WHEN abroad in the world thou appearest, Like waves of the sea, That say to the Sun, See, how fair we can be." But where's the light like thine, In sun or shade to shine? No-no, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, Nothing like thee. Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, But, no matter what shroud Around her might be, Yes, yes, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, GO, THEN-TIS VAIN. (SICILIAN AIR.) Go, then-'tis vain to hover "Twas sweet-'twas false-'tis fled! Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness Farewell, false heart, whose lightness THOU LOV'ST NO MORE. Too plain, alas! my doom is spoken, Though kindly still those eyes behold me, The smile is gone, which once they wore; Though fondly still those arms enfold me, 'Tis not the same-thou lov'st no more. Too long my dream of bliss believing, I've thought thee all thou wert before; But now-alas! there's no deceiving, 'Tis all too plain, thou lov'st no more. Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, As lost affection's life restore, Give peace to her that is forsaken, Or bring back him who loves no more. ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE (INDIAN AIR.) ALL that's bright must fade,✦ The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made, But to be lost when sweetest. Stars that shine and fall; The flower that drops in springing ; These, alas! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging. All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! Who would seek or prize Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties That every hour are breaking? In utter darkness lying, Than to be blessed with light, and see All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! DOST thou not hear the silver bell, Through yonder lime-trees ringing? 'Tis my lady's light gazelle, To me her love thoughts bringing,All the while that silver bell Around his dark neck ringing. See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, My love hath kiss'd in tying! Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, Who thus hath breath'd her soul to me. Hail, ye living, speaking flowers, NETS AND CAGES. (SWEDISH AIR.) COME, listen to my story, while At what I sing some maids will smile, While some, perhaps, may sigh. Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames Such florid songs as ours, Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames, Can speak her thoughts by flowers. At what I sing there's some may smile Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, Such lots of Loves, sat still at home, Come, listen, maids, &c. |