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,
Tread the mountains over;
Rude is the path thou'st yet to go;
Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee,
Fields of ice before thee,

While the hid torrent moans below.
Hark, the deep thunder,

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.
Onward, youthful rover,

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;
Safe it yet may bear thee,

Though 'twill melt in morning's ray.

Hark, that dread howling!
'Tis the wolf prowling,-

Scent of thy track the foe hath got;
And cliff and shore
Resound his roar.

But courage, boy,- the danger's past!
Watching eyes have found thee,
Loving arms are round thee,
Safe hast thou reach'd thy father's cot.

FOR THEE ALONE.

FOR thee alone I brave the boundless deep,
Those eyes my light through ev'ry distant sea;

LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME WIDE SCENE.

LET'S take this world as some wide scene,
Through which, in frail, but buoyant boat,
With skies now dark and now serene,
Together thou and I must float;
Beholding oft, on either shore,

Bright spots where we should love to stay;
But Time plies swift his flying oar,
And away we speed, away, away.

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,
And now they wind to distant glades;
Not here their home, alas, they go
To gladden happier maids!

Like sounds in a dream,
The footsteps seem,

As down the hills they die away;
And the march, whose song

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
Feel most thy pow'r.

One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray
Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day.
Then wake up, sweet melody!

Now is the hour

When young and loving hearts Feel most thy pow'r.

Ask the fond nightingale,
When his sweet flow'r

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
Feel most thy pow'r.

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
Round thy steps where'er they stray;
As, ev'n when clouds his idol cover,
Fondly the Persian tracks its ray.
If this be wrong, if Heav'n offended
By worship to its creature be,
Then let my vows to both be blended,
Half breath'd to Heav'n and half to thee.

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
All wondrous things of earth and air;
Whatever wild romancers tell,

Or poets sing, or lovers swear,
You'll find at this our Fancy Fair.

Here eyes are made like stars to shine,
And kept, for years, in such repair,
That ev'n when turn'd of thirty-nine,
They'll hardly look the worse for wear,
If bought at this our Fancy Fair.
We're lots of tears for bards to show'r,
And hearts that such ill usage bear,
That, though they're broken ev'ry hour,
They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear,
If purchas'd at our Fancy Fair.

As fashions change in ev'ry thing,
We've goods to suit each season's air,
Eternal friendships for the spring,
And endless loves for summer wear,
All sold at this our Fancy Fair.

We've reputations white as snow,

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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.