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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.

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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 ?
Alas! the lark's gay morning measure

As ill would suit the swan's decline!
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee,

Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains,
When ev'n the wreaths, in which I dress thee,

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,
And shew the world, in chains and sorrow,

How sweet thy music still can be;
How lightly, ev'n mid gloom surrounding,

Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill-
Like Memnon's broken image, sounding,

Mid desolation tuneful still'!,

Dimidio magicæ resonant ubi Memnone chordæ,
Atque vetus Thebe centum jacet obruta portis.

Juvenal.

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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.
So loath we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,

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,
Oh sweet's the cup that circles then

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

away.

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