Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, As in the fields of bliss above, He sits, with flowerets fettered round ;Loose not a tie that round him clings, Nor ever let him use his wings; For even an hour, a minute's flight Will rob the plumes of half their light. Like that celestial bird, whose nest Is found beneath far eastern skies, Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies! SONG. Fly to the desert, fly with me, But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt Our rocks are rough, but smiling there Our sands are bare, but down their slope As gracefully and gaily springs As o'er the marble courts of kings. Then come,--thy Arab maid will be Oh! there are looks and tones that dart As if the very lips and eyes So came thy every glance and tone, Then fly with me,-if thou hast known Come, if the love thou hast for me But if for me thou dost forsake Then, fare thee well,-I'd rather make MY BIRTH-DAY. "My birth-day"-what a different sound When first our scanty years are told, That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain, "He would do all that he had done."- Lavished unwisely, carelessly— That crossed my pathway, for his star! Th' imperfect picture o'er again, With power to add, retouch, efface, The light and shades,-the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay! How quickly all should melt awayAll, but that freedom of the mind, Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving ark, Where love's true light at last I've found Cheering within when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round! SONG. Oft in the stilly night, Of other days around me. The smiles, the tears of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken, The eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! When I remember all I feel like one, who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me. |