Bought of Hymen.'»

IV. Scarce their bargains were completed, When the nymphs all cried, “We're cheated ! See these flowers-they're drooping sadly; This gold-knot, too, ties but badly

Who'd buy such love-knots ?

Who'd buy such love-knots ?
Even this tie, with Love's name round it-
All a sham-he never bound it."

Love, who saw the whole proceeding,
Would have laugh’d, but for good-breeding;
While Old Hymen, who was used to
Cries like that these dames gave loose to -

“Take back our love-knots !

Take back our love-knots !”—
Coolly said, “There's no returning
Wares on Hymen's hands-Good morning !”.

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