Oft, in the stilly night.

Scotch Air.

Oft, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Fond mem'ry brings the light

Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm'd and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken.

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad mem❜ry brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends, so link'd together,

I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather;

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled, Whose garland's dead, And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad mem'ry brings the light

Of other days around me.

Come, chase that starting tear away.

French Air.

Come, chase that starting tear away,
Ere mine to meet it springs;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings!

Like sunset gleams, that linger late,
When all is dark'ning fast,

Are hours like these we snatch from fate,
The brightest and the last.

Then chase that starting tear away,
Ere mine to meet it springs;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings.

To gild our dark'ning life, if heav'n
But one bright hour allow,

Oh! think that one bright hour is giv'n,
In all its splendour now.

Let's live it out, then sink in night,
Like waves, that from the shore

One minute swell, are touch'd with light,
Then lost for evermore.

Then chase that starting tear away,
Ere mine to meet it springs;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings!

Common Sense and Genius.

French Air.

While I touch the string,
Wreath my brows with laurel,
For the tale I sing
Has, for once, a moral!

Common Sense one night, Though not us'd to gambols, Went out by moonlight With Genius on his rambles.

While I touch the string,
Wreath my brows with laurel,
For the tale I sing
Has, for once, a moral !

Common Sense went on,

Many wise things saying ;
While the light that shone,

Soon set Genius straying.

One his eye ne'er rais'd

From the path before him;
T'other idly gaz'd

On each night-cloud o'er him.

While I touch the string, Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing Has, for once, a moral !

So they came, at last,

To a shady river;

Common Sense soon pass'd,

Safe, as he doth ever.

While the boy, whose look Was in heaven that minute, Never saw the brook, But tumbled headlong in it!

While I touch the string, Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing Has, for once, a moral!

How the wise one smil'd,

When safe o'er the torrent,
At that youth, so wild,
Dripping from the current.

Sense went home to bed,-
Genius, left to shiver

On the bank, 'tis said,
Died of that cold river!

While I touch the string,
Wreath my brows with laurel,
For the tale I sing
Has, for once, a moral!

Gaily sounds the castanet.

Maltese Air.

Gaily sounds the castanet,

Beating time to bounding feet, When, after daylight's golden set, Maids and youths by moonlight meet.

Oh! then, how sweet to move

Through all that maze of mirth, Lighted by those eyes we love, Beyond all eyes on earth.

Then, the joyous banquet spread

On the cool and fragrant ground,

With night's bright eye-beams over head, And still brighter sparkling round.