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She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking:
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking !
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor long will his love stay behind him.
When they promise a glorious morrow;
From her own loved Island of Sorrow ! [west,
FAREWELL! BUT, WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. FAREWELL! but, whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return—not a hope may remain of the few that have brightend his pathway of painBut he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw Its enchantment around him while lingering with
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
here!" Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come, in the nighttime of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase in which roses have once been distillid; You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
I'D MOURN THE HOPES.
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,
If thy smiles had left me too;
If thou wert, like them, untrue.
With heart so warm and eyes so bright,
That smile turns them all to light!
While fate leaves thy love to me;
Unless joy be shared with thee.
Were worth a long, an endless year
My own love, my only dear!
That long sparkled o’er our way,
More safely without its ray.
Along the path I've yet to roam ;
And pure smiles from thee at home.
The traveller at first goes out,
And looks around in fear and doubt.
But soon, the prospect clearing,
By cloudless starlight on he treads,
As that light which Heaven sheds !
IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.
In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright beaming world of our own,
And the light that surrounds us is all from within: Oh, it is not, believe me, in that happy time
We can love as in hours of less transport we may: Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime,
But affection is warmest when these fade away.
When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,
Like a leaf on the streani that will never return; When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so
high, First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn; Then, then is the moment affection can sway
With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Love nursed among pleasures is faithless as they,
But the love born of sorrow, like sorrow, is true!
In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about ; 'Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping
That call the full spirit of fragrancy out. (skies So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,
But 'tis only in grief true affection appears ; And, even though to smiles it may first owe its birth,
All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.
WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.
WHEN cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then; Or if from their slumber the veil be removed,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again. And oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far [roam,
From the pathways of light he was tempted to Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star
That arose on his darkness and guided him home. From thee and thy innocent beauty first came
The revealings that taught him true love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame
From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life long benighted and wild,
Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled
On his evening horizon, the light was from thee. And though sometimes the shade of past foliy would
rise, And though falsehood again would allure him to
stay, He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,
And the folly, the falsehood soon vanish'd away. As the priests of the sun, when their altar grew dim,
At the daybeam alone could its lustre repair, So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,
He but few to that smile, and rekindled it there.
THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE.
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd,
And smiles are near that once enchanted, Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee. Whatever in fame's high path could waken My spirit once, is now
forsaken For thee, thee, only thee. Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries—resting never-
To thee, thee, only thee.
From thee, thee, only thee. Like spells that naught on earth can break,
Till lips that know the charm have spoken, This heart, howe'er the world may wake Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.
THOSE EVENING BELLS.
THOSE evening bells ! those evening bells !