COME O'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows!

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes.
Let fate frown on, so we love and part not;
'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not!

Then, come o'er the sea,
Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes.

II.
Is not the Sea

Made for the Free,
Land for courts and chains alone ?

Here we are slaves,

But, on the waves,
Love and Liberty's all our own!
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot, and all Heaven around us !--

Then, come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows!

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Has sorrow thy young days shaded,

As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded,

That, even in sorrow, were sweet?
Does Time with his cold wing wither

Each feeling that once was dear?
Then, child of misfortune! come hither,

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

II.

Has love to that soul, so tender,

Been like our Lagenian mine,*
Where sparkles of golden splendour

All over the surface shine
But, if in pursuit we go deeper,

Allured by the gleam that shone,

Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper,

Like Love, the bright ore is gone.

III.
Has Hope, like the bird in the story, *

That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory-

Has Hope been that bird to thee?
On branch after branch alighting,

The gem did she still display,
And, when nearest and most inviting,

Then waft the fair gem away?

IV.

If thus the sweet hours have fleeted,

When Sorrow herself looked bright;
If thus the fond hope has cheated,

That led thee along so light;
If thus, too, the cold world wither

Each feeling that once was dear ;-
Come, child of misfortune! come hither,
I'll
weep

with thee, tear for tear.

* “ The bird having got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in liis mouth. The Prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it: bat, as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again,” etc.--Arabian Nights, Story of Kummir al Zummaun and the Princess of China.

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear,
When, half-awaking from fearful slumbers,

He thinks the full quire of Heaven is near,
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,

This heart long had sleeping lain,
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken

To such benign, blessed sounds again.

UL.

Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing

Of suinmer wind through some wreathed shellEach secret winding, each inmost feeling

Of all my soul echoed to its spell!
'Twas whisper'd balm-'twas sunshine spoken !-

I'd live years of grief and pain,
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken

By such benign, blessed sounds again!