5.

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,

Let my memory still be thy pride,

And forget not I smiled as I died!

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY S

BLOOM.

1.

OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

2.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

3.

Away; we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

MY SOUL IS DARK.

1.

My soul is dark-Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, "Twill flow, and cease to burn my

2.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy nates of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nurst,

brain:

And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, And break at once-or yield to song.

I SAW THEE WEEP.

1.

I SAW thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;

It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.

2.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow die,

Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart ;

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

1

THY days are done, thy fame begun ;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughters of his sword!

The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

2.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flow'd from thee Disdain'd to sink beneath:

Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath!

3.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices pour'd!

To weep would do thy glory wrong;
Thou shalt not be deplored.