Oh! if to love thee more
Each hour I number o'er,
If this a passion be

Worthy of thee,
Then, be happy, for thus I adore thee.

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last,
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. Rest, dear bosom! no sorrows shall pain thee,

Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
Beam, bright eyelid ! no weeping shall stain thee,
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.

Oh! if there be a charm*
In love to banish harm,
If pleasure's truest spell

Be to love well,
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.

Charms may wither, but feeling will last,
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.

KEEP YOUR TEARS FOR ME.

When ’midst the gay I meet

That gentle smile of thine,
Tho' still on me it turns most sweet,

I scarce can call it mine.

* This is one of the many instances in which I have sacrificed Metre, (and I may add Sense,) to the wild structure of the air.

But when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,
O then I feel those tears my own,

And claim thein while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless

The gay, the cold, the free; Give smiles to those who love you less,

But keep your tears for ine.

The snow on Jura's steep

Can smile with many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,

How bright soe'er it seem.
But when some deep-felt ray,

Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh! then the smile is warm'd away,

And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless

The gay, the cold, the free ; Give smiles to those who love you less,

But keep your tears for me.

FANNY WAS IN THE GROVE.

Fanny was in the grove,

And Lubin her boy was nigh ;
Her

eye was warm with love,
And her soul was as her eye.
Oh! Oh! if Lubin now would sue,
Oh! Oh! what would Fanny do.

Fanny was made for bliss,

But she was young and shy, And when he had stolen a kiss,

She blush'd and said with a sigh, Oh! Oh! Lubin, ah! tell me true, Oh! Oh! what are you going to do?

They wander'd beneath the shade ;

Her eye was dimm'd with a tear, For ah ! the poor little maid

Was thrilling with love and fear. Oh! Oh! if Lubin would but sue, Oh! Oh! what could Fanny do?

Sweetly along the grove,

The birds sang all the while,
And Fanny now said to her love,

With a frown that was half a smile,
Oh! Oh! why did Lubin sue,
Oh! Oh! why did Lubin sue.

OH ! REMEMBER THE TIME.

Qa! remember the time in La Mancha's shades,

When our moments so blissfully flew; When

you call'd me the flow'r of Castilian maids, And I blush'd to be call'd so by you. When I taught you to warble the gay Seguadille,

And to dance to the light Castanet,

Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,

The delight of those moments forget.

They tell me, you lovers, from Erin's green Isle,

Ev'ry hour a new passion can feel; And that soon in the light of some lovelier smile,

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile.
But they know not how brave in the battle you are,
Or they never could think

you
would

rove ; For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war,

That is fondest and truest in love !

AWAY WITH THIS POUTING AND SADNESS.

Away with this pouting and sadness,

Sweet Girl, will you never give o'er? I love you by Heaven, to madness,

And what can I swear to you more ? Believe not the Old Woman's fable,

That oaths are as short as a kiss. I'll love you as long as I am able,

And swear for no longer than this.

Then away with pouting and sadness,

Sweet Girl, will you never give o'er? I love you, by heaven, to madness,

And what can I swear to you more?

D

Come waste not the time in professions,

For not to be blest when we can Is one of the darkest transgressions

That happen 'twixt Woman and Man ; Pretty Moralist! why thus beginning,

My innocent warmth to reprove ? Heaven knows that I never lov'd sinning, Except little sinnings in love :

Then away, &c.

If swearing, however, will do it,

Come bring me the calendar pray, I vow by that Lip-I'll go through it,

And not miss a Saint on my way ; The Angels shall help me to wheedle,

I'll swear upon every one That e'er danced on the point of a needle, Or rode on the beam of the sun :

Then away, &c.

Oh why should Platonic control, love,

Enchain an emotion so free? Your Soul, tho’ a very sweet Soul, love,

Will ne'er be sufficient for me ; If you think by this coldness and scorning,

To seem more angelic and bright, Be an Angel, my love, in the morning, But oh! be Woman at night :

Then away, &c.