And with the lark, in notes of glee,
With spirit pure and ever free
To usher in the day.
Ah, yes! I love my mountain home,
And o'er its hills I love to roam
To seek the flow'rets fair;
The daisy and the evergreen
Beside the primrose oft are seen
To yield their fragrance there.
There are some spirits fitly strung,
To echo back the tones of mine;
And those few, cherished souls among,
I dare, dear friend, to number thine.
Angels attend thee; may their wings
Fan every shadow from thy brow;
For only bright and loving things
Should wait on one so good as thou.
And when my prayers are pure and strong,
As they in my best hours can be,
Amid my loved and cherished throng,
I then will count, and pray for thee.
Forget me Not.
There is a flower, a lovely flower,
Tinged deep with Faith's unchanging hue, Pure as the ether in its hour
Of loveliest and serenest blue.
The streamlet's gentle side it seeks,
The silent fount, the shaded grot,
And sweetly to the heart it speaks,
Forget me not, forget me not!
Mild as the azure of thine eyes,
Soft as the halo-beam above,
In tender whispers still it sighs,
Forget me not, my life, my love!
There where thy lost steps turned away,
Wet eyes shall watch the sacred spot,
And this sweet flower be heard to say,
Forget! ah, no! forget me not.
Yet deep its azure leaves within,
Is seen the blighting hue of care!
And what that secret grief hath been,
The drooping stem may well declare.
The dew-drops on its leaves are tears,
That ask "Am I so soon forgot?"
Repeating still amidst their fears,
My life, my love! forget me not!
From the German, by F. HALLECK.
I would not from the wise require
The lumber of their learned lore;
Nor would I from the rich desire
A single counter of their store.
For I have ease, and I have health,
And I have spirits, light as air;
And more than wisdom, more than wealth, A merry heart that laughs at care.
Like other mortals of my kind,
I've struggled for dame Fortune's favor;
And sometimes have been half inclined
To rate her for her ill behavior.
But life was short, I thought it folly
To lose its moments in despair;
So slipp'd aside from melancholy,
With merry heart, that laughed at care.
And once, 't is true, two 'witching eyes
Surprised me in a luckless season;
Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs,
And quite subdued my better reason. Yet 't was but love could make me grieve, And love, you know 's a reason fair; And much improved, as I believe,
The merry heart that laughed at care.
So now from idle wishes clear,
I make the good I may not find:
Adown the stream I gently steer,
And shift my sail with every wind.
And half by nature, half by reason,
Can still with pliant heart prepare,
The mind, attuned to every season,
The merry heart, that laughs at care.
Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream,
Ye social feelings of the mind;
Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam,
And let the rest good humor find.
Yes, -let me hail and welcome give
To every joy my lot may share;
And pleased and pleasing let me live
With merry heart, that laughs at care.
When Love and Truth together played,
So cheerful was the shepherd's song!
How happy, too, the rural maid!
How light the minutes wing'd along!
But Love has left the sighing vale,
And Truth no longer tells her tale.
Sly stealing, see, from scene to scene,
The watchful Jealousy appear;
And pale Distrust with troubled mien,
The rolling eye, and list'ning ear!
For Love has left the sighing vale,
And Truth no longer tells her tale.
Ah! shall we see no more the hour
That wafted rapture on its wing!
With murmurs shall the riv'let pour,
That prattled from its crystal spring?
Yes, yes, while Love forsakes the vale,
And Truth no longer tells her tale.
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