THE FAIRIES' SONG.

MERRY, merry elves we be,

O'er the bright and bounding sea,

Dancing merrily.

We glide to the shore in our fairy bark,

When the moon looks out on high,

And the waves twinkle round us in many a spark, Like radiant melody.

We dance to the sound of the calm cold billow, Ere it sleeps on the sand, ere it dies on its pillow.

Merry, merry elves we be,

Under the greenwood tree,

Dancing merrily.

And the moon through yon white and fleecy cloud,
Pale, silent, and softly creeps,

Like a spectre clad in a silvery shroud,
While nature quietly sleeps.

We merrily trip it with twinkling feet,

As the leaves rustle o'er us in melody sweet.

Away, away,

At break of day,

For night is the fairies' holiday.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.*

FARE thee well! the dream is o'er ;

Loved one fare thee well!
Tears and vows deceive no more,
When broken every spell.

Stars that fade in morning light,
Suns that set shall rise;

But no dawn illumes the night,
When Hope's last glimmer dies!

Oh! lay me where the willows weep,
On some dreary shore;
Calm shall be that colder sleep,

Life's dark vision o'er.

Though earthly joys for ever fled,

Yet mercy whispers nigh,
Immortal life beyond the dead,

And bliss beyond the sky.

* These stanzas have been set to a Spanish air by T. Ashworth. D'Almaine & Co., Soho Square.

But yon mountain is dark, though the sunbeams are bright, And yon fountain is cold, though 'tis quivering with light.

So one bosom with sadness

Feels dark and opprest,

While around, mirth and gladness

Illumine each breast.

And the smiles that to others with rapture may glow,

Leave that bosom alone to its darkness and woc.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

I've seen the smile on woman's cheek,

The tear in woman's eye;

But as I gazed, that smile grew dim,
That liquid fount was dry.

Oh, I have heard her say she loved,
And kiss'd the plighted token:
But I have lived to feel how false
What woman's lip hath spoken!

Yes, lighter than the lightest breath
That skims the morning air

Is woman's vow, that binds the heart
In witchery or despair!

How she hath wrung this bleeding breast,

I may not, dare not tell!

I only know that I have loved

Too fondly, and too well.

STANZAS.

SAY, what is Love? a bubble
On life's dull current fleeting,
A thousand hues and visions bright
On its frail surface meeting;

It breaks, and where that vision fair?
Ocean's dark depth may answer, Where?