Oh! if there be a charm
In love to banish harm;
If pleasure's truest spell
Be to love well,

Then, be happy, for thus I adore thee,
Charms may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast!

WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

WHEN midst the gay I meet

That gentle smile of thine,
Though still on me it turn'd most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine.

But, when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,
Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free:

Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

The snow of Jura's steep

Can smile with many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright so e'er it seem;

But when some deep-felt ray.
Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh! then the smile is warm'd away,

And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless

The gay, the cold, the free,

Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me,

WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.

WHEN twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,

I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
And, thou too on that orb so dear,
Ah, dost thou gaze at even :
And think, though lost for ever here,
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.
There's not a garden-walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,

Some joy I've lost with thee, love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
When friends and foes forgiven,

The pains, the ills we've wept through here,
May turn to smiles in heaven.

THE YOUNG ROSE.

THE young rose which I gave thee, so dewy and bright,

Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft by the moonlight o'er her blushes hath

hung,

And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay he sung.

Oh take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from thee: For while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.

DUET.

LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE.

He.-LOVE, my Mary, dwells with thee,
On thy cheek his bed I see.

She.-No, that cheek is pale with care-
Love can find no roses there.

Both.-'Tis not on the bed of the rose,
Love can find the best repose:
In my heart his home thou❜lt see,
There he lives, and lives for thee.
He.-Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam,
While he makes that eye his home.
She.-No, the eye with sorrow dim,
Ne'er can be a home for him.
Both.-Yet 'tis not in beaming eyes,
Love for ever warmest lies:
In my heart his home thou'lt see,
There he lives, and lives for thee.

THE SONG OF WAR,

THE song of war shall echo thro' our mountains, Till not one hateful link remains

Of slav'ry's lingering chains,

Till not one tyrant treads our plains,
Nor traitor-lip pollute our fountains,
No, never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,

Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay
Resounding through her sunny mountains.

The song of war shall echo thro' our mountains, Till victory's self shall smiling say'Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away,

'And freedom comes with new-born ray, 'To gild your vines and light your fountains!' Oh never till that glorious day,

Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,

Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay Resounding through her sunny mountains.

HERE'S THE BOW'R.

HERE'S the bow'r she loved so much,
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she us'd to touch,-
Oh! how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh,

Where's the hand to wreath them?
Songs around neglected lie,

Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much,
And the tree she planted:

Here's the harp she us'd to touch,

Oh how that touch enchanted!