You'll always find a welcome here. In anger or in grief,
The solace of a faithful friend Oft gives the soul relief;
And though by darkest care oppress'd, Think he may point the way To light beyond, unseen by thee, Where shines Hope's brightest ray. In joy thou'lt doubly welcome be, For then our mirth we'll blend; But in misfortune's darkest hour I still will be thy friend. And by the lasting ties that time Has bound around each heart, We will not yield our friendship up Till life itself depart.
Thy hand I'll warmly press once more, And thou wilt be sincere,
And never pass my friendly door, But find a welcome here.
I LOVE, I LOVE THE NIGHT.
[Music by E. RANSFORD.
I love, I love the night; Night is the time for me, When every heart is light, And every spirit free; Let the sleeper slumber, Time will have its flight, Therefore 'tis I number The joys, the joys of night. I love, &c.
I love, I love the night; Night is the time to love. When cloudless skies are bright In starry realms above.
When dewdrops gem the flower, And deck the trysting tree, Love and a moonlight bower Are joys, are joys for me. I love, &c.
love, I love the night;
Night is the time to drink, When love's fond joys invite To wreathe the wine-cup's brink; The banquet and the bower, By day a lonely sight; But at the midnight hour What joys they both invite. I love, &c.
We have lived and loved together Through many changing years, We have shared each other's gladness, And wept each other's tears.
I have never known a sorrow
That was long unsoothed by thee! For thy smiles can make a summer Where darkness else would be.
Like the leaves that fall around us, In autumn's fading hours,
Are the traitor's smiles, that darken When the cloud of sorrow lowers; And though many such we've known, love, Too prone, alas! to range,
We both can speak of one, love,
Which time can never change.
And let us hope the future, As the past has been, will be, I will share with thee my sorrows, And thou thy joys with me.
We have lived and loved, &c.
THE BANKS OF THE BLUE MOSELLE.
When the glowworm gilds the elfin bower That clings round the ruin'd shrine, Where first we met, where first we loved, And I confess'd me thine; 'Tis there I'll fly to meet thee still, At sound of vesper bell;
In the starry light of a summer's night, On the banks of the blue Moselle.
If the cares of life should shade thy brow, Yes, yes, in our native bowers, My lute and harp might best accord, To tell of happier hours;
"Tis there I'd soothe thy grief to rest, Each sigh of sorrow quell:
In the starry light of a summer's night, On the banks of the blue Moselle.
The moonbeams cast a holy light Upon the sailor's grave,
As in the mid-watch of the night They cast him to the wave; They sadly paced the silent deck, And slowly breathed the prayer Ere to the deep they cast the wreck Of him once gayest there.
While on the deck his corse remain'd, The funeral dirge they sung,
The flag-whose honour he ne'er stained, Upon his corse they flung;
They thought of those he'd left behind On the dim and far off shore,
And of her who pray'd that ev'ry wind The lost one would restore.
At length the funeral prayer was read, I saw his comrades weep,
As they lower'd him down to his ocean bed In the lone and trackless deep; One ripple stirr'd the waveless sea, One splash-and all was o'er;
And where the sailor's grave may be,- There's none can mark it more.
If a secret you'd keep there is one I could tell,
Though I think, from my eyes, you might guess it as well,
But as it might ruffle another's repose,
Like a thorn let it be—that is, under the rose.
As Love, in the garden of Venus, one day Was sporting where he was forbidden to play, He fear'd that some sylph might his mischief disclose, So he slyly concealed himself-under a rose.
Where the likeness is found to thy breath and thy lips, Where honey the sweetest the summer bee sips, Where Love, timid Love, found the safest repose, There our secret we'll keep, dearest-under the rose. The maid of the east a fresh garland may wreathe, To tell of the passion she dares not to breathe; Thus, in many bright flowers she her flame may disclose, But in one she finds secresy-under the rose.
There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming:
We may not live to see the day, But earth shall glisten in the ray Of the good time coming. Cannon-balls may aid the truth, But thought's a weapon stronger; We'll win our battle by its aid ;- Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming:
The pen shall supersede the sword, And Right, not Might, shall be the lord, In the good time coming.
Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind, And be acknowledged stronger: The proper impulse has been given:- Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: And a poor man's family Shall not be his misery
In the good time coming.
Every child shall be a help
To make his right arm stronger, The happier he, the more he has- Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Little children shall not toil Under or above the soil,
In the good time coming.
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