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weetly along the grove,

The birds sang all the while,

nd Fanny now said to her love,

With a frown that was half a smile, h! Oh! why did Lubin sue,

h! Oh! why did Lubin sue?

OH! REMEMBER THE TIME.

OH! remember the time when in La Mancha's shades

When our moments so blissfully flew ; When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids,

And I blush'd to be call'd so by you:

When I taught you to warble the gay Segaudille,

And to dance to the light Castanet,

Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,

The delight of those moments forget.

They tell me, you lovers, from Erin's green Isle,

Ev'ry hour a new passion can feel;

And that soon in the light of some lovelier smile,

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. But they know not how brave in the battle

are,

you

Or they never could think you would rove; For 'tis always the spirit, most gallant in war, That is fondest and truest in love!

AWAY WITH THIS POUTING AN SADNESS.

AWAY with this pouting and sadness,
Sweet Girl, will you never give o'er?
I love you, by Heaven, to madness,
And what can I swear to you more?
Believe not the Old Woman's fable,
That oaths are as short as a kiss,
I'll love you as long as I am able,
And swear for no longer than this.

Then away with pouting and sadness,
Sweet Girl will you never give o'er?
I love you, by Heaven, to madness,

And what can I swear to you more?

Come, waste not the time in professions,
For not to be blest when we can
Is one of the darkest transgressions
That happen 'twixt Woman and Man:
Pretty Moralist! why thus beginning,
My innocent warmth to reprove?
Heaven knows I never lov'd sinning,
Except little sinnings in love;
Then away, &c.

If swearing, however, will do it,
Come bring me the calendar pray,
vow by that lip-I'll go through it,
And not miss a Saint on my way;

he Angels shall help me to wheedle,

I'll swear upon every one

hat e'er danced upon the point of a needle, Or rode on the beam of the sun :

Then away, &c.

h why should Platonic control, love, Enchain an emotion so free?

our Soul, tho' a very sweet Soul, love, Will ne'er be sufficient for me;

you think by this coldness and scorning, To seem more angelic and bright, Be an Angel, my love, in the morning, But oh! be a Woman at night: Then away, &c.

SPIRIT OF JOY.

SPIRIT of joy! thy altar lies

In youthful hearts, that hope like mine,
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes

That leads us to thy fairy shrine.
There if we find the sigh, the tear,
They are not those to sorrow known,
But breath so soft, and drops so clear,
That bliss may claim them for her own
Then give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens wo,
And teaches even our tears to keep

The tinge of rapture while they flow,
And teaches even our tears to keep,
The tinge of rapture while they flow.

The child, who sees the dew of night
Upon the spangled hedge at morn,
Attempts to catch the drops of light,
But wounds his finger with the thorn.
Thus oft the brightest joys we seek

Dissolve, when touch'd, and turn to pain:
The flush they kindle leaves the cheek,
The tears they waken long remain.
But give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens wo,
And teaches even our tears to keep,
The tinge of rapture while they flow.

OH! LIBERTY.

THO' sacred the tie that our country entwineth,

And dear to the heart her remembrance re

mains,

Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, And sad the remembrance that slavery stains, Oh! thou who wert born in the cot of the peas ant,

But diest of languor in Luxury's dome, Our vision, when absent-our glory when present,

Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home.

Farewell to the land where in childhood I wan

der'd,

In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave! Unblest is the blood that for tyrants is squander'd,

And fame has no wreaths for the brow of the

slave.

But hail to thee, Albion! who meet'st the commotion

Of Europe as calm as thy cliffs meet the

foam;

With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean,

Hail, Temple of Liberty! thou art my home.

BOAT GLEE.

THE song, that lightens the languid way,
When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing,

Is like the spell of hope's airy lay,
To whose sound through life we stray.
The beams that flash on the oar awhile,

As we row along through waves so clear, Illumine its spray, like the fleeting smile That shines o'er sorrow's tear.

Nothing is lost on him that sees

With an eye that feeling gave;

For him there's a story in ev'ry breeze,
And a picture in ev'ry wave.

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