How oft when watching stars.

How oft, when watching stars grow pale,
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale,
I from my casement lean.

"Oh! come my love!" each note it utters seems to say, "Oh! come my love! the night wears fast away." No, ne'er to mortal ear can words, tho' warm they be, Speak passion's language half so clear as do those notes to me!

Then quick my own light lute I seek,

And strike the chords with loudest swell;
And though they nought to others speak,
He knows their language well.

"I come, my love!" each sound they utter seems to say, "I come, my love! thine, thine till break of day." Oh! weak the power of words, the hues of painting dim, Compar'd to what those simple chords then say and paint to him.

When the first bee of summer.

When the first summer bee
O'er the young rose shall hover,
Then, like that gay rover,

I'll come to thee.

He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim, What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him, When the first summer bee, etc.

Then to every bright tree

In the garden he'll wander,
While I, oh! much fonder,

Will stay with thee.

In search of new sweetness, thro' thousands he'll run,
While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.
Then to every bright tree, etc.

Though 'tis all but a dream.

Though 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still when happiest soonest o'er,
Yet e'en in a dream to be blest,

Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.

The bosom that opes with earliest hopes
The soonest finds those hopes untrue,
As flowers that first in spring-time burst,
The earliest wither too!

Ay, 'tis all but a dream at the best,

And still, when happiest, soonest o'er;

Yet e'en in a dream to be blest,

Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.

By friendship we oft are deceived,
And find the love we clung to past-
Yet friendship will still be believed,
And love trusted on to the last.

The web in the leaves the spider weaves,
Is like the charm hope hangs o'er men,
Though often she sees it broke by the breeze,
She spins the bright tissue again.
Ay, 'tis all but a dream, etc.

'Tis when the cup is smiling.

'Tis when the cup is smiling before us,

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy,

true,

That the sky of this life opens o'er us,

And heaven gives a glimpse of the blue.

Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thusFor him but two bright eyes were shining, See what numbers are sparkling for us!

When on one side the grape juice is dancing, And on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, "Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing, To disturb e'en a saint from his dreams.

Though this life like a river is flowing,

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, While the grape on its bank still is growing, And such eyes light the waves as they run.

Where shall we bury our shame.

Where shall we bury our shame ?
Where, in what desolate place,

Hide the last wreck of a name,
Broken and stain'd by disgrace!

Death may dissever the chain,
Oppression will cease when we're gone;

But the dishonour, the stain,

Die as we may, will live on!

Was it for this we sent out

Liberty's cry from our shore?

Was it for this that her shout

Thrill'd to the world's very core?

Thus to live cowards and slaves,
Oh! ye free hearts that lie dead,
Do you not, e'en in your graves,
Shudder, as o'er you we tread?

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools.

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools,
Give me the sage, who's able

To draw his moral thoughts and rules
From the sunshine of the table.

Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass
This world and all that's in it;
From the bumper, that but crowns his glass,
And is gone again next minute.

The diamond sleeps within the mine,
The pearl beneath the water,
While truth, more precious, dwells in wine,
The grape's own rosy daughter.

And none can prize her charms like him,
Oh! none like him obtain ber;
Who thus can, like Leander, swim
Through sparkling floods to gain her.

Here sleeps the bard.

Here sleeps the bard, who knew so well
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell;
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near,
Or died like distant streamlets on the ear.