III.

WHILE I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.

I.

WHILE I upon thy bosom lean,

And

gaze into thine eyes,

I turn from sorrows that have been,

To those which yet may rise:

I think on thy untiring truth,
And faster flow my tears;

I mark thy waning rose of youth,
And cannot hide my fears.

II.

Oh! light have been the pangs we've proved,

To what may yet remain;

We've suffered much-but fondly loved;

Parted-but met again!

Still, something speaks a wilder doom
From which we ne'er may flee;
Well-dearest-let the thunder come,

So that it spares me thee!

III.

Even while I clasp thee to my soul,

And feel thou 'rt only mine,

The bodings I can not controul

My lip breathes out on thine:
Thy drooping lid-and pallid brow-
The frequent gathering tear,-
With voiceless eloquence, avow

That I have much to fear.

IV.

And when to this I add the thought

Of parting soon again,

The future, as the past, seems fraught

With undivided pain ;—

But no! I will not dwell upon

Such dreams while blest with thee;

This hour is bright and all our own,
Whate'er the next may be!

IV.

A SERENADE.

WELSH MELODY-AIR, THE DAWN OF DAY.'

I.

Он, burst the bonds of slumber,

Sweet Ellen, awake, arise!

Night's shades are furled

From the breathing world,

And 'tis morn in the Eastern skies:

Flowers, fair and without number,

Unfold their gorgeous dyes;

Day speeds apace

On his glorious race,

Then open thy star-like eyes;

SWEET ELLEN, AWAKE, ARISE!

II.

Rich milk-white clouds are sailing

Like ships upon stormless seas;

The heavens grow bright

With liquid light,

And fragrance loads the breeze.

Morn's melodies prevailing,

Sweep through the trembling trees,

The lark's in the sky,

And the linnet on high,

And wilt thou be less blithe than these?

SWEET ELLEN, AWAKE, ARISE!

III.

The dew-bent rose is baring

Its breast to the golden sun;

New splendours shower

On temple and tower,

And the stir of day's begun.

We'll do a deed of daring