Oh! say not woman's false as fair,
That like the bee she ranges;

Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare,
As fickle fancy changes.

Ah, no! the love that first can warm
Will leave her bosom never;
No second passion e'er can charm,—
She loves, and loves for ever.

FAREWELL.

LORD BYRON, born 1788, died 1824. Music by F. ROMER.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. "Tis vain to speak, to weep, to sigh;

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in the word-Farewell! farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; But in my breast and in my brain Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know I loved in vain

I only feel-Farewell! farewell!

I SAW THEE WEEP.

LORD BYRON.

I SAW thee weep; the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;

And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I saw thee smile; the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceas'd to shine:

It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,

Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,-

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

LORD BYRON.

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss!
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me→→→›
Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I know thee,
Who knew thee too well!
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met;
In silence I grieve
That my heart would forget,
Thy spirit deceive!
If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears!

LOVE AND GLORY.

THOMAS DIBDIN, born 1771, died 1841. Music by JOHN BRAHAM, in the opera of "The English Fleet."

YOUNG Henry was as brave a youth
As ever grac'd a martial story;
And Jane was fair as lovely truth:

She sighed for Love, and he for Glory.

With her his faith he meant to plight,
And told her many a gallant story;
Till war, their coming joys to blight,
Call'd him
away from Love to Glory.

Young Henry met the foe with pride;

Jane followed, fought!-ah, hapless story!

In man's attire, by Henry's side,

She died for Love, and he for Glory.

LOVE'S FOLLIES.

W. T. MONCRIEFF, from Poems privately printed A.D. 1820.

WHEN lull'd in passion's dream my senses slept,
How did I act?-e'en as a wayward child;
I smil'd with pleasure when I should have wept,
And wept with sorrow when I should have smil'd.

When Gracia, beautiful but faithless fair,

Who long in passion's bonds my heart had kept, First with false blushes pitied my despair,

I smil'd with pleasure!—should I not have wept?

And when, to gratify some wealthier wight,
She left to grief the heart she had beguil'd,
The heart grew sick, and saddening at the sight,
I wept with sorrow!—should I not have smil'd?

OH, NO! WE NEVER MENTION HER.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY, born 1797, died 1839. Music by ALEXANDER Lee.

Он, no! we never mention her, her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak that once familiar word:
From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret ;
And when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene the charms that others see;
But were I in a foreign land, they'd find no change in me.
'Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we met,
I do not see the hawthorn-tree; but how can I forget?

For oh! there are so many things recall the past to me,-
The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the sea;
The rosy tint that decks the sky before the sun is set;—
Ay, every leaf I look upon forbids that I forget.

They tell me she is happy now, the gayest of the gay;
They hint that she forgets me too, but I heed not what they say:
Perhaps like me she struggles with each feeling of regret;
But if she loves as I have loved, she never can forget.

From KENNY's comedy of "Sweethearts and Wives." Music by I. NATHAN.

"WHY are you wand'ring here, I pray?"

An old man ask'd a maid one day."

66

Looking for poppies so bright and red,
Father," said she, "I'm hither led."
"Fie, fie!" she heard him cry,
"Poppies 'tis known to all who rove,
Grow in the field and not in the

grove."

"Tell me," again the old man said,

66

'Why are you loit'ring here, fair maid ?"

"The nightingale's song, so sweet and clear,

Father," said she, "I'm come to hear."

66

Fie, fie!" she heard him

cry,

"Nightingales all, so people say,
Warble by night, and not by day."