And that when we're far from the lips we love,
We have but to make love to the lips we are

near

The heart, like a tendril accustom'd to cling,

Let it go where it will, cannot flourish alone; But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. Then oh! what pleasure where e'er we rove,

To be doom'd to find something still that is dear, And to know when far from the lips we love,

We have but to make love to the lips we are near.

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, To make light of the rest if the rose is not there,; And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes,

"Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike; They are both of them bright, but they're changeable too :

And whenever a new beam of beauty can strike,
It will tincture love's plume with a different hue!

*I believe it is Mormontel who says "Quand on n'a pas ce que l'on aime, faut eimer ce que l'on a."-There are so many matter-of-fact people, who take such jeur d'esprit as this defence of inconstancy, to be the actual and genuine senfiments of him who writes them, that they compel one, in self-defence, to be as matter-of-fact as themselves, and to remind them that Democritus was not the worst physiologist, for having playfully contended that snow was black; nor Erasmus, in any degree, the less wise, for having written an ingenious encomium on folly.

Then oh! what pleasure, where e'er we rove,
To be doom'd to find something, still, that is dear,
And to know, when far from the lips we love,

We have but to make love to the lips we are near.

THROUGH GRIEF AND THROUGH DANGER.

AIR" I once had a true love.”

THROUGH grief and through danger, thy smile hath cheer'd my way,

Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay:

The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,

Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd, Oh! slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, And bless'd ev'n the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.

Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd,

Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn'd;

She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in

caves,

Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves;

Yet, cold in the earth, at thy feet I would rather be! Than wed what I lov'd not, or turn one thought from

thee.

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail

Had'st thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale!

They say too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains,

That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains

Oh! do not believe them-no chain could that soul subdue,

Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too!*

ON MUSIC.

AIR-" The banks of Banna.”

WHEN through life unblest we rove,
Loosing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we us'd to love
In days of boyhood, meet our ear;
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain,
Wak'ning thoughts that long have slept,
Kindling former smiles again,

In faded eyes that long have wept.

"Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." St. Paul, 2 Corinthians, iii. 17.

Like the gale, that sighs along
Beds of oriental flowers,
In the grateful breath of song,

That once was heard in happier hours :
Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on,
Though the flowers have sunk in death;
So when pleasure's dream is gone,
Its memory lives in music's Breath!

Music!-oh! how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell!
Why should feeling ever speak,

When thou canst breathe her soul so well?

Friendship's balmy words may feign,

Love's are ev'n more false than they ;

Oh! 'tis only music's strain

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray!

IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED.

AIR" The Sixpence."

Ir is not the tear at this moment shed,*

When the cold turf has just been lain o'er him, That can tell how belov'd was the soul that's fled, Or how deep in our our hearts we deplore him :

* These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near and dear relative,. who died lately at Madeira.

"Tis the tear through many a long day wept,
Through a life by his loss all shaded,
'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept,
When all other griefs are faded!

Oh! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light,
While it shines thro' our hearts will improve them;
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he liv'd but to love them!
And, as buried saints the grave perfume,
Where, fadeless they've long been lying,
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom
From the image he left there in dying!

THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP.

AIR" Gang fane."

"Tis believ'd that this Harp which I now wake for thee,
Was a Syren, of old, who sung under the sea,
And who often at eve thro' the bright billow rov'd
To meet on the green shore a youth whom she lov'd.

But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep, And in tears, all the night, her gold ringlets to steep, Till heav'n look'd, with pity, on true-love so warm, And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form!