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The fruitless showers of worldly woe

Fall dark to earth and never rise ;
While tears that from repentance flow,
In bright exhalement reach the skies.

Go, let me weep.
Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew

More idly than the summer's wind,
And while they pass'd, a fragrance threw,

But left no trace of sweets behind.
The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves

Is cold, is faint to those that swell
The heart, where pure repentance grieves
O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well.

Leave me to sigh.

THE YOUNG ROSE. Thomas MOORE.]

[Irish Melody. The young rose which I gave thee, so dewy and bright, Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft by the moonlight o'er her blushes hath hung, And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay he sung. Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from thee : For while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.

I'LL SPEAK OF THEE.

[Music by M. B. Hawes.]
I'll speak of thee, I'll love thee too,
Fondly and with affection true;
Pure as yon sky's celestial blue,

My love shall be, my love shall be.

In sunshine, and though clouds shall lower
In virth and sorrow's saddening hour,
While memory lives, and life has power,
I'll speak of thee, I'll speak of thee.

I'll speak, &c.
Through youth's gay scene, in riper age,
In later life's concluding stage,
Dying, shall thoughts of thee engage

My memory, my memory.
Remember, then, remember me,
Remember all I've said to thee;
And my responsive pledge shall be-
I'll speak of thee, I'll speak of thee.

I'll speak, &c.

NEAR THEE, STILL NEAR THEE. Mrs. HEMANS.]

[Music by Joun LODGE, NEAR thee, still near thee ! o'er thy path-way gliding,

Unseen I pass thee with the wind's low sigh ;
Life's veil enfolds thee still, our eyes dividing,
Yet viewless love floats round thee silently,

Not mid the festal throng,
In halls of mirth and song ;
But when thy thoughts are deepest,
When holy tears thou weepest,

Know then that love is nigh.
When the night's whisper o'er thy harpstrings creeping,

Or the sea-music on the sounding shore,
Or breezy anthens through the forest sweeping,
Shall move thy trembling spirit to adore;

When every thought and prayer
We loved to breathe and share,
On thy full heart returning,
Shall wake its voiceless yearning ;

Then feel me near once more

Near thee, still near thee ! trust thy soul's deep dream

ing!
Oh! love is not an earthly thing to die !
Even when I soar where fiery stars are beaming,
Thine image wanders with me through the sky.

The fields of air are free ;
Yet lonely, wanting thee;
But when thy chains are falling,
When heaven its own is calling,

Know then thy guide is nigh!

OLD FAMILIAR FRIENDS. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by JOAN BARNETT. Oh! for those old familiar friends!

Around my heart they cling-,
In mem'ry still each loved voice blends

Like echoes of the spring!
Oh! for those hours long past and gone,

Ere age bid joy depart,
Ere care had cast a gloom upon

The sunshine of the heart !

Oh ! for that old fainiliar band,

That bright-eyed, laughing throng,
With whom I sported, hand in hand,

Some village path along!
Where now are all those careless boys

Who met in days of yore?
Gone-with those years that steal the joys

That time can ne'er restore !

Oh ! for those old familiar hearts !

Age has no friends like youth-
Each warm impassioned gush departs

With the dark sbades of truth;

But hearts that loved in earlier years,

Before the cold world yet
Had changed youth's sunshine into tears,

May love, and ne'er forget.

THE VACANT CHAIR. T. HAYNES Bayly.]

[Music by T. II. Larly, The name, thy worth, my buried love,

To others shall be told,
Inscribed upon a marble tomb

In characters of gold;
But in thy chamber I will mourn,

I've dear memorials there ;-
I'll look upon the silent lúte,

Aud yonder vacant chair.

How precious to the widow'd heart

Such simple records prove !
In fond perfection they restore

Lost words and looks of love.
They give us tears, and take from pain

The anguish of despair-
I'll look upon the silent lute,

And yonder vacant chair.

REMEMBER, I HAVE ONLY THEE. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by E. L. HIME. THE swallow has another home

To fly to when the summer dies,
The chamois have the hills to roam,

The lark the bright and sunny skies ;
The morning mists, they kiss the flowers,

The rivers flow to meet the sea,
But, in this lonely world of ours,

Remember, I have only thee.

The waves, they love the gentle breeze

That murmurs o'er the ocean's breast,
The song-bird seeks the forest trees

Where sleeps his mate within her nest;
And I would all the world forego

To share thy fate, whate'er it be;
Then, though it be for weal or woe,

Remember, I have only thee,

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HOW SAD IT IS TO SAY FAREWELL.
S. FEARON.]

[Music by BELLINI,
FONDEST, dearest, fare thee well!
The beart feels more than tongue may teil,
The glist'ning tear-drop in the eye
Must say what trembling lips deny.
Affection fond and love most true
"Yill hallow this our last adieu ;
Oh, none but those who love can tell
How sad it is to say farewell !
Fondest, dearest, fare thee well !
Sweet vows of truth again we'll tell.
This mournful parting can but prove
How fondly two young hearts may love.
On rapid wing the moments fly--
One last embrace, and then good-by ;
Oh, none but those who love can tell
How sad it is to say farewell,

LIKE A MAN. W. H. BELLAMY.]

[Music by J. L. HATTON, In the year-never mind~'tis a long time ago:

Without friend, or protector, or pelf ;
I was left by my dad, a mere slip of a lad,

To shift as I could for myself:

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