[Music by W. T. WRIGHTON.
We mark it in the fleecy clouds
That, ghost-like, wander by,
The brightest flower has but its hour
To bud and bloom-then die.
"Tis read in old familiar things
As in the new and strange,
Where'er we go, whate'er we know,
"Tis change-for ever change.
"Tis written on the tranquil waves,
Oh! fearfully and strong,
The rivers that now calmly glide
In torrents gush along;
The birds that glad our summer woods
Have still their hour to range;
The leaves must fall-the doom of all
Is change for ever change..
But oh! not only in the woods,
The streams, the flowers, the trees,
Do we appear from year to year
Less changed than aught of these?
Old loves we leave, old links we break,
Old friends to us grow strange,—
The saddest emblem of the heart
Is change for ever change!
[Music by W. T. WRIGHTON.
Sleep, gentle sleep! around my pillow
Ye guardian angels spread your wings,
The moonlight sleeps upon the billow,
A sweet good-night the cricket sings;
The dreamy flowers their eyes are closing,
The stars their midnight vigils keep,
The waves in slumber are reposing,
Yet not to me comes gentle sleep!!
Sleep, gentle sleep, my limbs are weary,
But the soft languor comes not yet,
Through the still hours, so long and dreary,
Oh! that I could awhile forget.
Forget, though but for one brief hour,
This grief I dare not, may not weep;
The parch'd earth pines not for the shower
As I for thee, oh, gentle sleep.
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep
I lay me down in peace to sleep,
Secure, I rest upon the wave,
For Thou, oh! Lord, hast power to save.
I know Thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall,
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds sweep o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from slumber to wreck and death!
In ocean cave, still safe with Thee
The germ of immortality!
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
OH! SHE WAS GOOD AS SHE WAS FAIR.
[Music by M. W, BALFE,
Oh! she was good as she was fair,
None, none on earth above her;
As pure in thought as angels are:
To know her was to love her.
When little, how her eyes, her voice,
Her every gesture said rejoice;
Her coming was a gladness.
And, as she grew, her modest grace,
Her downcast look, 'twas heaven to trace,
When shading with her hand her face
She half inclined to sadness.
Her voice, whate'er she said, enchanted;;
Like music to the heart it went;,
And her dark eyes how eloquent!.
Ask what she would, 'twas granted.
Her father loved her as his fame,
And Bayard's self had done the same..
Oh! she was good as she was fair,,
None, none on earth above her;;
As pure in thought as angels are;
To know her was to love her..
THEY HAVE GIVEN THEE TO ANOTHER.
They have given thee to another,
They have broken every vow,
They have given thee to another,
And my heart is lonely now.
They remember not our parting,
They remember not our tears,
They have sever'd in one fatal hour
The tenderness of years.
Oh! was it well to leave me ?
Thou couldst not so deceive me;
Long and sorely I shall grieve thee,
Lost, lost Rosabel!!
They have given thee to another,-
Thou art now his gentle bride;
Had I loved thee as a brother
I could see thee by his side.
But I know with gold they've won thee,
And thy trusting heart beguiled;
Thy mother, too, doth shun me,
For she knew I loved her child.
Oh! was it well to sever
Two fond hearts for ever?
I can only answer, Never!
Lost, lost Rosabel!
They have given her to another,-
She will love him, too, they say;
If her memory do not chide her,
Oh! perhaps, perhaps she may.
But I know that she hath spoken
What she never can forget,
And, though my poor heart be broken,
It will love her, love her yet.
Oh! 'twas not well to sever
Two fond hearts for ever;
More I shall see her never,
Lost, lost Rosabel!
Oh! I am the child of the forest wild,
Where the red-deer boundeth free,
And the mavis sings with uncaged wings
To his mate in the greenwood tree.
I range at will o'er mead or hill,
Or deep in the woodland shade,
With my good yew bow in my hand I go,
As free as the bird or the wild red roe,
And the woods ring out with song and shout,
For I'm king of the forest glade.
The sparkling brooks they mirror the looks
Of the bright blue laughing sky;
And sweet flowers spring and the gnarl'd oaks fling
Their mighty limbs on high.
Oh! I love to roam in my fresh green home
With our nut-brown maids, our forest maids,
Or my bold, bold frères, who doff the cares
Which the hollow worldling seeks and shares;
Then woods ring out with song and shout,
For I'm king of the forest glade.
The franklin and priest, oh! they love to feast
On the prime of the stalled steer;
But I am the lord of the free green sward,
And the best of the king's fat deer,
And the abbot should fast when Lent is past,
And the mass is sung or said,
Ere my frères and me lack malvoisie
To quaff a deep draught 'neath the greenwood tree,
When the woods ring out with song and shout,
For I'm king of the forest glade.
I CANNOT CHANGE AS OTHERS DO.
I cannot change as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor youth who sighs for you,
For you alone was born.
No, Emma, no; a surer way
To gain your heart I'll try,
And, to revenge my slighted love,
Will still love on and die.
When kill'd by grief your lover lies,
And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise,
The tears that vainly fall,
That welcome hour that ends this smart
Will then begin your pain;
For such a faithful, tender heart
Can never break in vain.
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