Nothing she needs, Worn by my knees Winters may freeze, Sombre and stern; Myrtle and rue, Sleeping at ease Sorrowful trees. YE MARINERS OF SPAIN. JOHN G. LOCKHART.] [Music by MRS. ROBERT ARKWRIGHT. YE mariners of Spain Bend strongly on your oars, And bring my love again, Ye galleys fairly built Like castles on the sea, Oh, great will be your guilt If ye bring him not to me! The wind is blowing strong, For he lies among the Moors! Lift up, lift up your sail For he lies among the Moors! I see the blue hills over, Your coming I'll await, And thank you for my lover. To Mary I will pray While ye bend upon your oars, "Twill be a blessed day If ye fetch him from the Moors. ROW, GALLANT COMRADES, ROW. [Tune-" Row well, ye mariners." 16th century.] Row, gallant comrades, row, The sun is near his western bed; Unuumber'd gems of gorgeous red; With all your might, ye mariners. Row, gallant comrades, row, The log is crackling on the hearth, Will greet us with the sound of mirth. And drooping spirits we shall cheer: Passes away, Doth not the moon's soft ray Saith my philosophy; Deep in the soul they lie, Like childhood's simple rhymes Distant and near. Wrecks of the past, Float on our memory, They leave behind Some fairy legacy Stored in the mind. AND HAVE I LOST THEE? LADY DUFFERIN.] AND have I lost thee? [Music by LADY DUFFERIN. Is thy love a dream of other days? I miss thee from the lonely hearth- Thy voice with its melodious mirth, And have-have I lost thee? And have I lost thee? Must I learn to live through lonely years? All coldly from my tears? Thy silent home !-none greet me there, Our ancient haunts no longer wear Familiar looks to me! Restore, thou silent tomb, restore The young hopes thou hast slain ! Give back the lov'd and lost once more! Give me mine own again! And have I lost thee? MAYST THOU BE HAPPY. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by J. P. KNIGHT, Though I have proffered my friendship in vain, As one who'd have bow'd to thy wish or thy will,Who sought not thy wealth, but thy hand and thy heart; Mayst thou be happy, although we must part. TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. T. MOORE.] TAKE back the virgin page, White and unwritten still; [Air-" Dermot." Some hand more calm and sage Thoughts come as pure as light, Pure as even you require; Yet let me keep the book; To let wild passions write Haply, when from those eyes |