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Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumberMoments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number. Of Pain's bitter draught the flavour never flies, While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies!

That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendid,
Often will shine again, bright as she then did-
But, ah! never more will the beam she saw burn
In those happy eyes at your meeting return.

TAKE HENCE THE BOWL.
Neapolitan Air.

TAKE hence the bowl; though beaming
Brightly as bowl e'er shone,
Oh! it but sets me dreaming

Of days, of nights now gone.
There, in its clear reflection,
As in a wizard's glass,
Lost hopes and dead affection,
Like shades, before me pass.

Each cup I drain brings hither

Some friend who once sat byBright lips, too bright to wither, Warm hearts, too warm to die! Till, as the dream comes o'er me

Of those long vanish'd years, Then, then the cup before me Seems turning all to tears.

WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA.

Venetian Air.

WHEN through the Piazzetta
Night breathes her cool air,

Then, dearest Ninetta,

I'll come to thee there. Beneath thy mask shrouded, I'll know thee afar,

As Love knows, though clouded, His own Evening Star.

FAREWELL, THERESA!

Venetian Air.

FAREWELL, Theresa! that cloud which over
Yon moon this moment gath'ring we see,
Shall scarce from her pure orb have pass'd, ere thy lover
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.

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TO THE REV. THOMAS PARKINSON, D. D.

ARCHDEACON OF LEICESTER, CHANCELLOR OF CHESTER, AND RECTOR OF KEgworth,
This Number of “Sacred Songs" is Inscribed,

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4. Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that it shall no more be called Tephet, nor the Valley of the Son of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury in Tophet till there be no place-Jer, vi. 31.

5 These hors were suggested by a passage in St Jerome's reply to some calamorous remarks that had been circulated upon his intimacy th the matron Pau'.- Num id ne vestes serice, nitentes gemmr, pict fa les, aut arripuit ambiti? Nulla fuit lia Roma maonarum, que meam possit dom, e mentem, mis lugens atque jejunans, letu pene care ta -Epist. Si tibi putem.

And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, So touching as that form's decay, Which, like the altar's trembling light, In holy lustre wastes away!

THE BIRD, LET LOOSE.
Air-BEETHOVEN.

THE bird, let loose in eastern skies,'
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God! from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to Thee!
No sin to cloud-no lure to stay
My Soul, as home she springs;-
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings!

OH! THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S
TEAR!
Air-HAYDN.

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. Psalm exlvii. 3.

On! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark, this world would be,

If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee.
The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,

Must weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance frota the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw

A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!

Oh! who would bear life's stormy doom,

Did not thy wing of love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day!

The carrier-pugeon, it is well-known, flies at an elevated pit - *

G ou ao xurosparvтny d'expocurar det.-Chrysost, orde to surmount every obstacle between her and the place be wal

Homil. 8, Epist. ad I.

she is destined.

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