Awake ! - soft dews will soon arise Awake! awake! Awake!— within the musk-rose bower I watch, pale flower of love, for thee. Awake! awake! To paint that living light I see, And fix the soul that sparkles there." His prayer as soon as breathed was heard ; His pallet touched by Love grew warm, And painting saw her thus transferred From lifeless flowers to woman's form. Still, as from tint to tint he stole, The fair design shone out the more, And there was now a life, a soul, Where only colors glowed before. Then first carnation learned to speak, And lilies into life were brought; While mantling on the maiden's cheek, Young roses kindled into thought : Then hyacinths their darkest dyes Upon the locks of beauty threw ; CHORUS. THOMAS MOORE, Awake ! - ne'er heed though listening night Steal music from thy silver voice, Awake! awake!- BARRY CORNWALL UP! QUIT THY BOWER. · UP! quit thy bower ! late wears the hour, Long have the rooks cawed round the tower ; INVOCATION TO THE ANGEL. Samiasa ! Many may worship thee, that will I not; And thou of beams On Eden's streams, With love more warm than mine In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine, I feel was lighted at thy God's and thine. It may be hidden long : death and decay Our mother Eve bequeathed us, but my heart Defies it ; though this life must pass away, Is that a cause for thee and me to part ? Thou art immortal ; so am I: I feel — I feel my immortality o'ersweep All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peal, Like the eternal thunders of the deep, Into my ears this truth, -- "Thou liv'st forever!" BYRON Up! Time will tell the morning bell JOANNA BAILLIE. FOR LOVE'S SWEET SAKE. FLY TO THE DESERT, FLY WITH ME. AWAKE ! — the starry midnight hour SONG OF NOURMAHAL IN "THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM.* Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight; In its own sweetness sleeps the flower, “Fly to the desert, fly with me, And the doves lie hushed in deep delight. Our Arab tents are rude for thee; Awake! awake! But oh ! the choice what heart can doubt Look forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake!! Of tents with love or thrones without? “Our rocks are rough, but smiling there As if 't were fixed by magic there, - Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, I could forget — forgive thee all, And never leave those eyes again." The mask is off, — the charm is wrought, -And Selim to his heart has caught, In blushes, more than ever bright, His Nourmahal, his Harem's Light! And well do vanished frowns enhance The charm of every brightened glance ; And dearer seems each dawning smile For having lost its light awhile ; And, happier now for all her sighs, As on his arm her head reposes, She whispers him, with laughing eyes, “Remember, love, the Feast of Roses !” THOMAS MOORE. “Oh! there are looks and tones that dart “ As if the very lips and eyes “So came thy every glance and tone, “Then fly with me, if thou hast known “Come, if the love thou hast for me Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — Fresh as the fountain underground, When first 't is by the lapwing found. “But if for me thou dost forsake Some other maid, and rudely break Her worshipped image from its base, To give to me the ruined place ; COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown ! Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves, On a bed of daffodil sky, — To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, To faint in its light, and to die. All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon ; To the dancers dancing in tune, - And a hush with the setting moon. With whom she has heart to be gay. She is weary of dance and play." And half to the rising day; The last wheel echoes away. In babble and revel and wine. For one that will never be thine ? “For ever and ever mine!” “ Then, fare thee well!- I'd rather make There was a pathos in this lay, That even without enchantment's art Would instantly have found its way Deep into Selim's burning heart; But breathing, as it did, a tone To earthly lutes and lips unknown ; With every chord fresh from the touch Of music's spirit, 't was too much ! Starting, he dashed away the cup, — Which, all the time of this sweet air, His hand had held, untasted, up, THOMAS MOORE. And the soul of the rose went into my blood, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear ! For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Now all the world is sleeping, love, Our wood, that is dearer than all ; But the sage, his star-watch keeping, love, And I, whose star, From the meadow your walks have left so sweet More glorious far, That whenever a March-wind sighs, Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. He sets the jewel-print of your feet Then awake ! - till rise of sun, my dear, In violets blue as your eyes, The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, To the woody hollows in which we meet, Or, in watching the flight And the valleys of Paradise. Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear! The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; AH, SWEET KITTY NEIL ! “Ah, sweet Kitty Neil ! rise up from your wheel, The lilies and roses were all awake, Your neat little foot will be weary from spin• They sighed for the dawn and thee. ning; Come, trip down with me to the sycamore-tree; Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Half the parish is there, and the dance is Come hither ! the dances are done; beginning. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, The sun is gone down ; but the full harvest moon Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, | Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley ; To the flowers, and be their sun. While all the air rings with the soft, loving things There has fallen a splendid tear Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley." From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while, She is coming, my life, my fate! The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near" ; Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, And the white rose weeps, “She is late"; glancing; The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear" ; ’T is hard to refuse when a young lover sues, And the lily whispers, “I wait.” So she could n't but choose to — go off to the dancing. She is coming, my own, my sweet ! And now on the green the glad groups are seen, — Were it ever so airy a tread, Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosMy heart would hear her and beat, ing; Were it earth in an earthly bed ; And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil, --My dust would hear her and beat, Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought Had I lain for a century dead; of refusing. Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee, ALFRED TENNYSON. And, with flourish so free, sets each couple in motion ; With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the THE YOUNG MAY MOON. ground, The maids move around just like swans on the The young May moon is beaming, love, ocean. The glowworm's lamp is gleaming, love, Cheeks bright as the rose, — feet light as the doe's, How sweet to rove Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing ; Through Morna's grove, Search the world all around from the sky to the While the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! ground, Then awake !- the heavens look bright, my dear! No such sight can be found as an Irish lass ’T is never too late for delight, my dear! dancing! Sweet Kate ! who could view your bright eyes BEDOUIN LOVE-SONG. of deep blue, Beaming humidly through their dark lashes From the Desert I come to thee, so mildly, On a stallion shod with fire ; Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded And the winds are left behind form, In the speed of my desire. Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb Under thy window I stand, wildly? And the midnight hears my cry: Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart, I love thee, I love but thee ! Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet With a love that shall not die love ; Till the sun grows cold, The sight leaves his eye as he cries with a And the stars are old, sigh, And the leaves of the Judgment “Dance light, for my heart it lies under your Book unfold ! My passion and my pain ! And I faint in thy disdain. Let the night-winds touch thy brow O NANCY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME? With the heat of my burning sigh, And melt thee to hear the vow Of a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold! My steps are nightly driven, By the fever in my breast, To hear from thy lattice breathed O Nancy ! when thou 'rt far away, The word that shall give me rest. Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? Open the door of thy heart, Say, canst thou face the parching ray, And open thy chamber door, Nor shrink before the wintry wind ? And my kisses shall teach thy lips 0, can that soft and gentle mien The love that shall fade no more Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Till the sun grows cold, Nor sad regret each courtly scene And the stars are old, Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold ! O Nancy ! canst thou love so true, Through perils keen with me to go, Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pang of woe ? COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. FROM "IRISH MELODIES." COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; And when at last thy love shall die, Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, Wilt thou receive his parting breath ? | And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, And cheer with smiles the bed of death ? Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay, Through joy and through torment, through glory Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear, and shame? Nor then regret those scenes so gay I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? |I but know that I love thee, whatever thou THOMAS PERCY, D.D. | art. BAYARD TAYLOR. iv. bliss, Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of So come in the evening, or come in the morning ; And thy Angel I 'll be, mid the horrors of Come when you 're looked for, or come without this, warning; Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, pursue, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore And shield thee, and save thee, — or perish there you ! too!. THOMAS MOORE. Light is my heart since the day we were plighted ; And the linnets are singing, “ True lovers don't sever!" THOMAS DAVIS. II. COME in the evening, or come in the morning; warning; CHORUS. And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore Cå the yowes to the knowes, you ! Ca' them where the heather grows, Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Ca' them where the burnie rowes, Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; My bonnie dearie. The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, Hark the mavis' evening sang And the linnets are singing, “True lovers don't Sounding Cluden's woods amang; sever!" Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose Ca' the, &c. . them! Or; after you've kissed them, they 'll lie on my We'll gae down by Clauden side, Thro' the hazels spreading wide, bosom; O'er the waves that sweetly glide I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire To the moon sae clearly. you; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire Ca' the, &c. you. Yonder Cluden's silent towers, Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer Where at moonshine midnight hours, vexed farmer, O'er the dewy bending flowers, Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor ; Fairies dance sae cheerie. I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above Ca' the, &c. me, Then, wandering, I'll wish you in silence to Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear : love me. Thou 'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the My bonnie dearie. eyrie; Ca' the, &c. We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; Fair and lovely as thou art, We'll look on the stars, and we 'll list to the Thou hast stown my very heart; river, I can die — but canna part, Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give My bonnie dearie. her. Ca' the, &c. Oh! she'll whisper you, – “Love, as un While waters wimple to the sea; changeably beaming, While day blinks in the lift sae hie; And trust, when in secret, most tunefully Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e, streaming ; Ye shall be my dearie. Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, Cathe, &c. As our souls flow in one down eternity's river.” | III. ROBERT BURNS. |
