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Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile,
That smile which is loveliest then, And if such are the drops that delight can be
Thou shalt weep them again and again.
THE DAY OF LOVE.
The beam of morning trembling,
Stole o'er the morning brook,
Thus love begins,
The noontide ray ascending,
And o'er the valley stream
Thus love expands,
But evening came o'ershading
The glories of the sky,
Thus love declines !
LOVE AND THE SUNDIAL.
Young Love found a Dial once in a dark shade, Where man ne'er had wander'd, nor Sunbeam
play'd. “Why thus in darkness lie! (whispered young
Love) hou, whose gay hours should in Sunshine
move?" "I ne'er (said the Dial) have seen the warm
Sun, So noonday, and midnight to me Love, are
one." Then Love took the Dịal away from the shade, And plac'd her where heaven's beam warmly
play'd. There she reclin'd beneath Love's gazing eye, While all mark'd with Sunshine her hours flew
Oh! how ( said the Dial) can any fair Maid, That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade? But night now comes on and the Sunbeam's
o'er, And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more; Then cold and neglected, while bleak rains and
winds Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds, That love had but number'd a few sunny hours, And left the remainder to darkness and show
SWEETEST Love, I'll not forget thee,
Time shall only teach my heart,
We may meet again.
And repose our hearts at last;
Farewell, Bessy !
may meet again.
Yet I feel my heart is breaking,
When I think I stray from thee, Round the world that quiet seeking, Which I fear is not for me !
Farewell, Bessy! We may meet again.
Calm to peace thy lover's bosom
Can it, dearest, must it be,
HOLY BE THE PILGRIM'S SLEEP.
Holy be the Pilgrim's sleep,
From the dreams of terror free, And may all, who wake to weep,
Rest to-night as sweet as he.
Tark! hark! did I hear a Vesper swell?
No, no, it is, my love, some Pilgrim's pray'r. No, 'twas but the Convent bell,
That tolled upon the midnight air.
Now, now again the Voice I hear,
Pilgrim in Second Voice.
Death their eyelids closing,
'Tis time for our reposing.
THOU HAST SENT ME A FLOWERY
Thou hast sent me a flowery Band,
And told me it was fresh from the field,
And the sweetest of odours would yield.
But if it were breath'd on by thee,
And would surely be sweeter to me.
Let the odourous gale of thy breath
Embalm it with many a sigh;
Beneath the warm noon of thine eye.
The dew dropping fresh from the tree,
That affection has stole from thee!