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SONG.

FOR MUSIC.

I.

A LAKE and a fairy boat

To sail in the moonlight clear,—

And merrily we would float

From the dragons that watch us here!

II.

Thy gown should be snow-white silk,
And strings of orient pearls,
Like gossamers dipp'd in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!

III.

Red rubies should deck thy hands, And diamonds should be thy dow'r— But Fairies have broke their wands, And wishing has lost its pow'r!

BALLAD.

L

SPRING it is cheery,
Winter is dreary,

Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly;

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When he's forsaken,

Wither'd and shaken,

What can an old man do but die?

II.

Love will not clip him, Maids will not lip him, Maud and Marian pass him by; Youth it is sunny,

Age has no honey,—

What can an old man do but die ?

III.

June it was jolly,

O for its folly!

A dancing leg and a laughing eye;
Youth may be silly,

Wisdom is chilly,

What can an old man do but die ?

IV.

Friends, they are scanty,
Beggars are plenty,

If he has followers, I know why;
Gold's in his clutches,

(Buying him crutches !)—

What can an old man do but die?

HYMN TO THE SUN.

I.

GIVER of glowing light!

Though but a god of other days,
The kings and sages

Of wiser ages

Still live and gladden in thy genial rays!

II.

King of the tuneful lyre,
Still poets' hymns to thee belong;

Though lips are cold

Whereon of old

Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song!

III.

Lord of the dreadful bow,

None triumph now for Python's death;

But thou dost save

From hungry grave

The life that hangs upon a summer breath.

Father of rosy day,

IV.

No more thy clouds of incense rise;

But waking flow'rs

At morning hours,

Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.

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God of the Delphic fane,

No more thou listenest to hymns sublime;

But they will leave

On winds at eve,

A solemn echo to the end of time.

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