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MY GENTLE HARP.
AIR-The Coina or Dirge.
My gentle Harp! once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumb’ring strain; In tears our last farewell was taken,
And now in tears we meet again. No light of joy hath o'er thee broken,
But, like those harps, whose heavenly skill Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken
Thou hangost upon the willows still.
And yet, since last thy chord resounded,
An hour of peace and triumph came, When many an ardent bosom bounded
With hopes—that now are turn’d to shame. Yet even then, while Peace was singing
Her halcyon song o'er land and sea, Though joy and hope to others bringing,
She only brought new tears to thee.
Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure,
My drooping Harp from chords like thine ?
As ill would suit the swan's decline!
Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains,
Are sadly mix'd-half flow’rs, half chains!
But come, --if yet thy frame can borrow
One breath of joy.-oh, breathe for me,
How sweet thy music still can be;
Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill-
Mid desolation tuneful still'!,
Dimidio magicæ resonant ubi Memnone chordæ,
AS SLOW OUR SHIP,
Air-The Girl I left behind me.
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
From all the links that bind us;
To those we've left behind us. .
When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years
We talk, with joyous seeming, . And smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twined us,
To those we've left behind us.
And, when in other climes we meet
Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flow'ry, wild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss,
If heav'n had but assign’d us To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!
As trav’llers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing, So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us, We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.
IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.
Air-The Little Harvest Rose.
In the morning of life, when its cares are un
known, And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright beaming world of our
own, And the light that surrounds us is all from
within; Oh! 'tis not believe me, in that happy time We can love, as in hours of less transport we
may; Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny
prime, But affection is warmest when these fade