Oh! then, how sweet to move .

Through all that inace of mirth, Lighted by those eyes we love

Beyond all eyes on earth.

II.
Then, the joyous banquet spread

On the cool and fragrant ground,
With night's bright eye-beams overhead,

And still brighter sparkling round. Oh! then, how sweet to say

Into the loved one's ear, Thoughts reserved through many a day

To be thus whisper'd here.

III.
When the dance and feast are done,

Arm in arm as home we stray,
How sweet to see the dawning sun

O'er her cheek's warm blushes play! Then, then the farewell kiss,

And words whose parting tone Lingers still in dreams of bliss,

That haunt young hearts alone.

LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY.

Languedocian Air.

I.

Love is a hunter-boy,

Who makes young hearts his prey, And in his nets of joy

Ensnares them night and day.
In vain conceal'd they lie-
Love tracks them every where ;

; In vain aloft they fly

Love shoots them flying there.

II.

But 'tis his joy most sweet,

At early dawn to trace The print of Beauty's feet,

And give the trembler chase. And most he loves through snow

To trace those footsteps fair, For then the boy doth know

None track'd before him there.

COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY.

French Air.

I.

Come, chase that starting tear away,

Ere mine to meet it springs ;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,

Whate'er to-morrow brings !
Like sun-set gleams, that linger late

When all is dark’ning fast,
Are hours like these we snatch from Fate-
The brightest and the last.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

To gild our dark’ning life, if Heaven

But one bright hour allow,
Oh! think that one bright bour is given,

In all its splendour, now!
Let's live it out-then sink in night,

Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell—are touch'd with light-
Then lost for evermore.

Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING !

Portuguese dir.

I.
WHISPÄRINGS, heard by wakeful maids,

To whom the night-stars guide us-
Stolen walks through moonlight shades,
With those we love beside us.

Hearts beating, at meeting,

Tears starting, at parting;
Oh! sweet youth, how soon it fades !

Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!

HEAR ME BUT ONCE.

French Air.

I.
HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,

In which our love lies cold and dead,
I count each flatt'ring hope he gave,

Of joys now lost and charms now fled.

II. Who could have thought the smile he wore,

When first we met, would fade away? Or that a chill would e'er come o'er

Those eyes so bright through many a day?