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Our morn is gone, the day is past,
The ev’ning closes round us now,
But light still gilds the mountain's brow;
And ev'ry ling'ring ray has set,
Tho' days are gone when you and I, &c.
OH, LET ME ONLY BREATHE THE
The blessed air that's breathed by thee!
Healing or death—'tis sweet to me.
Would that my bosom's blood were balm,
To give thy brow one minute's calm.
Am I not thine-thy own loved bride,
In life or death, is by thy side ?
In this dim world from thee hath shone
That must be hers when thou art gone ?
• Who art my life itself? No-no! When the stem dies the leaf that grew : Out of its heart must perish too.
IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS
MOMENT SHED.* T. MOORE.]
[Air_-" The sixpence." It is not the tear at this moment shed,
When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him, 'Tis the tear, thro' many a long day wept,
'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded; 'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept,
When all lighter griefs have faded.
Thus his memory, like some holy light,
Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, For worth shall look fairer and truth more bright,
When we think how he liv'd but to love them. And as fresher flowers the sod perfume,
Where buried saints are lying,
From the image he left there in dying!
A DOUBT RESOLVED.
[Music by HENRY LATES.
This song was occasioned by the loss of a very near and dear relative of the author's, who died at Madeira.
† Henry Lawes, born in 1600, was the composer of the original music of Milton's "Comus," produced in 1634.
The fair one she's a mark to all,
SHE CAME TO US IN SUMMER-TIME. J. E. CARPENTER.]
[Music by John FULCHER, She came to us in summer-time
When fragrance fillid the bow'rs,
A queen amid the flow'rs ;
Her brow was lily white;
When all was bright and fair,
That with her could compare.
She came to us in summer-time,
And as the years depart,
The sunshine of the heart;
Still rosy may it beam,
She came, &c.
MY NAME IS FOND DESIRE.
[EARL OF OXFORD, 1560.]
Sir, what do you require ?
My name is fond desire.
Fresh youth in sugar'd joy; .
Sad sighs with great annoy.
Sweet speech, which likes me best:
In gentle hearts I rest.
Bring thee unto decay ?
Ten thousand times a day.
Thou art no mate for me ;
HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS
SHADED? T. MOORE.]
[dir" Sly Patrick," Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet ?
That even in sorrow were sweet?
Each feeling that once was dear?
I'll weep with thee tear for tear,
Has love to that soul so tender
Been like our Lagenian mine,
All over the surface shine ?
Allur'd by the gleam that shone,
Like love, the bright ore is gone.
Has hope, like the bird in the story,
That fitted from tree to tree
Has hope been that bird to thee?
The gem did she still display,
Then waft the fair gem away?
If thus the sweet hours have fleeted,
When sorrow herself look'd bright;
That led thee along so light,
Each feeling that once was dear;
I'll weep with thee tear for tear.
THE MAY-DEW. SAMUEL LOVER.]
[Music by S. LOVER. [To gather the dew from the flowers on May-morning, before the sun has risen, is reckoned a bond of peculiar power between lovers.]
COME with me, love, I'm seeking
A spell in the young year's flowers;
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs ;