II.

But if, in wandering thither,

Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, Then leave those wreaths to wither Upon the cold bank there.

And tell her thus, when youth is o'er,

Her lone and loveless charms shall be Thrown by upon life's weedy shore,

Like those sweet flowers from thee.

ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE.

Indian Air.

I.

ALL that's bright must fade,—

The brightest still the fleetest;

All that's sweet was made,

But to be lost when sweetest.

Stars that shine and fall;

The flower that drops in springing ;

These, alas! are types of all

To which our hearts are clinging.

All that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest!

II.

Who would seek or prize.

Delights that end in aching?.

Who would trust to ties

That every hour are breaking?

Better far to be

In utter darkness lying,

Than be bless'd with light and see That light for ever flying.

All that's bright must fade,The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest!

SO WARMLY WE MET.

Hungarian Air.

I.

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,

That which was the sweeter even I could not tellThat first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, Or that tear of passion which bless'd our farewell. To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another,— Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss; Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other

In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this.

II.

The first was like day-break-new, sudden, delicious,
The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet-
The last was that farewell of daylight, more precious,
More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set.
Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow
To think that such happiness could not remain ;
While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to-

morrow

Would bring back the bless'd hour of meeting again.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

AIR.-The Bells of St. Petersburgh.

I.

THOSE evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells,

Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, When last I heard their soothing chime!

II.

Those joyous hours are past away!
And many a heart, that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells!

III.

And so 'twill be when I am gone;
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,'
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.

Portuguese Air.

I.

* SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ ;
Should the cold world come to wake thee
From all thy visions of youth and joy ;

Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish
Him who once thought thy young heart his own,
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish,

And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ;–

II.

Oh! 'tis then he thou hast slighted

Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er ;

Then the truant, lost and blighted,

Would to his bosom be taken once more.
Like that dear bird we both can remember,
Who left us while summer shone round,

But, when chill'd by bleak December,
Upon our threshold a welcome still found.

* The metre of the words is here necessarily sacrificed to the air.

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