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, Then away with pouting and sadness, And what can I swear to you more? Come, waste not the time in professions, If swearing, however, will do it, 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, That leads us to thy fairy shrine. The tinge of rapture while they flow, The child, who sees the dew of night Dissolve, when touch'd, and turn to pain: 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, And faint with rowing, Is like the spell of hope's airy lay, 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, |