)
Say, what shall be our sport today?
There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air,
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay
For spirits like mine to dare!
'Tis like the returning bloom
Of those days, alas, gone by,
When I loved, each hour--I scarce knew whom--
And was blest--I scarce knew why.
Ay--those were days when life had wings,
And flew, oh, flew so wild a height
That, like the lark which sunward springs,
'Twas giddy with too much light.
And, tho' of some plumes bereft,
With that sun, too, nearly set,
I've enough of light and wing still left
For a few gay soarings yet.
BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS.
(WELSH AIR.)
Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping.
May those by death or seas removed,
The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee,
All thou hast ever prized or loved,
In dreams come smiling to thee!
There may the child, whose love lay deepest,
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest;
Still as she was--no charm forgot--
No lustre lost that life had given;
Or, if changed, but changed to what
Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven!
GO, THEN--'TIS VAIN.
(SICILIAN AIR.)
Go, then--'tis vain to hover
Thus round a hope that's dead;
At length my dream is over;
'Twas sweet--'twas false--'tis fled!
Farewell! since naught it moves thee,
Such truth as mine to see--
Some one, who far less loves thee,
Perhaps more blest will be.
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