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With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings!

Awhile they dance before him, and then divide,
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide
Around the rich pavilion of the sun,—
Till silently dispersing one by one,

Through many a path that from the chamber leads
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads,
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind,
And but one trenbling nymph remains behind,—
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone,
And she is left in all that light alone;
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow,
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now;
But a light, golden chain work round her hair,
Such as maids of YZED and SHIRAZ wear,
From which, on either side, gracefully hung
A golden amulet, in th' Arab tongue,
Engraven o'er with some immortal line
From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divine;
While her left hand, as strikingly she stood,
Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood,
Which, once or twice, she touch'd with hurried strain,
Then took her trembling fingers off again.
But when at length a timid glance she stole

At AZIM, the sweet gravity of soul

She saw through all his features calm'd her fear,
And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near,

Though shrinking still, she came ;-then sat her down
Upon a musnud's edge, and bolder grown,

*

In the pathetic mode of ISFAHAN †

Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began :

There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S ‡ stream,
And the nightingale sings round all the day long;
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,

I think is the nightingale singing there yet?

Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?

* Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons of distinction.

+ The Persians like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or Perdas by the names of different countries or cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &c,, &c.

A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar.

No, the roses soon wither'd, that hung o'er the wave,
But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year;

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!

HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE.

Он, tell me when, and tell me where,
Am I to meet with thee, my fair?
I'll meet thee in the silent night,
When stars are shining gentle light,
Enough for love but not too bright,
To tell who blushes there.

You've told me when, now tell me where,
Am I to meet with thee, my fair?
I'll meet thee in that lovely place,
Where flowerets dwell in sweet embrace,
And Zephyr comes to steal a grace,
To shed on the midnight air.

You've told me when, and told me where,
But how shall I know thou'lt be there?
Thou'lt know it when I sing this lay,
Which wandering boys on organs play,
No lover sure can miss his way

When led by this signal air

Fal, la, la, this signal air.

O NEVER DOUBT MY LOVE.

Он, never doubt my love, thy sorrows I'll banish:
And sweet shall I sing, while the night flies away:
And ere the wild gloom o'er the mountain shall vanish,
Thou'lt sink on my pillow, and sleep till the day.

Oh, never doubt my love, its fondness shall bless thee,
'Twill soothe thee whene'er by the rude world opprest;
And if the cold hand of misfortune should press thee,
The angel of pity you'll find in my breast.

O SAY NOT WOMAN'S LOVE IS BOUGHT.

OH! say not woman's love is bought,
With vain and empty treasure;
Oh! say not woman's heart is caught,
By every idle pleasure.

When first her gentle bosom knows
Love's flame, it wanders never;
Deep in her heart the passion glows,
She loves, and loves for ever.

Oh! say not woman's false as fair;
That like the bee she ranges;

Still seeking flowers more sweet and raro,
As fickle fancy changes:

Ah, no, the love that first can warm

Will leave her bosom never:

No second passion e'er can charm,,

She loves, and loves for ever!

OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER.

OH! no, we never mention her, her name is never heard,
My lips are now forbid to speak, that once familiar word;
From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret,
And when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene the charms that others see,
But were I in a foreign land, they would find no change in me.
'Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we met,
I do not see the hawthorn tree, but how can I forget?

For oh! there are so many things recall the past to me,
The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the sea;
The rosy tint that decks the sky before the sun is set,
Aye, every leaf I look upon forbids that I forget.

They tell me she is happy now, the gayest of the gay,
They hint that she forgets me too, but I heed not what they say;
Perhaps like me she struggles with each feeling of regret,
But if she loves as I do love, she never can forget.

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ANSWER TO "OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER."

OH! am I then remembered still,
Remembered too by thee?
Or am I quite forgot by one,
Whom I no more shall see ?
Yet say not so, for that would add,
Fresh anguish to my lot,

I dare not hope to be recall'd,
Yet would not be forgot.

Had they who parted us but known
How hearts like ours can feel,
They would have spared us both a pang,
Beyond their power to heal.

I know not if my heart retains,
Its wonted warmth or not;
Though I'm forbid to think of thee,
Thou'lt never be forgot.

May'st thou enjoy that peace of mind,
Which I can never know,
If that's denied, my prayer shall be,
That I may share thy woe.
Where'er thou art my every wish,
Will linger o'er that spot,
My every thought will be of thee,
Though I may be forgot.

If we should meet in after years,

Thou'lt find that I am changed;

My eyes grow dim, my cheeks grow pale,
But not my faith estrang'd:

From mem'ry's page the hand of death,
Alone thy name shall blot,

Forget, forsake me, if thou wilt,

Thou'lt never be forgot.

I WAITED BY THE BEECH TREE.

I WAITED by the Beech Tree,
Beside the rippling rill,

The orb of day was sinking fast,
Behind the distant hill.

The bee had sought its hive of sweets,

The bird its feather'd nest,

I waited by the Beech Tree,
For her I lov'd the best.

'Tis long ago since that sweet eve,
Near the same tree stand I,
But gaze not in the happy face,
Nor hail the laughing eye.
Those features I behold no more,
Those eyes no more shall see.
Yet still I wander as before,
Beside the Old Beech Tree.

I wander-perhaps you ask me why?
My simple strains condemn,
So be it, I can chidings bear,
Have long been used to them.
But rob me of my bliss, who can ?
Through life's short hour to last,
'Tis recollection takes me there,
Sweet memory of the past.

TELL HER, I'LL LOVE HER.

TELL her, I'll love her while the clouds drop rain,
Or while there's water in the pathless main;
Tell her, I'll love her till this life is o'er,
And then my ghost shall visit this sweet shore;
Tell her, I only ask she'll think of me—
I'll love her while there's salt within the sea.
Tell her all this, tell it o'er and o'er again,
I'll love her while there's salt within the main.
Tell her all this, tell it o'er and o'er-

The anchor's weigh'd or I would tell her more!

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