Oh, 'twas not in fields or bowers,
'Twas on her lips she found ye;
Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers,
"Twas on her lips she found ye.

NO-LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.

No-leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,

To some poor leaf that's fall'n and dead,

Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away.

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light;
But now thou com'st like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,

When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies!
No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
Since youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away.

WHERE ARE THE VISIONS?

"WHERE are the visions that round me once hover'd, "Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone; "Looks fresh as light from a star just discover'd,

"And voices that Music might take for her own?"

Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me,
Heard me say,
"Where are those visions, oh where?"
And pointing his wand to the sunset before me,
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, “There.”

Fondly I look'd, when the wizard had spoken,
And there, mid the dim shining ruins of day,
Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken,

The last golden fragments of hope melt away.

WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY.

WIND thy horn, my hunter boy,

And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs;
Hunting is the hero's joy,

Till war his nobler game supplies.

Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet,

While hunters shout, and the woods repeat,

Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!

Wind again thy cheerful horn,

Till echo, faint with answ'ring, dies:
Burn, bright torches, burn till morn,

And lead us where the wild boar lies.
Hark! the cry, "He's found, he's found,"
While hill and valley our shouts resound,
Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!

OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION.

Он, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel

The blight that this world o'er the warmest will steal;
While the faith of all round us is fading or past,
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last.

Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to weep,
As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep;
For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast,
While the love that is wakeful lives on to the last.

And though, as Time gathers his clouds o'er our head, A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast,

So that Love's soften'd light may shine through to the last.

SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER.

"SLUMBER, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st
"My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st."
Thus sung I to a maiden,

Who slept one summer's day,

And, like a flower o'erladen
With too much sunshine, lay.

Slumber, oh slumber, &c.

"Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks; "If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks." Thus sing I, while awaking,

She murmurs words that seem

As if her lips were taking

Farewell of some sweet dream.

Breathe not, oh breathe not, &c.

BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER.

BRING the bright garlands hither;

Ere yet a leaf is dying;

If so soon they must wither,

Ours be their last sweet sighing.

Hark, that low dismal chime!
'Tis the dreary voice of Time.
Oh, bring beauty, bring roses,

Bring all that yet is ours;

Let life's day, as it closes,

Shine to the last through flowers.

Haste, ere the bowl's declining,

Drink of it now or never;
Now, while Beauty is shining,

Love or she's lost for ever.
Hark! again that dull chime,
'Tis the dreary voice of Time.

Oh, if life be a torrent,
Down to oblivion going,
Like this cup be its current,
Bright to the last drop flowing!

IF IN LOVING, SINGING.

IF in loving, singing, night and day
We could trifle merrily life away,
Like atoms dancing in the beam.
Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream,
Or summer blossoms, born to sigh
Their sweetness out, and die-

How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side,
Thou and I could make our minutes glide!
No atoms ever glanc'd so bright.

No day-flies ever danced so light,

Nor summer blossoms mix'd their sigh,
So close, as thou and I!

THOU LOV'ST NO MORE.

Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken,
Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er;

Thy heart is chang'd, thy vow is broken,
Thou lov'st no more -thou lov'st no more.