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To the ENTHUSIAST's heart, thy tone
When last 'twas wafted on his ear.
The Exile listens to the song
The WARRIOR from the strife retired,
Enchantress sweet of smiles and tears,
'Tis thine to bid sad hearts be gay, Yet chase the smiles of mirth away ;Joy's sparkling eye in tears to steep, Yet bid the mourner cease to weep !
To gloom or gladness thou canst suit
TIS EVE ON THE OCEAN.
THE ASH GROVE.'
'Tis eve on the ocean,
The breeze is in motion,
The blue sky is o'er us,
The world is before us,
and be gay!
For those who unkindly Could launch, and then leave us on life’s troubled sea;
Who so heartlessly scanted
The little we wanted,
But we've 'scaped from their trammels,—the word is
On ! On we are speeding,
While, swiftly receding,
Now that gem of earth's treasures,
That scene of past pleasures, The home of our childhood, fades fast from our view.
Yet still thy heart 's swelling,
My turtle-eyed Ellen!
Dark ills may betide us,
But Fate cannot guide us
Now twilight comes round us,
And dimness hath bound us, And the light-house looks forth from its surf-beaten height,
Like Hope's gentle beamings,
Through Sorrow's deep dreamings, Or the lode-star of Memory to hours of delight.
Though, self-exiled, we sever
From England for ever,
And we 'll build us a bower
Where stern Pride hath no power, And the rod of Oppression our bliss may not mar. We have broken our chain,—and the word is ' Then Ellen, my sweet one, look up and be gay!