Oh! be less, be less enchanting,
Let some little grace be wanting ;
Let my eyes, when I'm expiring,
Gaze awhile, without admiring!

FLY FROM THE WORLD, O BESSY.

Fly from the world, oh, Bessy, to me,

Thou'lt never find any sincerer ;
l'll give up the world, oh Bessy! for thee,

I can never meet any that's dearer!
Then tell me no more with a tear and a sigh,

That our loves will be censured by many;
All have their follies, and who can deny
That ours is the sweetest of

any y?

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed,

From a world wbich I know thou despisest; And slumber will hover as light on our bed,

As e'er on the couch of the wisest!
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,

And thou, pretty innocent! fearest,
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heav'n,

'Tis only our lullaby, dearest !

And, oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love,

Looking back on the scene of our errors ; A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above,

And death be disarm'd of his terrors !

And each to the other embracing will say,

“ Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven!" Thy last fading glance will illumine the way,

And a kiss be our passport to Heaven!

HERE'S THE BOWER.

Here's the Bow'r she lov'd so much,

And the tree she planted ;
Here's the Harp she us’d to touch,-

Oh! how that touch enchanted !
Roses now unheeded sigh,

Where's the hand to wreath them? Songs around neglected lie,

Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the Bow'r she lov'd so much,

And the tree she planted;
Here's the Harp she usd to touch,...

Oh! how that touch enchanted!

Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd

Ne'er shall feel its sweetness ! Time, that once so fleetly mov'd,

Now hath lost its fleetness. Years were days, when here she stray'd,

Days were moments near her; Heav'n ne'er form’d a brighter Maid,

Nor Pity wept a dearer!

Here's the Bow'r she lov'd so much,

And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she us'd to touch,...

Oh! how that touch enchanted !

GOOD NIGHT.

go ?

Good night, good night, and is it so ?
And must I from

my

Rosa
Oh Rosa ! say good night once more,
And I'll repeat it o’er and o’er,
Till the first glance of dawning light
Shall find us saying still good night.
Good night, good night, and is it so?
And must I from

my
Rosa

go? ?
And still “Good night," my Rosa say...
But whisper still “ a minute stay;"
And I will stay, and every

minute
Shall have an age of rapture in it!
We'll wing the hours with soft delight,
And murmur, as they pass, “ Good night!"

Good night, good night! and is it so ? &c.

"Good night!" you'll echo with a sigh, And tell me it is time to fly : And I will ask one moment more, Yet linger happier than before, "Till morning brings her joyful light, And then, my love! my soul! Good night!

Good night, good night! and is it so ? &c.

FRIEND OF MY SOUL.

FRIEND of my Soul! this Goblet sip,

"Twill chase thy pensive tear; 'Tis not so sweet as Woman's lip, But oh! 'tis more sincere. Like her delusive beam,

'Twill steal away thy mind; But like affection's dream,

It leaves no sting behind !

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade,

These flowers were cull’d at noon;
Like Woman's love the rose will fade,
But, ah! not half so soon!
For, tho' the flower's decay'd,

Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betray'd,

The heart can bloom no more!

NOW LET THE WARRIOR.

Now let the Warrior plume his steed,

And wave his sword afar, For the men of the East this day shall bleed,

And the sun shall blush with war. Victory sits on the Christian's helm,

To guide her holy band; The Knights of the Cross this day shall whelm

The men of the Pagan land.

O blest who in the battle dies !

God will enshrine him in the skies.
Now let the Warrior plume his steed,

And wave his sword afar;
For the men of the East this day shall bleed,

And the sun shall blush with war.

WHEN TIME WHO STEALS OUR YEARS AWAY.

When time who steals our years away,

Shall steal our pleasures too,
The memory of the past will stay,

And half our joys renew.
Then Cloe, when thy beauty's flow'r

Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour

When thou alone wert fair.
Then talk no more of future gloom,

Our joys shall always last,
For hope shall brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past.

Come, Cloe, fill the genial bowl,

I drink to love and thee;
Thou never canst decay in soul,
Thou'lt still be young

for me.
And as thy lips the tear-drop chase

Which on my cheek they find,