But, oh! how grand they sink to rest, O'er his watch-fire's fading embers A chain like that we broke from them! May we pledge that horn in triumph round! But, oh! how blest that hero's sleep, AFTER THE BATTLE. NIGHT CLOSED AROUND THE CONQUEROR'S WAY. AIR-Thy Fair Bosom. NIGHT closed around the Conqueror's way, The last sad hour of Freedom's dream, While mute they watch'd till morning's beam There is a world where souls are free, Where tyrants taint not Nature's bliss; If death that world's bright opening be, Oh! who would live a slave in this? OH! "TIS SWEET TO THINK. AIR-Thady, you Gander. OH! 'tis sweet to think that where'er we rove, We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that, when we're far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near1! 1 I believe it is Marmontel who says, "Quand on n'a pas ce que l'on aime, il faut aimer ce que l'on a.”—There are so many matter-of-fact people, who take such jeu d'esprit as this defence of inconstancy to be the actual and genuine sentiments of him who writes them, that they compel one, in self-defence, to be as matter-of-fact as themselves, and to remind them that Democritus was not the worse physiologist for having playfully contended that snow was black, nor Erasmus in any degree the less wise for having written an ingenious encomium on folly. The heart, like a tendril, accustom'd to cling, Let it grow where it will cannot flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing, It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. Then, oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, To be doom'd to find something still, that is dear; And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near! "Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, To make light of the rest if the rose be not there; And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes; "Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. Love's wing, and the peacock's, are nearly alike; They are both of them bright, but they're changeable too: And, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, It will tincture Love's plume with a different hue! |