Let fate do her worst; there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; And which come, in the night time of sorrow and care, To bring back the features that joy us'd to wear. Long, long by my heart with such memories fill'd!- Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill'd- You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will; But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. OH! DOUBT ME NOT. AIR-" Yellow Wat and the Fox." Ön! doubt me not-the season Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love. And fairest hands disturb'd the tree, They only shook some blossoms down, Its fruit has all been kept for thee. Then doubt me not-the season Is o'er, when folly made me rove, And now the vestal Reason Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love. And though my lute no longer I feel the bliss I do not tell. The bee through many a garden roves, Is o'er, when folly kept me free; Shall guard the flame awak'd by thee. You remember Ellen,* our hamlet's pride, And love was the light of their lowly cot. Together they toil'd through winds and rains, 'Till William at length in sadness said, "We must seek our fortune on other plains," Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. This balled was suggested by a well known and interesting story, told of a certain noble family in England 176 I They roam'd a long and a weary way, They see a proud castle among the trees. there: The wind blows cold, the hour is late!" "Now, welcome, Lady!" exclaim'd the youth,— "This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!" She believ'd him wild, but his words were truth, And dearly the lord of Rosna loves What WILLIAM the stranger woo'd and wed; And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, Is pure as it shone in the lowly shed. I'D MOURN THE HOPES THAT LEAVE ME. I'D mourn the hppes that leave me, Hadst thou been like them untrue. But while I've thee before me, With heart so warm, and eyes so bright, No clouds can linger o'er me, That smile turns them all to light, 'Tis not in fate to harm me, Unless joy be shar'd with thee, And, though the hope be gone, love, Thus, when the lamp that lighted He feels awhile benighted, And loooks round in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, COME O'ER THE SEA. AIR" Cuishlih ma chree."* COME o'er the sea, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snow But the true soul Burns the same where e'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where tho art not! Then come o'er the sea, Come wherever the wild wind blows, But the true soul Is not the sea Made for the free, The following are some of the original word of this wild and singular air;-they contain rathe an odd assortment of grievances. Cuishlih ma chree, Did you but see How, the rogue, he did serve me:-Bis. |