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I. Ат morn, beside

yon summer sea, Young Hope and Love reclined; But scarce had noon-tide come, when he Into his bark leap'd smilingly,

And left poor Hope behind.

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II. "I go, ” said Love,

to sail awhile 66 Across this sunny main; And then so sweet his parting smile, That Hope, who never dream'd of guile,

Believed he'd come again.

She linger'd there till evening's beam

Along the waters lay,
And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream,
Oft traced his name, which still the stream
As often wash'd away.

At length a sail appears in sight,

And tow'rd the maiden moves ! 'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, His golden bark reflects the light,

But ah! it is not Love's.


Another sail-'twas Friendship show'd

Her night-lamp o'er the sea ;
And calm the light that lamp bestow'd :
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd,

And where, alas ! was he?


Now fast around the sea and shore

Night threw her darkling chain, The sunny

sails were seen no more, Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er

Love never came again!


German Air.


There comes a time, a dreary time,

To him whose heart hath flown O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime,

And made each flower its own. 'Tis when his soul must first renounce

Those dreams so bright, so fond ; Oh! then's the time to die at once, For life has nought beyond.

There comes a time, etc.

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When sets the sun on Afric's shore,

That instant all is night;
And so should life at once be o'er,

When Love withdraws his light
Nor, like our northern day, gleam on

Through twilight's dim delay, The cold remains of lustre gone, Of fire long pass'd away.

Oh! there comes a time, etc.

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My harp has one unchanging theme,

One strain that still comes o'er
Its languid chord, as 'twere a dream

Of joy that's now no more.
In vain I try, with livelier air,

To wake the breathing string ; That voice of other times is there,

And saddens all I sing.


Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain,

Henceforth be all my own,
Though thou art oft so full of pain

Few hearts can bear thy tone.
Yet oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh,

The breath that Pleasure's wings
Gave out, when last they wanton'd by,

Were still upon thy strings.


Cashmerian Air.


Oh! no-not e’en when first we loved,

Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; Thy beauty then my senses moved, But now thy virtues bind my

heart. What was but Passion's sigh before,

Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow; And, though I then might love thee more,

Trust me, I love thee better now!


Although my heart in earlier youth

Might kindle with more wild desire, Believe me, it has gain'd in truth

Much more than it has lost in fire. The flame now warms my inmost core,

That then but sparkled o'er my brow; And, though I seem'd to love thee more,

Yet, oh! I love thee better now.

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