And though we find no treasure there,
We bless the rose, that shines so fair.

O'er mountains bright, &c.

Row gently here.

Row gently here, my gondolier,
So softly wake the tide ;
That not an ear on earth may hear,
But hers to whom we glide.

Had heav'n but tongues to speak
As well as starry eyes to see,
Oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell
Of wand'ring youths like me.

Now rest thee here, my gondolier,
Hush, hush-for up I go

To climb yon light balcony's height,
While thou keep'st watch below.

Ah! did we take for heav'n above
But half such pains as we

Take day and night for woman's love,
What angels we should be!

Oh, days of youth.

Oh, days of youth and joy long clouded,
Why thus for ever haunt my view?
When in the grave your light lay shrouded,
Why did not memory die there too?

Vainly doth hope her strain now sing me,
Whispering of joys that yet remain ;
No, no, never more can this life bring me
One joy that equals youth's sweet pain.

Dim lies the way to death before me,

Cold winds of time blow round my brow; Sunshine of youth that once fell o'er me, Where is your warmth, your glory now?

"Tis not that then no pain could sting me;
'Tis not that now no joys remain ;
Oh, it is that life no more can bring me
One joy so sweet as that worst pain.

When first that smile.

When first that smile, like sunshine blest my sight,
Oh! what a vision then came o'er me,

Long years of love, of calm and pure delight,
Seem'd in that smile to pass before me.

Ne'er did the peasant dream, ne'er dream of summer

skies,

Of golden fruit, and harvests springing, With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes, And of the joy their light was bringing.

Where now are all those fondly promis'd hours?
Oh! woman's faith is like her brightness,
Fading as fast as rainbows or day flowers,

Or ought that's known for grace and lightness!

Short as the Persian's prayer, his prayer at close of day,

Must be each vow of love's repeating;

Quick let him worship beauty's precious ray,
E'en while he kneels that ray is fleeting.

Peace to the slumberers.

Peace to the slumberers!

They lie on the battle plain,
With no shroud to cover them-

The dew and the summer rain

Are all that weep over them!

Vain was their bravery!
The fallen oak lies where it lay,

Across the wint❜ry river-

But brave hearts, once swept away,

Are gone, alas! for ever!

Wo to the conqueror!

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs,
Of whom his sword bereft us,
Ere we forget the deep arrears
Of vengeance they have left us!

When thou shalt wander.

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light
We us'd to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,
Ere I could doubt, or thou deceive-
Oh, then remembring how swift went by
Those hours of transport, e'en thou mayst sigh!

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own
That love, like ours, was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments, thrown
Aside, when past the summer's heat;
And wish, in vain, to know again
Such days, such nights, as blest thee then!

Who'll buy my love-knots.

Hymen, late, his Love-knots selling,

Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling,
None could doubt, who saw or knew them--
Hymen's call was welcome to them.

"Who'll buy my Love-knots ? "Who'll buy my Love-knots?" Soon as that sweet cry resounded, How his baskets were surrounded!

Maids, who now first dreamt of trying
These gay knots of Hymen's tying-
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him.

"Who'll buy my Love-knots?
"Who'll buy my Love-knots?"

All at that sweet cry assembled,

Some laugh'd, some blush'd, and some trembled.

"Here are knots," said Hymen, taking

Some loose flowers of Love's own making;

"Here are gold ones--you may trust 'em ;".

(These, of course, found ready custom.)

"Come, buy my Love-knots,
"Come, buy my Love-knots:

"Some are labell'd, 'Knots to tie-men
"Love the maker-bought of Hymen.'"

Scarce their bargains were completed,

When the nymphs all cried, “We're cheated! "See these flowers! they're drooping sadly;"This gold knot, too, ties but badly :

"Who'd buy such Love-knots ?

"Who'd buy such Love-knots ?

"E'en this tie, with Love's name round it, All a sham-he never bound it!"