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HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS.

Savoyard Air.

I.
How oft, when watching stars grow pale,

And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale
I from

my

casement lean. Oh! come, my love!” each note it utters seems to say, 66 Oh! come, my love! the night wears fast away!”

No, ne'er to mortal ear

Can words, though warm they be,
Speak Passion's language half so clear

As do those notes to me!

II.

Then quick my own light lute I seek,

And strike the chords with loudest swell, And, though they nought to others speak,

He knows their language well. “I come, my love!” each sound they utter seems to say, I come, my love! thine, thine till break of day.”

Oh! weak the power of words,

The hues of painting dim,
Compared to what those simple chords

Then say and paint to him.

WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE.

1

German Air.

J.

When the first summer bee

O'er the young rose shall hover,

Then, like that gay rover,

I'll come to thee.
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim-
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and him!

II.
Then, to every bright tree

In the garden he'll wander,

While I, oh! much fonder,

Will stay with thee. In search of new sweetness through thousands he'll run, While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.

THOUGH TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.

French Air.

a

I.
Though 'tis all but a dream at the best,

And still when happiest soonest o'er,
Yet, even in a dream, to be bless'd

Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. The bosom that opes with earliest hopes,

The soonest finds those hopes untrue, As flowers that first in spring-time burst The earliest wither too!

Ay—'tis all but a dream, etc.

II.
By friendship we oft are deceived,

And find the love we clung to past;
Yet friendship will still be believed,

And love trusted on to the last.
The web in the leaves the spider weaves

Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men ; Though often she sees it broke by the breeze, She spins the bright tissue again.

Ay—'tis all but a dream, etc.

'TIS WHEN THE CUP IS SMILING.

Italian Air.

I.

'Tis when the cup is smiling before us,

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true, That the sky of this life opens o'er us,

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus; . For him but two bright eyes were shining

See what numbers are sparkling for us !

a

II.
When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,

And on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, 'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,

To disturb even a saint from his dreams. Though this life like a river is flowing,

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, While the grape on its bank still is growing,

And such eyes light the waves as they run.

a

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Where shall we bury our shame?

Where, in what desolate place, Hide the last wreck of a name

Broken and stain'd by disgrace ? Death may dissever the chain,

Oppression will cease when we're gone; But the dishonour, the stain,

Die as we may, will live on.

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II.

Was it for this we sent out

Liberty's cry from our shore ?
Was it for this that her shout

Thrill’d to the world's very core ?
Thus to live cowards and slaves,
Oh!

ye

free hearts that lie dead! Do you not, e'en in your graves,

Shudder, as o'er you we tread?

VOL. IV.

13

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