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IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED".

AIRThe Sixpence.

It is not the tear at this moment shed,

When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how beloved was the soul that's fled,

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him: ”Tis the tear through many a long day wept,

Through a life by his loss all shaded: 'Tis the sad remembrance, fondly kept,

When all lighter griefs have faded!

Oh! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light, While it shines through our hearts will improve

them; For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,

When we think how he lived but to love them!

1 These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near and dear relative, who died lately at Madeira,

And, as buried saints the grave perfume,

Where fadeless they've long been lying, So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom

From the image he left there in dying!

THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP.

'TIS BELIEVED THAT THIS HARP.

Air-Gage Fane.

'Tis believed that this harp that I wake now for

thee, Was a syren of old, who sung under the sea; And who often at eve through the bright billows

roved, To meet on the green shore a youth whom she

loved.

But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, And in tears all the night her gold ringlets to

steep, Till Heav'n look'd with pity on true love so warm, And changed to this soft harp the sea-maiden's

form!

Still her bosom rose fair-still her cheek smiled

the same, While sea-beauties gracefully curl'd round the

frame; And her hair, shedding tear-drops from all its

bright rings, Fell over her white arm, to make the gold strings!'

Hence it came that this soft harp so long hath

been known To mingle love's language with sorrow's soft tone, Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay To be love when I'm near thee, and grief when

away!

1 This thought was suggested by an ingenious design, prefixed to an Ode upon St. Cecilia, published some years since, by Mr. Hudson, of Dublin.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

OH! THE DAYS ARE GONE.

AIR-The Old Woman.

OH! the days are gone, when beauty bright

My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,

Was love, still love!
New hope may bloom,

And days may come,

Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life

As love's young dream!
Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life

As love's young dream!

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