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THOSE EVENING BELLS.
(AIR. - THE BELLS OF ST. PETERSBURGH.)
THOSE evening bells ! those evening bells !
Those joyous hours are past away ;
And so 't will be when I am gone;
SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.
SHOULD those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,*
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ;
* This is one of the many instances among my lyrical poems, - though the above, it must be owned, is an extreme case, where the metre has been necessarily sacrificed to the structure of the air.
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 that 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,
On our threshold a welcome still found.
REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY.
REASON, and Folly, and Beauty, they say,
Around the maid,
While Reason took
To his sermon-book Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.
Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage,
Till Folly said,
“ Look here, sweet maid !” The sight of his cap brought her back to herself;
While Reason read
His leaves of lead,
Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap;
6. There it is,"
Quoth Folly, “old quiz!” (Folly was always good-natured, 't is said,)
“ Under the sun
“ There's no such fun, “ As Reason with my cap and bells on his head, “ Reason with my cap and bells on his head !”
But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, That Beauty now liked him still less than before;
While Folly took
Old Reason's book,
That Beauty vow'd
(Though not aloud), She liked him still better in that than his own, Yes, — liked him still better in that than his own. FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE!
FARE thee well, thou lovely one!
Lovely still, but dear no more;
Love's sweet life is o'er.
Could scarce have thus deceived;
that acted truth so well
Lovely still, but dear no more ;
Love's sweet life is o'er.
Yet those eyes look constant still,
True as stars they keep their light;
Of blushing always bright.
The blame of falsehood lies;
Lovely still, but dear no more,
Love's sweet life is o’er,
DOST THOU REMEMBER.
Dost thou remember that place so lonely,
Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ?
And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes ? Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, Love bound us — never, never more to part !
And when I call’d thee by names the dearest *
“My life, my only life!” among the rest; In those sweet accents that still inthral me, Thou saidst, “ Ah! wherefore thy life thus call me?
“ Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love best; “For life soon passes, — but how bless'd to be “ That Soul which never, never parts from thee!”
The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Portuguese words.