I.
When Love was a child, and went idling round,

'Mong flowers the whole summer's day, One morn in the valley a bower he found,

So sweet, it allured him to stay.

II.
O’erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair,

A fountain ran darkly beneath'Twas Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up there;

; Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath.

III.
But Love didn't know-and at his weak years

What urchin was likely to know ?-
That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears

That fountain which murmur'd below.

IV. He caught at the wreath—but with too much haste,

As boys when impatient will doIt fell in those waters of briny taste,

And the flowers were all wet through.

V.
Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day,

And, though it all sunny appears
With Pleasure's own lustre, each leaf, they say,

Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.

SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY?

Sicilian Air.

1.
Say, what shall be our sport to-day?

There's nothing on earth, in sea or air,

Too bright, too bold, too high, too gay,

For spirits like mine to dare ! 'Tis like the returning bloom

Of those days, alas! gone by, When I loved each hour-I scarce knew whom,

And was bless'd—I scarce knew why.

II.
Ay, those were days when life had wings,

And flew~oh, flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which suņward springs,

'Twas giddy with too much light; And, though of some plumes bereft,

With that sun, too, nearly set,
I've enough of light and wing still left

For a few gay soarings yet.

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS!

Welch Air.

1. Bright be thy dreams—may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping.

1 2

VOL. IV.

Those by death or seas removed, Friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee,

All thou'st ever prized or loved, In dreams come smiling to thee !

II. There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ;

Still the samem-no charnı forgotNothing lost that life had given;

Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven!

GO, THENTIS VAIN.

Sicilian Air.

I.
Go, then-'tis vain to hover

Thus round a hope that's dead-
At length my dream is over,

'Twas sweet--'twas false'tis fled! Farewell! since nought it moves thee,

Such trutla as mine to see,

Some one, who far less loves thee,

Perhaps more bless'd will be.

II.
Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness

New life around me shed !
Farewell, false heart, whose lightness
Now leaves me death instead !

those charms surrender
To some new lover's sigh,
One who, though far less tender,

May be more bless'd than I.

Go, now,

THE CRYSTAL HUNTERS.

Swiss Air.

I. O'ER mountains bright with snow and light,

We Crystal Hunters speed along,
While grots and caves, and icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song ;
And, when we meet with stores of gems,
We grudge not kings their diadems.