THOUGH "TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.

(FRENCH AIR.)

THOUGH 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er,
Yet, even in a dream, to be bless'd

Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.
The bosom that opes

With earliest hopes

The soonest finds those hopes untrue;
As flowers that first

In spring-time burst

The earliest wither too!

Ay-'tis all but a dream, &c.

Though by friendship we oft are deceiv'd,

And find Love's sunshine soon o'ercast,

Yet Friendship will still be believ'd,

And Love trusted on to the last.

The web 'mong the leaves

The spider weaves

Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men;

Though often she sees

'Tis broke by the breeze,

She spins the bright tissue again.
Ay-'tis all but a dream, &c.

WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING.

(ITALIAN AIR.)

WHEN the wine-cup is smiling before us,

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true, Then the sky of this life opens o'er us,

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue.

Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus ; For him but two bright eyes were shiningSee, what numbers are sparkling for us!

When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams,
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,
To disturb ev'n a saint from his dreams.
Yet, though life like a river is flowing,

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on;
So the grape on its bank is still growing,
And Love lights the waves as they run.

WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME?
(NEAPOLITAN AIR.)

WHERE shall we bury our shame;

Where, in what desolate place,

Hide the last wreck of a name

Broken and stain'd by disgrace?

Death may dissever the chain,

Oppression will cease when we're gone; But the dishonour, the stain,

Die as we may, will live on.

Was it for this we sent out
Liberty's cry from our shore?
Was it for this that her shout
Thrill'd to the world's very core?
Thus to live cowards and slaves!-
ye free hearts that lie dead,
Do you not, even in your graves,

Oh,

Shudder, as o'er you we tread?

NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY SCHOOLS. (MAHRATTA AIR.)

NE'ER talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools;

Give me the sage who's able

To draw his moral thoughts and rules
From the study of the table;
Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass

This world and all that's in it,

From the bumper that but crowns his glass,
And is gone again next minute!

The diamond sleeps within the mine,

The pearl beneath the water;

While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine,

The grape's own rosy daughter.

And none can prize her charms like him,
Oh, none like him obtain her,
Who thus can, like Leander, swim,
Through sparkling floods to gain her!

HERE SLEEPS THE BARD.
(HIGHLAND AIR.)

HERE sleeps the bard who knew so well
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell;
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near,
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear.
Sleep, sleep, mute bard; alike unheeded now
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow:
That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay;
That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away!

DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING.

Do not say that life is waning,

Or that Hope's sweet day is set;
While I've thee and love remaining,
Life is in th' horizon yet.

Do not think those charms are flying,
Though thy roses fade and fall;

Beauty hath a grace undying,

Which in thee survives them all.

Not for charms, the newest, brightest, That on other cheeks may shine, Would I change the least, the slightest, That is ling'ring now o'er thine.

THE GAZELLE.

Dost thou not hear the silver bell, Through yonder lime-trees ringing? 'Tis my lady's light gazelle,

To me her love thoughts bringing, All the while that silver bell

Around his dark neck ringing.

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath,
My love hath kiss'd in tying;
Oh, what tender thoughts beneath
Those silent flowers are lying,

Hid within the mystic wreath,

My love hath kiss'd in tying!

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest,

Who thus hath breath'd her soul to me,
In every leaf thou bearest ;
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest!

Hail, ye living, speaking flowers,

That breathe of her who bound ye;