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And such is the fate of our life's early And oh! e'en if Freedom from this promise,
world be driven, So passing the spring-tide of joy we Despair not- at least we shall find her have known;
in heaven! Each wave, that we danced on at morn
ing, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.
HERE'S THE BOWER. Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorn- HERE's the bower she loved so much, ing
And the tree she planted; The close of our day, the calm eve of Here's the harp she used to touch, our night;
Oh! how that touch enchanted ! Give me back, give me back the wild
Roses now unheeded sigh, freshness of Morning,
Where's the hand to wreathe them? Her clouds and her tears are worth
Songs around neglected lie,
Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower she loved so much Oh, who would not welcome that mo
And the tree she planted; ment's returning,
Here's the harp she used to touch, When passion first waked a new life
Oh! how that touch enchanted ! through his frame, And his soul - like the wood that
Spring may bloom, but she we loved grows precious in burning
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness, Gave out all its sweets to love's ex
Time that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er formed a brighter maid, LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. Nor pity wept a dearer!
Here's the bower she loved so much, From life without freedom, oh! who
And the tree she planted; would not fly?
Here's the harp she used to touch, For one day of freedom, oh! who would Oh! how that touch enchanted!
not die? Hark, hark! 'tis the trumpet, the call
on the brave, The death-song of tyrants, and dirge of
LOVE AND HOPE. the slave. Our country lies bleeding, oh! fly to At morn, beside yon summer sea, her aid,
Young Hope and Love reclined: One arm that defends, is worth hosts But scarce had noon-tide come, when that invade.
Into his bark leaped smilingly, In Death's kindly bosom our last hope And left poor Hope behind !
remains, The dead fear no tyrants; the grave “I go,” said Love, "to sail awhile, has no chains.
Across this sunny main; On, on to the combat! the heroes that And then so sweet his parting smile, bleed
That Hope, who never dreamed of For virtue and mankind, are heroes in
Believed he'd come again.
O THOU who dry'st the mourner's tear!
How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee. The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown : And he, who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the
Lord, His word was our arrow, his breath was
our sword! Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of
her pride? For the Lord hath looked out from his
pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are
dashed in the tide.