A coward's shame, a traitor's name, be his who could
By falsehood lure, a heart so pure as thine, fair Genevieve!
Dost remember the maiden of sunny Cashmere,
With a smile for joy's feelings-for sorrow a tear!
But the smile renewed ever-the tear chased away,
As the winter snow melts 'neath the Gheber god's ray;
With a voice like the bulbul, to charm ev'ry feeling,
Or, soft as the eve breeze, through rose bowers steal-
To the heart, to the soul, to the mind ever dear,-
Dost remember the maiden of sunny Cashmere?
Oh, yes, I remember the maid of Cashmere,
Fond mem'ry recalls her my lone heart to cheer,
As the sun-bird's sad song on the cold, leafless bough
Reminds us of summer, though winter is now.
Oh, well I remember that creature of light,
From whose radiant pleasure dark sorrow took flight!
Oft, oft would I listen her footfall to hear-
My heart's with the maiden of sunny Cashmere.
BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude!
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh, ho! sing heigh, ho! unto the green holly,
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh, ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot!
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh, ho! &c.
O, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.
[Music by Sir J. STEVENSON.
O, could we do with this world of ours
As thou dost do with thy garden bowers,
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
What a heaven on earth we'd make it!
So bright a dwelling should be our own,
So warranted free from sigh or frown,
That angels soon would be coming down,
By the week or the month to take it.
Like those gay flies that wing through air,
And in themselves a lustre bear,
A stock of light still steady there,
Whenever they wish to use it,
So, in this world I'd make for thee,
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be,
And the flash of wit or poesy
Break forth whenever we choose it.
While every joy that glads our sphere
Hath still some shadow hovering near,
In this new world of ours, my dear,
Such shadows will be omitted.
Unless they're like that graceful one
Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun,
Still near thee leaves a charm upon
Each spot where it hath flitted!
The moon! the moon! what rapture she brings,
When the bright stars shine, and the night-bird sings;
When she flingeth her fire o'er the sea-built fort,
Or guides the ship to her destined port;
When climbing the heavens she sinks to rest,
Her pillowed head on the billow's breast!
The moon! the moon! what a joyous sight
While shedding her rays of refulgent light;
As, sweetly smiling, she kisses the waves
From freedom's home to the land of slaves;
While her beauteous gleam of silv'ry hue
Lighteth the flowers to drink the dew!
The moon! the moon! when her glittering beams
Are fondly embracing the summer streams;
When creation is sleeping, all hushed in the night,
Save the spangled waves, as they dance with delight;
Or the mariner's light bark skimming along,
As wildly, yet sweetly, sounds his song!
Over the mighty ocean bound,
Like a sea-bird haste thy flight;
Mariner, ho! from the topmast, say,
Is our native land in sight?
Eagerly crowding on the deck
A hundred seamen stard,
Whose hearts beat high as they seek to catch A glance of their native land.
Whose hearts, &c.
A thunder roll and a heavy cloud,
And a mighty blast comes on,
Before whose powers the quivering masts
Beside the wreck are gone:
She strikes! she strikes! to the boats, hurrah!
A shriek of wild despair!
Down, down she goes, and the ocean gulph
Hath hushed the voices there!
An hour since, and a hundred hearts
With eager hopes beat high;
And eyes that fondly sought the shore
Have neared it but to die!
The voice of the storm is hush'd,
The blast is lull'd to a zephyr's breath, And the sea grows calm as an infant's smile O'er the hearts that rest beneath.
THE MEETING OF SHIPS.
[THOMAS MOORE.]
When o'er the silent seas alone
For days and nights we've cheerless gone,
Oh! they who've felt it know how sweet
Some sunny morn a sail to meet.
"Ship ahoy!" our joyful cry,
Sparkling at once is every eye,
While answering back the sounds we hear, "Ship ahoy-what cheer? what cheer ?"
Then sails are backed-we nearer come-
Kind words are said of friends and home;
And soon, too soon, we part with pain,
To toil o'er silent seas again.
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