L'AMITIE EST L'AMOUR SANS AILES.

WHY should my anxious breast repine,
Because my youth is fled?

Days of delight may still be mine;

Affection is not dead.

In tracing back the years of youth,
One firm record, one lasting truth
Celestial consolation brings;

Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat,
Where first my heart responsive beat, —
"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Through few, but deeply checkered years,
What moments have been thine!
Now, half obscured by clouds of tears,
Now, bright in rays divine;
Howe'er my future doom be cast,
My soul, enraptured with the past,
To one idea fondly clings;

Friendship! that thought is all thine own,
Worth words of bliss, that thought alone,
"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave
Their branches on the gale,
Unheeded heaves a simple grave,

Which tells the common tale.

Round this unconscious schoolboys stray, Till the dull knell of childish play

From yonder studious mansion rings; But here whene'er my footsteps move, My silent tears too plainly prove

66

Friendship is Love without his wings!'

Oh Love! before thy glowing shrine

My early vows were paid;

My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,
But these are now decayed;

For thine are pinions like the wind,
No trace of thee remains behind,
Except, alas! thy jealous stings.
Away, away! delusive power,

Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour;
Unless, indeed, without thy wings!"

Seat of my youth! thy distant spire
Recalls each scene of joy;
My bosom glows with former fire, -
In mind again a boy.

Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill,

Thy every path delights me still,

Each flower a double fragrance flings;

Again, as once, in converse gay,
Each dear associate seems to say

"Friendship is Love without his wings!

My Lycus! wherefore dost thou weep?
Thy falling tears restrain;
Affection for a time may sleep,

But oh, 't will wake again.

Think, think, my friend, when next we meet,
Our long-wished interview, how sweet!

From this my hope of rapture springs;
While youthful hearts thus fondly swell,
Absence, my friend, can only tell,

'Friendship is Love without his wings!

In one, and one alone deceived,
Did I my error mourn?

No- from oppressive bonds relieved,
I left the wretch to scorn.

I turned to those my childhood knew,
With feelings warm, with bosoms true,
Twined with my heart's according strings;
And till those vital chords shall break,

For none but these my breast shall wake,

Friendship, the power deprived of wings!"

Ye few! my soul, my life is yours,

My memory and my hope; Your worth a lasting love insures,

Unfettered in its scope;

From smooth deceit and terror sprung,
With aspect fair and honeyed tongue,

Let Adulation wait on kings.

With joy elate, by snares beset,

We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Fictions and dreams inspire the bard
Who rolls the epic song;

Friendship and Truth be my reward,
To me no bays belong:

If laurelled fame but dwells with lies,
Me the enchantress ever flies,

Whose heart and not whose fancy sings:
Simple and young, I dare not feign,
Mine be the rude yet heartfelt strain,

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Friendship is Love without his wings!"

A WAR-SONG.

TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war;
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!

Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?

To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,
And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.

Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?

Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego?
What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe?

Macedonia sends forth her invincible race;
For a time they abandon the cave and the chase;
But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er.

Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves,
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves,
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar,
And track to his covert the captive on shore.

I ask not the pleasure that riches supply,
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy;
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair,
And many a maid from her mother shall tear.

I love the fair face of the maid in her youth,

Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe ; Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre, And sing us a song on the fall of her sire.

Remember the moment when Previsa fell,
The shrieks of the conquered, the conquerors' yell,
The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared,
The wealthy we slaughtered, the lovely we spared.

I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear:

He neither must know who would serve the Vizier: Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw.

Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, [dread; Let the yellow-haired Giaours view his horse-tail with When his Delhis come dashing in blood o'er the banks, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks!

Selictar! unsheathe then our chief's scimitar:
Tambourgi! thy 'larum gives promise of war.
Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore,
Shall view us as victors, or view us no more!