DEAR FANNY.
"She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool;
"She has wit, but you mustn't be caught, so;"
Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool,
And 'tis not the first time I have thought so,
Dear Fanny.
'Tis not the first time I have thought so.
"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly;
"'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season;"
Thus Love has advised me and who will deny
That Love reasons much better than Reason,
Dear Fanny?
Love reasons much better than Reason.
FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.
From life without freedom, say, who would not fly?
For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?
Hark!—hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave,
The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave.
Our country lies bleeding—haste, haste to her aid;
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade.
In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains—
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains.
On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed.
And oh, even if Freedom from this world be driven,
Despair not—at least we shall find her in heaven.
HERE'S THE BOWER.
Here's the bower she loved so much,
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she used to touch—
Oh, how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh;
Where's the hand to wreathe them?
Songs around neglected lie;
Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower, etc.
Spring may bloom, but she we loved
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness;
Time, that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.
Years were days, when here she strayed,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er formed a brighter maid,
Nor Pity wept a dearer!
Here's the bower, etc.