SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.

SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ;
Should the cold world come to wake thee

From all thy visions of youth and joy;

Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish
Him who once thought thy young heart his own,
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish,

And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ;

Oh! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted

Would come to cheer thee, when all seemed o'er;

Then the truant, lost and blighted,

Would to his bosom be taken once more.
Like that dear bird we both can remember,
Who left us while summer shone round,
But, when chilled by bleak December,
On our threshold a welcome still found.

FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE!

FARE thee well, thou lovely one!
Lovely still, but dear no more;
Once his soul of truth is gone,
Love's sweet life is o'er.

Thy words, whate'er their flattering spell,
Could scarce have thus deceived;
But eyes that acted truth so well
Were sure to be believed.

Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one!
Lovely still, but dear no more;
Once his soul of truth is gone,
Love's sweet life is o'er.

Yet those eyes look constant still,

True as stars they keep their light;
Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil
Of blushing always bright.

-T is one of the many instances among my lyrical poemsthe above. it must be owned. is an extreme case-where re has been necessarily sacrificed to the structure of the

'Tis only on thy changeful heart The blame of falsehood ies; Love lives in every other part,

But there, alas! he dies. Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er.

DOST THOU REMEMBER.

Dost thou remember that place so lonely,
A place for lovers, and lovers only,

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs? When, as the moonbeam, that trembled o'er thee, Illum'd thy blushes, I knelt before thee,

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes? Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, Love bound us-never, never more to part!

And when I called thee by names the dearest
That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest-
"My life, my only life!" among the rest;
In those sweet accents that still enthral me,
Thou saidst, "Ah! wherefore thy life thus call me?
Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love best;
For life soon passes-but how blessed to be
That soul which never, never parts from thee!"

OH, COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT SETS
Oн, come to me when daylight sets;
Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.

When Mirth's awake, and Love begins,
Beneath that glancing ray,

With sound of lutes and mandolins,

To steal young hearts away.
Then, come to me when daylight sets;
Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.

Oh, then's the hour for those who love,
Sweet! like thee and me;

When all's so calm below, above,
In heaven and o'er the sea.
When maiden's sing sweet barcarollest
And echo sings again

So sweet, that all with ears and souls
Should love and listen then.

So, come to me when daylight sets,
Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.

OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT. OFT, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
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! Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends, so linked together, I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather;

The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Ports guese words.

+ Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Venitienne, que chan tent les gondoliers a Venise.-Rousseau. Dictionaire de Murique.

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,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

HARK! THE VESPER HYMN IS STEALING.

HARK! the vesper hymn is stealing
O'er the waters soft and clear;
Nearer yet and nearer pealing,
And now bursts upon the ear;
Jubilate, Amen.

Farther, now, now farther stealing,
Soft it fades upon the ear;
Jubilate, Amen.

Now, like moonlight waves retreating
To the shore, it dies along;
Now, like angry surges meeting,
Breaks the mingled tide of song;
Jubilate, Amen.

Hush! again, like waves, retreating
To the shore, it dies along;
Jutilate, Amen.

THERE COMES A TIME. 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 naught beyond.

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 passed away.

LOVE AND HOPE.

Ar morn, beside yon summer sea,

Young Hope and Love reclined;

But scarce had noon-tide come, when he
Into his bark leaped smilingly,

And left poor Hope behind.

"I go," said Love, "to sail awhile
Across this sunny main ;"

And then so sweet his parting smile,
That Hope, who never dreame of guile
Believed he'd come again.

She lingered 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 washed away.

At length a sail appears in sight,

And toward 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 showed

Her night-lamp o'er the sea;
And calm the light that lamp bestowed;
But Love had lights that warmer glowed,
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.

MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING THEME.

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.

Breath 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 wantoned by,
Were still upon thy strings.

OH, NO-NOT EVEN WHEN FIRST WE LOVED.

Он, no-not even 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 turned 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 gained 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 seemed to love thee more
Yet, oh, I love thee better now

WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.
WHEN Love was a child, and went idling round,
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day,
One morn in the valley a bower he found,
So sweet, it allured him to stay.

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair,
A fountain ran darkly beneath ;—
"Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rets there,
Love knew it, and jumped at the wreath.

But Love didn't know—and, at his weak years,
What urchin was likely to know?—
That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears
The fountain that murmured below.

Te caught at the wreath-but with too much haste,
As boys when impatient will do-

A fell in those waters of briny taste,

And the flowers were all wet through.

This garland he now wears night and day;
And, though it all sunny appears

With Pleasure's own light, each leaf they say,
Still tastes of the fountain of tears

HEAR ME BUT ONCE.

HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,
In which our Love lies cold and dead,

I count each flattering hope he gave
Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled.
Who could have thought the smile he wore,
When first we met, would fade away?
Or that a chill would e'er come o'er
Those eyes so bright through many a day?
Hear me but once, &c.

COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS.

WHILE I touch the string,

Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing

Has, for once, a moral. Common Sense, one night, Though not used to gambols, Went out by moonlight,

With Genius, on his rambles,

While I touch the string, &c.

Common Sense went on,

Many wise things saying; While the light that shone Soon set Genius straying. One his eye ne'er raised

From the path before him;
T'other idly gazed

On each night-cloud o'er him.
While I touch the string, &c.

So they came, at last,

To a shady river; Common Sense soon passed,

Safe, as he doth ever; While the boy, whose look

Was in heaven that minute,
Never saw the brook

But tumbled headlong in it!
While I touch the string, &c.

How the Wise One smiled,
When safe o'er the torrent,
At that youth so wild,
Dripping from the current!
Sense went home to bed;
Genius, left to shiver

On the bank, 'tis said,

Died of that cold river!

While I touch the string, &c.

GAYLY SOUNDS THE CASTANET.

GAYLY sounds the castanet,

Beating time to bounding feet, When, after daylight's golden set,

Maids and youths by moonlight meet.

Oh, then, how sweet to move
Through all that maze of mirth,
Led by light from eyes we love
Beyond all eyes on earth.

Then, the joyous banquet spread

On the cool and fragrant ground, With heaven's bright sparklers overhead, And still brighter sparkling round. Oh, then, how sweet to say Into some loved one's ear,

Thoughts reserved through many a day To be thus whispered here.

PEACE BE AROUND THEE.

PEACE be around thee, wherever thou rovest;
May life be for thee one summer's day,
And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lovest,
Come smiling around thy sunny way!
If sorrow e'er this calm should break,
May even thy tears pass off so lightly,
Like spring-showers, they'll only make
The smiles that follow shine more brightly.
May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all,
And daily dooms some joy to death,
O'er thee let years so gently fall,

They shall not crush one flower beneath.
As half in shade and half in sun

This world along its path advances, May that side the sun's upon

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!

LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY. LOVE is a hunter-boy,

Who makes young hearts his prey; And, in his nets of joy,

Ensnares them night and day.
In vain concealed they lie-
Love tracks them everywhere;
In vain aloft they fly-

Love shoots them flying there.
But 'tis his joy most sweet,
At early dawn to trace
The print of Beauty's feet,
And give the trembler chase.
And if, through virgin snow,

He tracks her footsteps fair,
How sweet for Love to know

None went before him there.

OH, DAYS OF YOUTH.

Он, days of youth and joy, long clouded,
Why thus for ever haunt my view?
When in the grave your light lay shrouded,
Why did not Memory die there too?
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me,
Telling of joys that yet remain-
No, never more can this life bring me

One joy that equals youth's sweet pain.
Dim lies the way to death before me,

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; Sunshine of youth! that once fell o'er me,

Where is your warinth, your glory now? 'Tis not that then no pain could sting mu; 'Tis not that now no joys remain; Oh, 'tis that life no more can bring me One joy so sweet as that worst pain.

WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE.

WHEN first that smile, like sunshine, blessed my sight,
Oh what a vision then came o'er me!
Long years of love, of calm and pure delight,
Seemed in that smile to pass before me.
Ne'er did the peasant dream of summer skies,
Of golden fruit, and harvests springing,
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes,
And of the joy their light was bringing.
Where now are all those fondly promised hours?
Ah! woman's faith is like her brightness-
Fading as fast as rainbows, or day-flowers,

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness.
Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of day,
Should be each vow of Love's repeating;
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray-
Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting!

PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS! PEACE to the slumb❜rers!

They lie on the battle-plain, With no shroud to cover them; The dew and the summer rain Are all that weep over them.

Peace to the slumb'rers!

Vain was their bravery !—

The fallen oak lies where it lay Across the wintry river;

But brave hearts, once swept away, Are gone, alas! for ever.

Vain was their bravery!

Wo to the conqu❜ror!

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs Of whom his sword bereft us,

Ere we forget the deep arrears

Of vengeance they have left us!
Wo to the conqu❜ror!

COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY.

COME, chase that starting tear away,

Ere mine to meet it springs;

To-nigh, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings.

Like sun-set gleams, that linger late
When all is darkening fast,

Are hours like these we snatch from Fate-
The brightest, and the last.

Then, chase that starting tear, &c.
To gild the deepening gloom of heaven
But one bright hour allow,

Oh, think that one bright hour is given,
In all its splendor, now.

Let's live it out-then sink in night,
Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell, are touched with light,
Then lost for evermore?

Come, chase that starting tear, &c,

WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS?
HYMEN, late, his love-knots selling,
Called at many a maiden's dwelling,
None could doubt, who saw or knew them,
Hymen's call was welcome to them.

