SO WARMLY WE MET.

Hungarian Air.

So warmly we met, and so fondly we parted, That which was the sweeter even I could not

tell,

That first look of welcome her sunny eye dar

ted,

Or that tear of passion which bless'd our fare

well;

To meet was a heaven-and to part thus, another;

Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss; Oh, Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other, In smiles, and in tears, than that moment to

this.

The first was like daybreak, new, sudden, delicious,

The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up

yet,

The last was that farewell of daylight more precious,

More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. Our meeting, tho' happy, was ting'd by a sor

row,

To think that such happiness could not re

main,

3

While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that

to-morrow.

Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

The bells of St. Petersburgh.

THOSE ev'ning bells, those ev'ning bells,
How many a tale their music tells

Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are past away,
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those ev'ning bells!
And so 'twill be, when I am gone,
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet ev'ning bells!

SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.

Portuguese Air.

SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ,
Should the cold world come to wake thee
From all thy visions of youth and joy;

Should the gay friends, for whom thou would'st banish

Him who once thought thy young heart his

own,

All, like spring birds, falsely vanish,

And leave thy winter unheeded and lone :

Oh! 'tis then he thou hast slighted,
Would come to cheer thee, when all seem d

o'er,

Then the truant lost and blighted,

Would to his bosom be taken once more: Like that dear bird we both can remember, Who left us while summer shone round; But, when chill'd by bleak December. Upon our threshold a welcome still found.

HARK THE VESPER HYMN IS STEALING. Russian Air.

HARK, the vesper hymn is stealing
O'er the waters, soft and clear—
Nearer yet, and nearer pealing,

Now it bursts upon the ear.

Farther now, now farther stealing,
Soft it fades upon the ear;

Farther now, &c.

Soft it fades, &c.

Now like moonlight waves retreating,
To the shore it dies along,
Now like angry surges meeting,
Breaks the mingled tide of song.
Hark again, like waves retreating,
To the shore it dies along,
Hark again, &c.

To the shore, &c.

NATIONAL AIRS,

BY

THOMAS MOORE, Esq.

VOLUME II.

LOVE AND HOPE.

Swiss Air.

AT morn, beside yon summer sea,
Young Hope and Love reclin'd;

But scarce had noon-tide come, when he

Into his bark leap'd smilingly,

[behind!

And left poor Hope behind-and left poor Hope

"I go," said Love, "to sail awhile,

Across this sunny main,"

And then so sweet his parting smile,

That Hope, who never dream'd of guile,

Believ'd he'd come again-believ'd he'd come again.

She linger'd there, till evening's beam

Along the waters lay;

And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream,
Oft trac'd his name, which still the stream
As often wash'd away-as often wash'd away.

At length, a sail appears in sight,

And tow'rd the maiden moves;

'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, His golden bark reflects the light:

But, ah, it is not Love's-it is not Love's!

Another sail-'twas Friendship show'd
Her night lamp o'er the sea;

And calm the light that lamp bestow'd,.
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd,

And where, aias! was He?-and where, alas!

was He?

Now fast around the sea and shore
Night threw her darkling chain;

The sunny sails were seen no more,

Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'erLove never came again!-Love never came again!-

THERE COMES A TIME.

German Air.

THERE comes a time, a dreary time,
To him, whose heart hath flown

O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime,
And made each flow'r its own.

'Tis when his soul must first renounce
Those dreams so bright, so fond-

Oh, then's the time to die at once,

For life has nought beyond.

There comes a time, a dreary time,

To him whose heart hath flown

O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime,

And made each flower its own.

When sets the sun on Afric's shore,

That instant all is night,

And so should life at once be o'er,

When Love withdraws his light.