FANNY, DEAREST!

I.

OH! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny, dearest! for thee I'd sigh;
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears, when thou art nigh.

But, between love, and wine, and sleep,
So busy a life I live,

That even the time it would take to weep
Is more than my heart can give.
Then bid me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!

The love, that's order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.

II.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest! thy image lies;

But, oh! the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimm'd too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty's light,
Who view it through sorrow's tear;

And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear.

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow-
Fanny, dearest! the hope is vain ;

If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.

FANNY WAS IN THE GROVE.

I.

FANNY was in the grove,

And Lubin, her boy, was nigh;
Her eye was warm with love,

And her soul was warm as her eye.
Oh! oh! if Lubin now would sue,
Oh! oh! what could Fanny do?

II.

Fanny was made for bliss,

But she was young and shy;
And when he had stolen a kiss,

She blush'd, and said with a sigh—
"Oh! oh! Lubin, ah! tell me true,
"Oh! oh! what are you going to do?"

III.

They wander'd beneath the shade,
Her eye was dimm'd with a tear,
For ah! the poor little maid

Was thrilling with love and fear.
Oh! oh! if Lubin would but sue,
Oh! oh! what could Fanny do?
IV.

Sweetly along the grove

The birds sang all the while,
And Fanny now said to her love,

With a frown that was half a
"Oh! oh! why did Lubin sue?
"Oh! oh! why did Lubin sue?"

smile

Viver en Cadenas.

FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.

I.

FROM life without freedom, oh! who would not

fly?

For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?

Hark!-hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the

· brave,

The death-song of tyrants and dirge of the slave. Our country lies bleeding-oh! fly to her aid; One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. From life without freedom, oh! who would not fly?

For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?

II.

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains-
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains!
On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed.
And oh! even if freedom from this world be
driven,

Despair not at least we shall find her in heaven.
In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains—
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains.

HERE'S THE BOWER.

I.

HERE'S the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted;

VOL. V.

8

Here's the harp she used to touch-
Oh! how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh;

Where's the hand to wreathe them?

Songs around neglected lie;

Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower she loved so much,
And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touch-
Oh! how that touch enchanted!

II.

Spring may bloom, but she we loved
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness!
Time, that once so fleetly moved,

Now hath lost its fleetness.

Years were days, when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid,

Nor Pity wept a dearer!

Here's the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touch—

Oh! how that touch enchanted!