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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.


No lover half so fondly dreams

Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, As we of those refreshing gleams

That tell where deep the crystal lies; Though, next to crystal, we too grant That ladies' eyes may most enchant.

O’er mountains, etc.

Sometimes, when o'er the Alpine rose

The golden sunset leaves its ray,
So like a gem the flow'ret glows,

We thither bend our headlong way; And, though we find no treasure there, We bless the rose that shines so fair.

O'er mountains, etc.


Venetian Air.

I. Row gently here, any gondolier; so softly wake the tide, That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom

we glide. Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes

to see,

Oh! think what tales 'twould have to tell of wand'ring

youths like me!

II. Now rest thee here, my gondolier ; hush, hush, for up

I go

To climb yon light balcony's height, while thou keep'st

watch below. Ah! did we take for Heaven above but half such pains

as we

Take day and night for woman's love, what Angels we

should be!


French dir.

1. On! days of youth and joy, long clouded,

Why thus for ever baunt iny view? When in the grave your light lay sharouded,

Why did not Memory die there too? Vainly doth Hope hier strain now sing me,

Whisp'ring of joys that yet reinainNo, no, never more can this life bring me

One joy that equals youtli's sweet pain.

Dim lies the way to death before me,

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; Sunshine of youth that once fell o'cr me,

Where is your warmth, your glory now? 'Tis not that then no pain could stiny me

"Tis not that now no joys remain ; Oh! it is that life no more can bring me

One joy so sweet as that worst pain.


Venetian Air.

1. When first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my sight,

Oh! what a vision then came o'er me! Long years of love, of calm and pure delight, Seem'd in that smile to pass

before me. Ne'er did the peasant dream, ne'er dream of summer

Of golden fruit and harvests springing,
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes,
And of the joy their light was bringing.

Where now are all those fondly-promised hours ?

Oh! woman's faith is like her brightness,
Fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers,

Or ought that's known for grace and lightness. Short as the Persian's prayer, his prayer at close of day, ,

Must be each vow of Love's repeating; Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray

Even while he kneels that ray is fleeting!


Catalonian Air.

1. Peace to the slumberers !

They lie on the battle-plain With no shroud to cover them

; The dew and the summer rain Are all that weep over them.

Vain was their bravery!

The fallen oak lies where it lay,
Across the wintry river;

But brave hearts, once swept away, Are gone, alas ! for ever.

III. Woe to the conqueror!

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs Of whom his sword bereft us,

Ere we forget the deep arrears Of vengeance they have left us!

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