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That the night only draws

A thin veil o'er the day;

Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give!

II.

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, We should love, as they loved in the first golden time; The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air,

Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there! With affection, as free

From decline as the bowers,

And with Hope, like the bee,
Living always on flowers,

Our life should resemble a long day of light,

And our death come on, holy and calm as the night!

FAREWELL !—BUT, WHENEVER YOU WELCOME

THE HOUR.

AIR.-Moll Roone.

I.

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 brighten'd his path-way of pain-
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw
Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you!

II.

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles!—
Too bless'd, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were here!"
III.

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,

Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; Which come, in the night-time 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 distill'dYou may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

OH! DOUBT ME NOT.

AIR.-Yellow Wat and the Fox.

I.

ОOH! doubt me not-the season
Is o'er, when Folly made me rove,
And now the vestal Reason

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love.
Although this heart was early blown,
And fairest hands disturb'd the tree,
They only shook some blossoms down,
Its fruit has all been kept for thee.
Then doubt me doubt-the season
Is o'er, when Folly made me rove,
And now the vestal Reason

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love.

II.

And though my lute no longer

May sing of Passion's ardent spell,

Yet, trust me, all the stronger

I feel the bliss I do not tell.

The bee through many a garden roves,
And hums his lay of courtship o'er,
But, when he finds the flower he loves,
He settles there, and hums no more.
Then doubt me not-the season

Is o'er, when Folly kept me free,
And now the vestal Reason

Shall guard the flame awaked by thee.

YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.*

AIR.-Were I a Clerk.

I.

You remember ELLEN, our hamlet's pride,
How meekly she bless'd her humble lot,
When the stranger, WILLIAM, had made her his bride,
And love was the light of their lowly cot.
Together they toil'd through winds and rains,
Till WILLIAM at length, in sadness, said,
"We must seek our fortune on other plains ;"
Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

* This Ballad was suggested by a well known and interesting Story, told of a certain Noble Family in England.

II.

They roam'd a long and a weary way,
Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease,
When now, at close of one stormy day,
They see a proud castle among the trees.
"To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there ;
"The wind blows cold, the hour is late:"-

So, he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,
And the Porter bow'd as they pass'd the gate.

III.

"Now, welcome, Lady!" exclaim'd the youth,

"This castle is thine, and these dark woods all." She believed him wild, but his words were truth, For ELLEN is Lady of Rosna Hall !—

And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves

What WILLIAM the stranger woo'd and wed ;
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves,
Is pure as it shone in the lowly shed.

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