Which to oblivious slumber Gladly the wretch would spare. But now-who'd think of dreaming When Love his watch should keep? While such a moon is beaming, 'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. If e'er the Fates should sever My life and hopes from thee, love, The sleep that lasts for ever Would then be sweet to me, love; But now, away with dreaming! Till darker hours 'twill keep; While such a moon is beaming, "Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. THE BOY OF THE ALPS. LIGHTLY, Alpine rover, While the hid torrent moans below. Through the vales yonder! 'Tis the huge av'lanche downward cast; From rock to rock Rebounds the shock. But courage, boy! the danger's past. Tread the glacier over, Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. On, ere light forsake thee, Soon will dusk o'ertake thee: O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way! Now, for the risk prepare thee; Though 'twill melt in morning's ray. Hark, that dread howling! Scent of thy track the foe hath got; But courage, boy,- the danger's past! FOR THEE ALONE. FOR thee alone I brave the boundless deep, LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME WIDE SCENE. LET'S take this world as some wide scene, Bright spots where we should love to stay; Should chilling winds and rains come on, We'll raise our awning 'gainst the show'r; Sit closer till the storm is gone, And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. And if that sunnier hour should shine, We'll know its brightness cannot stay, But happy, while 'tis thine and mine, Complain not when it fades away. That ne'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. Part of a translation of some Latin verses, supposed to have been addressed by Hippolyta Taurella to her husband, during his THE HOMEWARD MARCH. BE still, my heart: I hear them come: Those sounds announce my lover near: The march that brings our warriors home Proclaims he'll soon be here. Hark, the distant tread, O'er the mountain's head, While hills and dales repeat the sound; And the forest deer Stand still to hear, As those echoing steps ring round. Be still, my heart, I hear them come, Those sounds that speak my soldier near; Those joyous steps seem wing'd for home,Rest, rest, he'll soon be here. But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, Like sounds in a dream, As down the hills they die away; So peal'd along, Now fades like a funeral lay. 'Tis past, 'tis o'er, - hush, heart, thy pain! And though not here, alas, they come, Rejoice for those, to whom that strain Brings sons and lovers home. WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. WAKE up, sweet melody! Now is the hour absence at the gay court of Leo the Tenth. The verses may be found in the Appendix to Roscoe's Work. When young and loving hearts One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray Now is the hour When young and loving hearts Feel most thy pow'r. Ask the fond nightingale, Loves most to hear his song, In her green bow'r? Oh, he will tell thee, through summer-nights long, Fondest she lends her whole soul to his song. Then wake up, sweet melody! Now is the hour When young and loving hearts CALM BE THY SLEEP. CALM be thy sleep as infants' slumbers! Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams! May ev'ry joy this bright world numbers Shed o'er thee their mingled beams! Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided, There ever must some pang remain, Still be thy lot with me divided, Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain! Day and night my thoughts shall hover But of the lost one think and speak, When summer suns sink calm to rest. So, as I wander, Fancy's dream Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, Thy look, in ev'ry melting beam, Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. THE FANCY FAIR. COME, maids and youths, for here we sell Or poets sing, or lovers swear, Here eyes are made like stars to shine, As fashions change in ev'ry thing, We've reputations white as snow, --- That long will last, if us'd with care, Nay, safe through all life's journey go, If pack'd and mark'd as "brittle ware,” Just purchas'd at the Fancy Fair. |