Love's bright Summer Cloud.

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us

Youth may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Oh! if to love thee more

Each hour I number o'er
If this a passion be
Worthy of thee,

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee;
Charms may wither, but feeling shall last;
. All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.

Rest, dear bosom! no sorrow shall pain thee,
Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
Beam, bright eyelid ! no weeping shall stain thee,
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.

Oh! if there be a charm

In love, to banish harm

If pleasure's truest spell

Be to love well,

Then be happy, etc.

Love, wand'ring thro' the golden maze.

Love, wand'ring through the golden maze beloved's hair,

Of my

Trac'd ev'ry lock with fond delays,

And, doting, linger'd there.
And soon he found 'twere vain to fly,
His heart was close confin'd,

And ev'ry curlet was a tie,

A chain by beauty twin’d.

The Tyrolese song of liberty.

Merrily ev'ry bosom boundeth,

Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!

Where the song of Freedom soundeth,

Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!

There the warrior's arms

Shed more splendour,

There the maiden's charms

Shine more tender

Ev'ry joy the land surroundeth,
Merrily, oh! merrily, oh!

Wearily ev'ry bosom pineth,

Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!

Where the bond of slav'ry twineth,
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!

There the warrior's dart

Hath no fleetness,

There the maiden's heart

Hath no sweetness

Ev'ry flow'r of life declineth,
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh!

Cheerily then from hill and valley,
Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!
Like your native fountains sally,
Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!
If a glorious death

Won by bravery,

Sweeter be than breath

Sigh'd in slavery,

Round the flag of freedom rally,
Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh!

Now let the warrior.

Now let the warrior plume his steed
And wave his sword afar,

For the men of the East this day shall bleed,
And the sun shall blush with war.

Oh! blest who in battle dies!

God will enshrine him in the skies!

Now let the warrior plume his steed

And wave his sword afar,

For the men of the East this day shall bleed,
And the sun shall blush with war.

Oh, lady fair!

Oh, Lady fair! where art thou roaming?
The sun has sunk, the night is coming.
Stranger, I go o'er moor and mountain,
To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain.
And who is the man with his white locks flowing?
Oh, Lady fair! where is he going?

A wand'ring Pilgrim, weak, I falter

To tell my beads at Agnes' altar.

Chill falls the rain, night winds are blowing,
Dreary and dark's the way we're going.
Fair Lady, rest till morning blushes—
I'll strew for thee a bed of rushes.

Oh, Stranger! when my beads I'm counting,
I'll bless thy name at Agnes' fountain.
Then, Pilgrim, turn, and rest thy sorrow;
Thoul't go to Agnes' shrine to-morrow.
Good Stranger, when my beads I'm telling,
My saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling.
Strew, then, oh! strew our bed of rushes
Here we must rest till morning blushes.

The Castilian maid.

Oh! remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,
When our moments so blissfully flew ;

When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids,
And I blush'd to be call'd so by you.

When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille,
And to dance to the light castanet;

Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,
The delight of those moments forget.

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle,
Ev'ry hour a new passion can feel ;

Aud that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile,
You'll forget the poor maid of Castile.

But they know not how brave in the battle you are,
Or they never could think you would rove;

For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war,
That is fondest and truest in love!

Oh! see those cherries.

Oh! see those cherries-though once so glowing,
They've lain too long on the sun-bright wall;
And mark! already their bloom is going;
Too soon they'll wither, too soon they'll fall,