ADELAIDE.

O WIND, that blowest o'er the sea!
Bear thou this kiss to Adelaide ;
And, zephyr soft! bring back to me
Another from my lovely maid.
And yet, ah, no!

I'd jealous grow

If zephyr with her soft lips played.

I'll sing thy praises to my lute,

Albeit I am half afraid

Lest some brave youth, who listens mute Amidst the misty woodland's shade, Of love should die;

For e'en the eye

Sometimes the ear

loves Adelaide.

Like to a star-lit winter's night,

Glitters thy gem-bespangled hair;
But, like a summer morning bright,
Smiles thy blue eye and forehead fair:
But, oh! thy heart!

What can impart

The wealth of love that trembles there?

MUSIC I' THE AIR.

OH! listen to the howling sea,

That beats on the remorseless shore:

Oh! listen; for that sound shall be

When our wild hearts shall beat no more.

Oh! listen well, and listen long;

For, sitting folded close to me,

You could not hear a sweeter song

Than that hoarse murmur of the sea.

HE WILL NOT WOO AGAIN.

'Twas but a word, a careless word,
In pride and passion spoken;

But with that word the chain that bound
Two loving hearts was broken.
The hasty wrath has passed away;
The bitter words remain:

In vain the lady weeps and sighs;
He will not woo again.

No other love may light her path,

No other move his heart;

Yet changing seasons come and go,
And find them still apart.

Her once bright cheek is paler now;
His bears a trace of pain:

Their days are sorrowful, and yet

He will not woo again.

They meet as strangers, calm and cold; As calmly, coldly part;

And none may guess that tranquil mien
Conceals a tortured heart.

To him the world hath lost its light;
For her all joys are vain ;

Nor hope nor memory brings relief:
He will not woo again.

Alas that love, long tried and warm,
Should wither in an hour!

Alas that pride o'er human hearts

Should wield such fearful power!

Oh! weep thou not for those who die,— For them all tears are vain;

But weep o'er living hearts grown cold, Who ne'er may love again.

I KNOW your grief; for Death has walked
Through all the chambers of my heart;
And I have sat, like you, and watched
My idols, one by one, depart.

We come not of that crowd, my friend,
Who tell their sorrows far and near;
Who name aloud, with frequent sigh,
The loved one laid upon the bier.

Take my warm tears! I may not speak When next I grasp your trembling hand: What need of words, heart-brother dear? My silence you can understand.