MELODY.

Inserted in a Collection of selected and original Songs, published by the Rev. J. Plumptre, of Clare Hall, Cambridge.

I.

YES, once more that dying strain,
Anna touch thy lute for me;

Sweet, when pity's tones complain,
Doubly sweet is melody.

II.

While the Virtues thus inweave
Mildly soft the thrilling song;
Winter's long and lonesome eve,
Glides unfelt, unseen along.

III.

Thus when life hath stolen away,
And the wintry night is near;
Thus shall virtue's friendly ray,
Age's closing evening cheer.

SONG. BY WALLER.

A lady of Cambridge lent Waller's Poems to Henry, and when he returned them to her, she discovered an additional stanza written by him at the bottom of the song here copied.

GO, lovely rose !

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

And shuns to have her graces spied;

That had'st thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share,

That are so wonderous sweet and fair.

[Yet, though thou fade,

From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise;
And teach the maid,

That goodness Time's rude hand defies,
That virtue lives when beauty dies.]

H. K. WHITE.

"I AM PLEAS'D, AND YET I'M SAD."

I.

WHEN twilight steals along the ground,

And all the bells are ringing round,

One, two, three, four, and five;

I at my study window sit,

And wrapt in many a musing fit,

To bliss am all alive.

II.

But though impressions calm and sweet,

Thrill round my heart a holy heat,
And I am inly glad;

The tear-drop stands in either eye,
And yet I cannot tell thee why,
I am pleas'd, and yet I'm sad.

III.

The silvery rack that flies away,
Like mortal life or pleasure's ray,

Does that disturb my breast?
Nay what have I, a studious man,
To do with life's unstable plan,

Or pleasure's fading vest?

IV.

Is it that here I must not stop,
But o'er yon blue hill's woody top,
Must bend my lonely way?
Now surely no, for give but me
My own fire-side, and I shall be
At home where'er I stray.

V.

Then is it that yon steeple there,
With music sweet shall fill the air,

When thou no more can'st hear?

Oh no! oh no! for then forgiven,
I shall be with my God in Heaven,
Releas'd from every fear.

VI.

Then whence it is I cannot tell,
But there is some mysterious spell

That holds me when I am glad; And so the tear-drop fills my eye, When yet in truth I know not why, Or wherefore I am sad.

SOLITUDE.

IT is not that my lot is low,
That bids this silent tear to flow;

It is not grief that bids me moan,
It is that I am all alone.

In woods and glens I love to roam, When the tir'd hedger hies him home; Or by the woodland pool to rest, When pale the star looks on its breast.

Yet when the silent evening sighs,
With hallow'd airs and symphonies,
My spirit takes another tone,
And sighs that it is all alone.

The autumn leaf is sear and dead,
It floats upon the water's bed;
I would not be a leaf, to die
Without recording sorrows sigh!

The woods and winds, with sullen wail, Tell all the same unvaried tale;

I've none to smile when I am free,

And when I sigh, to sigh with me.

Yet in my dreams a form I view, That thinks on me and loves me too; I start, and when the vision's flown,