"Who'll buy my love-knots ?
Who'll buy iny love-knots ?"
Soon as that sweet cry resounded
How his baskets were surrounded!
Maids, who now first dreamt of trying
These gay knots of Hymen's tying;
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him;-
"Who'll buy my love-knots ?

Who'll buy my love-knots ?"

All at that sweet cry assembled;

Some laughed, some blushed, and some trembled. "Here are knots," said Hymen, taking

Some loose flowers, "of Love's own making;
"Here are gold ones-you may trust 'em"-
(These, of course, found ready custom).

"Come, buy my love-knots!
Come, buy my love-knots!

Some are labelled Knots to tie men-
Love the maker-bought of Hymen.""
Scarce their bargains were completed,
When the nymphs all cried, "We're cheated
See these flowers-they're drooping sadly;
This gold-knot, too, ties but badly-

Who'd buy such love-knots?
Who'd buy such love-knots ?

Even this tie, with Love's name round it-
All a sham-he never bound it."

Love, who saw the whole proceeding,
Would have laughed, but for good-breeding;
While Old Hymen, who was used to
Cries like that these dames gave loose to
"Take back our love-knots!
Take back our love-knots!"

Coolly said, "There's no returning
Wares on Hymen's hands-good morning!"

HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS.

OFT, when the watching stars grow pale,
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale
I from my casement lean.

"Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away !" Never to mortal ear

Could words, though warm they be,
Speak Passion's language half so clear
As do those notes to me!

Then quick my own light lute I seek,

And strike the chords with loudest swell; And, though they naught to others speak, He knows their language well.

"I come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"I come, my love!-thine, thine til break of day."
Oh, weak the power of words,

The hues of painting dim,
Compared to what those simple chords
Then say and paint to him!

WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER.
WHEN thou shalt wander by that sweet light
We used to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive-
Oh, then, rememb'ring how swift went by
Those hours of transport, even thou mayst sigh,
Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own
That love like ours was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments, thrown

Aside, when passed the summer's beat:
And wish in vain to know again
Such days, such nights, as blest thee then.

SAI, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY?

SAY, what shall be our sport to-day?

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, For spirits like mine to dare!

'Tis like the returning bloom

Of those days, alas, gone by,

When I loved, each hour-I scarce knew whom-
And was blessed-I scarce knew why.
Ay-those were days when life had wings,

And flew, oh, flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which sunward springs,
'Twas giddy with too much light.
And though of some plumes bereft,
With that sun, too nearly set,

I've enough of light and wing still left,
For a few gay soarings yet.

FAREWELL, THERESA!

FAREW, LL, Theresa! yon cloud that over

Heaven's pale night-star gathering we see,

Will scarce from that pure orb have passed, ere thy lover
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.

Long, like that din cloud, I've hung around thee,
Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow;

With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee;
Oh, think how changed love, how changed art thou now!

But here I free thee; like one awaking

Fra fearful slumber, thou breakst the spell;
in ver—the moon, too, her bondage is breaking-
FP are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!

Your needle's task you ply;

At what I sing some maids will smile,

While some, perhaps, may sigh.

Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames Such florid songs as ours,

Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames,

Can

er thoughts by flowers.

Then listen, maids, come listen, while
Your needle's task you ply;

At what I sing there's some may smile,
While some, perhaps, will sigh.

Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves,
Such nets had learned to frame,
That none, in all our vales and groves,
E'er caught so much small game:

But gentle Sue, less given to roam,
While Cloe's nets were taking

Such lots of Loves, sat still at home,
One little love-cage making.
Come, listen, maids, &c.

Much Cloe laughed at Susan's task;
But mark how things went on;
These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask
Their name and age, were gone!
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove,
That, though she charmed into them
New game each hour, the youngest Love
Was able to break through them.

Come, listen, maids, &c.

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought
Of bars too strong to sever,

One Love with golden pinions caught,
And caged him there for ever;
Instructing, thereby, all coquettes,
Whate'er their looks or ages,

That, though 'tis pleasant weaving nets,
'Tis wiser to make cages.

Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile
The task your fingers ply.-
May all who hear like Susan smile,
And not, like Cloe, sigh!

Each instant echo to our song; And, when we meet with store of gems, We grudge not kings their diadems. O'er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along⚫ While grots and caves,

And icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song.

Not half so oft the lover dreams

Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, As we of those refreshing gleams

That tell where deep the crystal lies; Though, next to crystal, we too grant, That ladies' eyes may most enchant.

O'er mountains bright, &c. Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose The golden sunset leaves its ray, So like a gem the floweret glows,

We thither bend our headlong way; And, though we find no treasure there, We bless the rose that shines so fair, O'er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along; While rocks and caves,

And icy waves,

Each instant echo to our song,