FANNY, DEAREST! I. OH! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, But, between love, and wine, and sleep, That even the time it would take to weep The love, that's order'd to bathe in wine, II. Reflected bright in this heart of mine, But, oh! the mirror would cease to shine, And 'tis but to see thee truly bright Then wait no longer till tears shall flow- If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, FANNY WAS IN THE GROVE. I. FANNY was in the grove, And Lubin, her boy, was nigh; And her soul was warm as her eye. II. Fanny was made for bliss, But she was young and shy; She blush'd, and said with a sigh— III. They wander'd beneath the shade, Was thrilling with love and fear. Sweetly along the grove The birds sang all the while, With a frown that was half a smile Viver en Cadenas. FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. I. FROM life without freedom, oh! who would not fly? For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? Hark!-hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the · brave, The death-song of tyrants and dirge of the slave. Our country lies bleeding-oh! fly to her aid; One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. From life without freedom, oh! who would not fly? For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? II. In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains- Despair not at least we shall find her in heaven. HERE'S THE BOWER. I. HERE'S the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted; VOL. V. 8 Here's the harp she used to touch- Where's the hand to wreathe them? Songs around neglected lie; Where's the lip to breathe them? Here's the harp she used to touch- II. Spring may bloom, but she we loved Now hath lost its fleetness. Years were days, when here she stray'd, Nor Pity wept a dearer! Here's the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she used to touch— Oh! how that touch enchanted! |