OH! COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT SETS. On! come to me when daylight sets; When Mirth's awake, and Love begins, With sound of lutes and mandolins, When smoothly go our gondolets O'er the moonlight sea. Oh! then 's the hour for those who love, When all 's so calm below, above, In heaven and o'er the sea. When maidens sing sweet barcarolles, So sweet, that all with ears and souls Should love and listen then. So, come to me when daylight sets; The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Portuguese words. 2 Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Vénitienne, que chantent les gondoliers à Venise.-ROUSSEAU, Dictionnaire de Musique. OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT. Scotch Air. OFT, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so link'd together, Like leaves in wintry weather; Who treads alone Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. « I go,» said Love, « to sail awhile 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 And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, At length a sail appears in sight, And toward the maiden moves! T is Wealth that comes; and gay and bright, His golden bark reflects the light, But ah! it is not Love's. Another sail-'t was 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 THERE COMES A TIME. THERE comes a time, a dreary time, To him whose heart hath flown When sets the sun on Afric's shore, When Love withdraws his light— Oh! there comes a time, etc. No. II. 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 leap'd smilingly, And left poor Hope behind. MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING THEME. Swedish Air. My harp has one unchanging theme, To wake the breathing string; 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. The breath that Pleasure's wings Gave out, when last they wanton'd by, Were still upon thy strings. OH! NO-NOT E'EN WHEN FIRST WE LOVED. Cashmerian Air. On! no-not e'en when first we loved, But now thy virtues bind my heart. 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. Common Sense went on, Many wise things saying, On each night-cloud o'er him. To a shady river; Safe, as he doth ever; But tumbled headlong in it! When safe o'er the torrent, Dripping from the current! Genius, left to shiver Died of that cold river! While I touch the string, etc. PEACE BE AROUND THEE! PEACE be around thee! wherever thou rovest And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lovest, 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! COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS. WHILE I touch the string, 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, etc. When, after daylight's golden set, Oh! then, how sweet to move Through all that maze of mirth, Lighted by those eyes we love Beyond all eyes on earth. Then, the joyous banquet spread On the cool and fragrant ground, With night's bright eye-beams overhead, And still brighter sparkling round. Oh! then, how sweet to say Into the loved one's car, When the dance and feast are done, And words whose parting tone 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 conceal'd they lie— Love tracks them every where; In vain aloft they fly Love shoots them flying there. But 't is his joy most sweet, The print of Beauty's feet, And give the trembler chase. And most he loves through snow To trace those footsteps fair, For then the boy doth know None track'd before him there. Let's live it out-then sink in night, Then, chase that starting tear, etc. JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING! Portuguese Air. WHISPRINGS, heard by wakeful maids, Hearts beating, at meeting,- HEAR ME BUT ONCE. HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave, 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 No. III. WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. Swedish Air. WHEN Love was a child, and went idling round, O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, A fountain ran darkly beneath COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY!'T was Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up there; French Air. COME, chase that starting tear away, Ere mine to meet it springs; To-night, at least, to-night be gay, Whate'er to-morrow brings! Like sun-set gleams, that linger late When all is dark'ning fast, Are hours like these we snatch from FateThe brightest and the last. Then, chase that starting tear, etc. Oh! think that one bright hour is given, Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath. But Love did n't know-and at his weak years What urchin was likely to know? That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears That fountain which murmur'd below. He caught at the wreath-but with too much haste, It fell in those waters of briny taste, Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day, And, though it all sunny appears With Pleasure's own lustre, each leaf, they say, Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY? Sicilian Air. SAY, what shall be our sport to-day? There's nothing on earth, in sea or air, 'T is like the returning bloom Of those days, alas! goue by, When I loved each hour-1 scarce knew whom,- Ay, those were days when life had wings, While grots and caves, and icy waves, Each instant echo to our song; And, when we meet with stores 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. No lover half so fondly dreams Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, As we of those refreshing gleams That tell where deep the crystal lies; Sometimes, when o'er the Alpine rose BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS! Welsh Air. BRIGHT be thy dreams!-may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping: Those by death or seas removed, Friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee, All thou 'st ever prized or loved, In dreams come smiling to thee! There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest; Still the same-no charm forgotNothing lost that life had given; Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou 'It find her yet in Heaven! GO, THEN-T IS VAIN. Sicilian Air. Go, then 't is vain to hover Thus round a hope that's dead; At length my dream is over, 'T was sweet-t was false-'t is fled! Farewell, since nought it moves thee Such truth as mine to see; Some one, who far less loves thee, Perhaps more bless'd will be. Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness New life around me shed! Farewell, false heart, whose lightness Now leaves me death instead! Go, now, those charms surrender To some new lover's sigh, One who, though far less tender, May be more bless'd than I. THE CRYSTAL HUNTERS. O'ER mountains bright with snow and light, ROW GENTLY HERE. Row gently here, my gondolier; So softly wake the tide, That not an ear on earth may hear, But hers to whom we glide. Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well Oh! think what tales 't would have to tell Hush, hush, for up I go, To climb yon light balcony's height, While thou keep'st watch below. But half such pains as we OH! DAYS OF YOUTH. OH! days of youth and joy, long clouded, Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; Sunshine of youth that once fell o'er me, Where is your warmth, your glory now? 'T is not that then no pain could sting me'T is not that now no joys remain; Oh! it is that life no more can bring me One joy so sweet as that worst pain. |