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First Voice.

Fair Lady! rest till morning blushes,
I'll strew for thee a bed of Rushes.

Second Voice.

Oh! Stranger when my Beads I'm counting, I'll bless thy name at Agnes' Fountain.

First Voice.

Thou, Pilgrim, turn and rest thy sorrow,
Thou'lt go to Agnes' Shrine to-morrow.

Third Voice.

Good Stranger! when my Beads I'm telling, My Saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling.

Trio.

Strew then, Oh! strew our bed of Rushes,
Here we shall rest 'till morning blushes.

CAN I AGAIN THAT LOOK RECALL.

Can I again that look recal,

Which once could make me die for thee?

No, no, the eye that burns on all,

Shall never more be priz'd by me.

Can I again that form caress,
Or on that lip in joy recline?
No, no-the lip that all may press,

Shall never more be press'd by mine.

TAKE BACK THE SIGII.

TAKE back the sigh, thy lips of art

In passion's moment breath'd to me;
Yet, no-it must not, will not part,
"Tis now the life-breath of my heart,
And has become too pure for thee!

Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh
With all the warmth of truth imprest,
Yet, no-
-the fatal kiss may lie,

Upon thy lip its sweets would die,
Or bloom to make a rival blest!

Take back the vows that, night and day,
My heart receiv'd, I thought, from thine;
Yet, no-allow them still to stay,
They might some other heart betray,
As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine.

FANNY DEAREST.

OH! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny dearest! for thee I'd sigh,
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears, when thou art nigh.

But between love, and wine and sleep,

So busy a life I live,

That even the time it would take to weep,
Is more than my heart can give.
Then bid me not to dispair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!

The love's that order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny dearest! thy image lies:

But Oh! the mirror would cease to shine,
If dim'd too often with sighs.

They lose the half of beauty's light,
Who view it through sorrow's tear,
And 'tis but to see the truly bright,
That I keep my eye-beam clear.
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny dearest! the hope is vain :
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.

SWEET SEDUCER.

SWEET seducer, ever smiling!
Charming still, and still beguiling!
Oft I swore to love the never,
Yet I love the more than ever.

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 RESSY.

FLY from the world, oh, Bsesy, to me,
Thou'lt never find any sincerer ;

I'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 folies and who can deny
That ours is the sweetest of any?

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed,
From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light on our bed,
As e're 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 its 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 Bower 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 breath them?

Here's the Bower she lov'd so much,
And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she us'd 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 we stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heav'n ne'er form'd a brighter Maid,

Nor Pity wept a dearer!

Here's the Bower 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.

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

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!

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