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Then think of the friend, who once welcomed

it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return—not a hope may remain Of the few that have brighten’d his path-way of

painBut he ne'er will forget the short vision, that

threw Its enchantinent around him, while ling'ring with

you.

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills

up To the highest top sparkle each heart and each

сир, Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that

night; Shall join in your revels, your sports and your

wiles, And return to me, beaming all o'er witn your

siniles ! Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay

cheer, Some kind voice had murmur'd, « I wish he

were here!

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which he cannot de

stroy, Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and

care, And bring back the features that joy used to

wear. Long, song be my heart with such memories

fill'd; Like the vase, in which roses have once been

distillid! You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you

will; . But the scent of the roses will hang round it

still.

OH! DOUBT ME NOT.

Air-Yellow Wat and the Fos.

On! doubt me not— the season

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove,

And now the vestal, Reason,

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love. Although this heart was early blown,

And fairest hands disturb'd the tree, They only shook soine blossoms down,

Its fruit lias all been kept for thec.
Then doubt me not— the season

Is o'er, when Folly made ine rove,
And now the vestal, Reason,

Shall watch the fire awaked by Love.

And though my lute no longer .

May sing of passion's ardent spell,
Oh! trust me, all the stronger

I feel the bliss I do not tell.
The bee through many a garden roves,

And hums his lay of courtship o'er, But, when he finds the flower he loves,

He settles there and hums no more.
Then doubt me not-the season

Is o'er, when Folly kept me free,
And now the vestal, Reason,

Shall guard the flame awaked by thee. YOU REMEMBER ELLEN..

AIR-Were I a Clerk,

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,

How meekly she bless'd her humble lot When the stranger, William, had made her his

bride, And love was the light of their lowly cot. Together they toil'd through winds and rains,

Till William at length in sadness said, « We most seek our fortune on other plains ;»—

Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

They roam’d a long and a weary way, .

Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, When now, at close of one stormy day,

They see a proud castle among the trees. « To night,» said the youth, «we'll shelter there ;

« The wind blows cold, the hour is late : »

1 This ballad was suggested by a well-known and interesting story, told of a certain Noble Family in En. gland

So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,

And the Porter bow'd as they pass'd the gate.

« Now, welcome Lady, » exclaim'd the youth, « This castle is thine, and these dark woods

all.» She believed him wild, but his words were truth

For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall ! And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves

What William, the stranger, woo'd and wed; And the light of bliss in these lordly groves,

Is pure as it shone in the lowly shed.

I'D MOURN THE HOPES THAT LEAVE ME.

AIR—The Rose Tree.

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,

If thy smiles had left me too;
I'd weep, when friends deceive me,

If thou wert, like them, untrue.

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