Ye are come my sad heart to beguile,
In the blush of your beautiful hue;
The fairest and welcomest flowers that smile,
Within the wide arch of the blue.
From Araby odors ye bring,
And ye steal the warm tints from the sky,
And scatter your pearly bright beauties in spring,
As if nature ne'er meant you to die.
The soft crimson blush of each lip,
'Mong the green leaves and buds that abound
Seems pouting in richness, and parted to sip
The dew that is falling around.
Ye bow to the breath of the Morn,
And cover his wings with perfume;
And woo the gay bee in the earliest dawn,
To rest on your bosoms of bloom.
Ye have brought back the passion of love,
For a moment to warm my lone breast,
And pointed to undying roses above,
That smile through eternity's rest.
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[From the same]
Air—Here's a health to One I love dear.
Here's a bumper brimful for our friends,
And a frown and a fig for our foes;
And may he who stoops meanly to gain his own ends,
Never know the sweets of repose.
Though folly and ignorance join,
To blight the young buds of our fame,
Their slander a moment may injure the vine,
But its fruits will be blushing the same.