English

Tho ' sacred the tie that our country entwineth,
And dear to the heart her remembrance remains,
Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth,
And sad the remembrance that slavery stains.
O thou who wert born in the cot of the peasant,
But diest in languor in luxury's dome,
Our vision when absent—our glory, when present—
Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home.

Farewell to the land where in childhood I 've wandered!
In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave!
Unblest is the blood that for tyrants is squandered,

When life looks lone and dreary,
What light can dispel the gloom?
When Time's swift wing grows weary,
What charm can refresh his plume?
'T is woman whose sweetness beameth
O'er all that we feel or see;
And if man of heaven e'er dreameth,
'T is when he thinks purely of thee,
O woman!

Let conquerors fight for glory,
Too dearly the meed they gain;
Let patriots live in story—
Too often they die in vain;
Give kingdoms to those who choose 'em,
This world can offer to me
No throne like Beauty's bosom,

When Charles was deceived by the maid he loved,
We saw no cloud his brow o'ercasting,
But proudly he smiled as if gay and unmoved,
Tho' the wound in his heart was deep and lasting.
And oft at night when the tempest rolled
He sung as he paced the dark deck over—
“Blow, wind, blow! thou art not so cold
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover.”

Yet he lived with the happy and seemed to be gay,
Tho' the wound but sunk more deep for concealing;
And Fortune threw many a thorn in his way,

Dear aunt, in the olden time of love,
When women like slaves were spurned,
A maid gave her heart, as she would her glove,
To be teased by a fop, and returned!
But women grow wiser as men improve,
And, tho' beaux, like monkeys, amuse us,
Oh! think not we 'd give such a delicate gem
As the heart to be played with or sullied by them;
No, dearest aunt, excuse us.

We may know by the head on Cupid's seal
What impression the heart will take;
If shallow the head, oh! soon we feel
What a poor impression 't will make!

Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies
In youthful hearts that hope like mine;
And 't is the light of laughing eyes
That leads us to thy fairy shrine.
There if we find the sigh, the tear,
They are not those to sorrow known;
But breathe so soft, and drop so clear,
That bliss may claim them for her own.
Then give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens woe,
And teaches even our tears to keep
The tinge of pleasure as they flow.

The child who sees the dew of night
Upon the spangled hedge at morn,

Young Love lived once in a humble shed,
Where roses breathing
And woodbines wreathing
Around the lattice their tendrils spread,
As wild and sweet as the life he led.
His garden flourisht,
For young Hope nourisht.
The infant buds with beams and showers;
But lips, tho' blooming, must still be fed,
And not even Love can live on flowers.

Alas! that Poverty's evil eye
Should e'er come hither,
Such sweets to wither!
The flowers laid down their heads to die,
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh.

'T is sweet to behold when the billows are sleeping,
Some gay-colored bark moving gracefully by;
No damp on her deck but the eventide's weeping,
No breath in her sails but the summer wind's sigh.

Yet who would not turn with a fonder emotion,
To gaze on the life-boat, tho' rugged and worn,
Which often hath wafted o'er hills of the ocean
The lost light of hope to the seaman forlorn!

Oh! grant that of those who in life's sunny slumber
Around us like summer-barks idly have played,

Dost thou not hear the silver bell,
Thro' yonder lime-trees ringing?
'T is 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 kist in tying;
Oh, what tender thoughts beneath
Those silent flowers are lying,—
Hid within the mystic wreath,
My love hath kist in trying!

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest,
Who thus hath breathed her soul to me.

M R . Orator P UFF had two tones in his voice,
The one squeaking thus, and the other down so!
In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice,
For one was B alt, and the rest G below.
Oh! oh, Orator Puff!
One voice for one orator's surely enough.

But he still talked away spite of coughs and of frowns,
So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs,
That a wag once on hearing the orator say,
“My voice is for war,” asked him,
“Which of them, pray?”
Oh! oh! etc.

Oh think, when a hero is sighing,
What danger in such an adorer!
What woman can dream of denying
The hand that lays laurels before her?
NOheart is so guarded around,
But the smile of the victor will take it;
No bosom can slumber so sound,
But the trumpet of glory will wake it.

Love sometimes is given to sleeping,
And woe to the heart that allows him;
For oh, neither smiling nor weeping
Has power at those moments to rouse him.
But tho' he was sleeping so fast,
That the life almost seemed to forsake him,