Oh, then, how sweet to move

Through all that maze of mirth, Led by light from eyes we love Beyond all eyes on earth.

Then, the joyous banquet spread
On the cool and fragrant ground,
With heav'n's bright sparklers overhead,
And still brighter sparkling round.
Oh, then, how sweet to say

Into some lov'd one's ear,
Thoughts reserv'd through many a day
To be thus whisper'd here.

When the dance and feast are done,
Arm in arm as home we stray,
How sweet to see the dawning sun
O'er her cheek's warm blushes play!

Then, too, the farewell kiss

The words, whose parting tone

Lingers still in dreams of bliss,

That haunt young hearts alone.

LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY.

(LANGUEDOCIAN AIR.)

LOVE is a hunter-boy,

Who makes young hearts his

And, in his nets of joy,

Ensnares them night and day.

prey;

In vain conceal'd they lie-
Love tracks them every where;
In vain aloft they fly-

Love shoots them flying there.

But 'tis his joy most sweet,

At early dawn to trace
The print of Beauty's feet,

And give the trembler chase.
And if, through virgin snow,
He tracks her footsteps fair,

How sweet for Love to know

None went before him there.

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 sun-set gleams, that linger late
When all is dark'ning fast,

Are hours like these we snatch from Fatc

The brightest, and the last.

Then, chase that starting tear, &c.

To gild the deep'ning gloom, if Heaven

But one bright hour allow,

Oh, think that one bright hour is given,

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!

Come, chase that starting tear, &c.

JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING!
(PORTUGUESE AIR.)

WHISP'RINGS, heard by wakeful maids,
To whom the night-stars guide us;
Stolen walks through moonlight shades,
With those we love beside us,
Hearts beating,

At meeting;

Tears starting,

At parting;

Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades!
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!

Wand'rings far away from home,
With life all new before us;

Greetings warm, when home we come,

From hearts whose prayers watch'd o'er us.

Tears starting,

At parting;
Hearts beating,

At meeting;

Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some!

To some, how bright and fleeting!

E

HEAR ME BUT ONCE.

(FRENCH AIR.)

HEAR me but once, while o'er the grave,
In which our Love lies cold and dead,
I count each flatt'ring hope he gave

Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled.

Who could have thought the smile he wore, When first we met, would fade away ?

Or that a chill would e'er come o'er

Those eyes so bright through many a day?
Hear me but once, &c.

WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.
(SWEDISH AIR.)

WHEN LOVE was a child, and went idling round,
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day,
One morn in the valley a bower he found,
So sweet, it allur'd him to stay.

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair,

A fountain ran darkly beneath ;

'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rets there; Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath.

But Love didn't know—and, at his weak years, What urchin was likely to know?

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears

The fountain that murmur'd below.

He caught at the wreath-but with too much haste,

As boys when impatient will doIt fell in those waters of briny taste,

And the flowers were all wet through.

This garland he now wears night and day;
And, though it all sunny appears

With Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say,
Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.

SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY? (SICILIAN AIR.)

SAY, what shall be our sport to-day?

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air,

Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay,

For spirits like mine to dare!

'Tis like the returning bloom

Of those days, alas, gone by,

When I lov'd, each hour-I scarce knew whomAnd was bless'd-I scarce knew why.

Ay-those were days when life had wings.
And flew, oh, flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which sunward springs,
'Twas giddy with too much light.
And, though of some plumes bereft,
With that sun, too, nearly set,
I've enough of light and wing still left
For a few gay soarings yet.