WREATHE THE BOWL.

AIR.-Noran Kista.

I.

WREAThe the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Tow'rds Heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us,

No danger fear,

While wine is near,
We'll drown him if he stings us.

Then, wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Tow'rds Heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

II.

'Twas nectar fed

Of old, 'tis said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ;
And man may

brew
His nectar too,
The rich receipt's as follows :-

Take wine like this,

Let looks of bliss Around it well be blended,

Then bring Wit's beam

To warm the stream, And there's your nectar, splendid !

So, wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Tow'rds Heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

a

III.

Say, why did Time
His glass sublime

Fill up with sands unsightly,

When wine, he knew,

Runs brisker through,
And sparkles far more brightly?

Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus,
The glass in two we'd sever,

Make pleasure glide

In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever!

Then, wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us ;

We'll take a flight

Tow'rds Heaven to-night
And leave dull earth behind us !

WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes,

All fill’d with hope, and joy, and light,

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As if no cloud could ever rise,

To dim a Heaven so purely brightI sigh to think how soon that brow

In grief may lose its every ray, And that light heart, so joyous now, Almost forget it once was gay.

II. For Time will come with all his blights,

The ruin'd hope—the friend unkindThe love that leaves, where'er it lights,

A chill'd or burning heart behind ! While youth, that now like snow appears,

Ere sullied by the dark’ning rain, When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears,

Will never shine so bright again!

IF THOU'LT BE MINE.

AIR. The winnowing Sheet.

I.
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,

Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet;

Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,
Or in Hope's sweet music is most sweet,

Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love!

II.
Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,

A voice divine shall talk in each stream,
The stars shall look like worlds of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream

In our eyes —if thou wilt be mine, love!

III. And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,

Like streams that come from heaven-ward hills, Shall keep our hearts-like meads, that lie To be bathed by those eternal rills

Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

IV.

All this and more the Spirit of Love

Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells ; That Heaven, which forms his home above, He can make on earth, wherever he dwells,

And he will—if thou wilt be mine, love!