FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR.
FAREWELL! but whenever you welcome the hour Which awakens the night song of mirth in your
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw
Its enchantments around him, while ling'ring with
you.
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your
smiles!-
Too blest, if it tells me, that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy us'd to wear.
Long, long, be my heart with such memories fill'd!
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd-
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Air-"Yellow Wat and the fox."
OH! doubt me not-the season
Is o'er, when folly made me rove,
And now the vestal Reason
Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love.
Although his heart was early blown,
And fairest hands disturb'd the tree,
They only shook some blossoms down,
Its fruit has all been kept for thee.
Then doubt me not-the season
Is o'er, when folly made me rove,
And now the vestal Reason
Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love.
And though my lute no longer
May sing of passion's ardent spell,
Oh! trust me, all the stronger
I feel the bliss I do not tell.
The bee through many a garden roves,
And sings his lay of courtship o'er,
But, when he finds the flower he loves,
He settles there and hums no more.
Then doubt me not-the season
Is o'er, when folly kept me free,
And now the vestal Reason
Shall guard the flame awak'd by thee.
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,
How meekly she bless'd her humble lot,
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride,
And love was the sight of their lowly cot.
Together they toil'd through winds and rains,
"Till William at length in sadness said,
"We must seek our fortune on other plains,”-
Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.
They roam'd a long and a weary way,
Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease,
When now, at close of one stormy day,
They see a proud castle among the trees. "To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there; The wind blows cold, the hour is late!"
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,
And the porter bow'd, as they pass'd the gate,
This ballad was suggested by a well-known and interesting story, told of a certain noble family in England.
"Now, welcome, Lady!" exclaim'd the youth,—
"This castle is thine, and those dark woods all!"
She believ'd him wild, but his words were truth,
For ELLEN is Lady of Rosna hall!
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves
What WILLIAM the stranger woo'd and wed;
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves,
Is pure as it shone in the lowly shed.
I'D MOURN THE HOPES THAT LEAVE ME.
I'D mourn the hopes that leave me,
If thy smiles had left me too;
I'd weep when friends deceive me,
Hadst thou been like them untrue.
But while I've thee before me,
With heart so warm, and eyes so bright,
No clouds can linger o'er me,
That smile turns them all to light.
'Tis not in fate to harm me,
While fate leaves thy love to me;
'Tis not in joy to charm me,
Unless joy be shar'd with thee.
One minute's dream about thee
Were worth a long and endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
My own love, my only dear!
And, though the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
More safely, without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me,
Along the path I've yet to roam;
The mind, that burns within me,
And pure smiles from thee at home.
Thus, when the lamp that lighted
The traveller, at first goes out,
He feels awhile benighted,
And looks around in fear and doubt.
But soon, the prospect clearing,
By cloudless star-light on he treads,
And thinks no lamp so cheering
As that light which heaven sheds !
Air-"Cuishlih ma chree."*
COME o'er the sea,
Maiden! with me,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows!
Seasons may roll,
But the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes.
The following are some of the original words of this wild and singular air;-they contain rather an odd assortment of grievances.
Cuishlih ma chree,
Did you but see
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