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The song, that lightens the languid way,
When brows are glowing,
And faint with rowing,
To whose sound through life we stray.
As we row along through waves so clear, Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile
That shines o'er sorrow's tear.
Nothing is lost on him, wbo sees
With an eye that feeling gave :
And a picture in ev'ry wave.
When brows are glowing,
And faint with rowing : ?Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay, To whose sound through life we stray.
To sigh, yet feel no pain.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why ;
Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
But those we just have won;
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
To keep one sacred flame
Through lite, unchill'd, unmov'd;
That first in youth we lov'd;
To such refined excess,
We could not live with less ;
Such as saints might feel above!
The scene was more beautiful far to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had array'd it, The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure arch'd sky
Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it: The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz'd
In the shadowy waves' playful motion, From the dim distant hill, till the light-house fire blaz’d
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.
No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast
Was heard in his wildly-breath'd pumbers,
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers :
All hush'd was the billows' commotion,
That star of life's tremulous ocean.
Yet time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star
That blaz'd on the breast of the billow : In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,
And death stills the heart's last emotion; O then may the seraph of mercy arise,
Like a star on eternity's ocean.
Tell me not of joys above.
Tell me not of joys above,
If that world can give no bliss,
Which enslaves our souls in this!
Tell me not of Houris' eyes ;
Far from me their dangerous glow,
Wound like some that burn below!
Who that feels what love is here,
All its falsehood, all its pain,
Risk the fatal dream again?
Who, that 'midst a desert's heat
Sees the waters fade away,
Streams again as false as they ?
There's a bower of roses.
There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,108 And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet
dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,
I think-is the nightingale singing there yet ! Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?
No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly
they shone, And a dew was distillid from their flowers that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was Thus memory draws from delight ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer!
There's a bliss.
There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,
When two, that are link'd in oue heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ! One hour of a passion so sacred, is worth
Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; And oh! if there be an Elysiurn on earth,
It is this, it is this !
To a lady on her singing.
Thy song has taught my heart to feel
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal
When tir'd of life and misery,
Oh! Emma, I will fly to thee,