Its pearls are more precious than those they find
In jewell'd India's sea;

For the dew-drops, love, might serve to bind
Thy heart, for ever, to me!

Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking
A spell in the young year's flowers;
The magical May-dew is weeping
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs.

Haste, or the spell will be missing,
We seek in the May-dew now;

For soon the warm sun will be kissing
The bright drops from blossom and bough:
And the charm is so tender the May-dew sheds
O'er the wild flowers' delicate dyes,

That e'en at the touch of the sunbeam, 'tis said,
The mystical influence flies.

Oh come with me, love, I'm seeking
A spell in the young year's flowers;
The magical May-dew is weeping
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

ROME.

[Music by E. J. LODER.

I STOOD in Rome's deserted streets,
And from the depths of time

A voice came forth-that seemed to speak
Of Rome when in her prime;

The spirits of the heroes were

Awakened by the strain;

The living dead around me stood,
The Cæsar lived again!

Methought a thousand torches blazed

And lit th' imperial dome,

While myriad forms their voices raised
And hailed the Eternal Rome!

I stood in Rome's deserted walls!
The vision passed away:
The grandeur of her princely halls
Was changed to cold decay.
Upon the Tiber's silent wave
I marked no galley's prow,
The very tombs that shroud thy brave,
Oh! Rome-are ruins now!
Yet mightiest in thy fall, thou still
Art grandeur's proudest home,
A thousand spells thy temples fill
Thou great-Eternal Rome.

THEY TALK OF DALES. ·

THEY talk of dales and hills in Wales,
By nature sweetly dress'd,

But there's a cot within one spot
Surpassing all the rest;

There Gwineth dwelt when Owen felt
The power of Cupid's dart,

For look ye now, 'tis he knows how
To pierce the hardest heart.

They talk of dales, &c.

The maid was proud, a splendid crowd
Of nobles sought her hand;

While Owen's wealth was heart and health,
And skill to till the land;

But Gwineth frown'd until she found

The power of Cupid's dart,

For look ye now, he best knows how

To touch the hardest heart.

They talk of dales, &c.

Report had told that Gwineth's gold
Through treachery had fail'd,
Her fickle train no more remain,
But Owen's truth prevail'd:

Thus Gwineth found tho' fortune frown'd

The power of Cupid's dart,

Who look ye now, alone knows how
To touch the hardest heart.

They talk of dales, &c.

LOVELY NIGHT.

FOUR PART SONG.

LOVELY night, oh! lovely night,
Spreading over hill and meadow,
Soft and slow thy hazy shadow,
Soon our wearied eyelids close,
And slumber in thy blest repose.]
Soon our wearied eyelids close,
And slumber in thy blest reposc.

Holy night, oh! holy night,
Placing brighter worlds before us;
Happiness thou shed'st o'er us;
Oh! that we might ne'er return,
To this dull earth to weep and mourn !
Oh that we might ne'er return,
To this dull earth to weep and mourn!

EVELEEN'S BOWER.

[T. MOORE.]

OH! weep for the hour,
When to Eveleen's bower,

The lord of the valley with false vows came;
The moon hid her light

From the heavens that night,

And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame. The clouds past soon

From the chaste cold moon,

And heaven smil'd again with her vestal flame;
But none will see the day

When the clouds shall pass away,

Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.

The white snow lay
On the narrow pathway,

Where the lord of the valley cross'd over the moor
And many a deep print

On the white snow's tint,

Showed the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door.
The next sun's ray
Soon melted away

Ev'ry trace on the path where the false lord came;
But there's a light above

Which alone can remove

That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen s fame.

SAMUEL LOVER.]

LISTEN.

[Music by S. LOVER.

How sweet 'tis to listen when some one may tell
Of the friend that we love and remember so well,
While, 'midst the soft pleasure, we wonder if thus
The friend so beloved ever thinks upon us;
While the eye with the dew of affection may glisten,
How sweet to the praise of the loved one to listen!
Sweet, sweet 'tis to listen!

How sweet 'tis to listen when soft music floats
O'er the calm lake below, in some favourite notes,
Whose intervals sweet waken slumbering thought,
And we listen-altho' not quite sure that we ought;
While the soul-melting moonlight o'er calm waters
glisten,

How sweet, but how fatal it may be to listen!

Sweet, sweet 'tis to listen!

How sweet 'tis to listen, with too willing ear,

To words that we wish for, yet tremble to hear,

To which 'No' would be cruel, and 'Yes' would be weak,

And an answer is not on the lip, but the cheek;

While in eloquent pauses the eyes brightly glisten,-Take care what you say, and take care how you listen. Take care how you listen--take care!

THE ENCHANTED LAKE.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by F. N. CROUCH.

["There is in the west of Ireland a lake called the Enchanted Lake,' whose depths are the supposed habitations of the good people.' In this lake many young men had at various times been drowned, and what made the circumstance more remarkable was that their bodies were never found.

"People at length wondered at this, and at last it was supposed that the young men were not drowned at all, but that they were taken by the fairies and kept there for sweetheartsat any rate it was believed they were endowed with perpetual youth, and the place still bears the name of the Enchanted Lake."-Irish Legends.

OH! linger not by that gloomy shore,

The treasures beneath it come back no more,
I know the beloved of thy heart is there,
That he sunk in the wave, but why despair?
They do not die who have sunk below,
"Tis but to the fairy-realm they go,
Then, Norah dear, for thy lover's sake,
Mourn not, he dwells in the fairy-lake.

Norah! thy Dennis, young and brave,
When his boat went down in the closing wave,
But under that wave, as the old wives say,
Is thel and of youth, where's no decay;
Then, Norah, think that his young bright form
Shall never decay 'mid time and storm,
And mourn no more for his own dear sake,
He dwells below-in the fairy-lake.