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"The little bell whose tones so clear From out the wood resounded here Its silver music soon will cease Sleep on! "Dear child, sleep on; sleep on, dear child! Without the moon shines soft and bright, A legend tell the linden-trees Sleep on! "About the heath the shepherd's son, The princess in the White House lone; While leaves are flutt'ring in the breeze Sleep on!

The lingering sun, at ev'ning, hung A glorious orb, divinely beaming On silent lake and tree; And ruddy light was o'er all streaming, Mark, man! for thee; O'er valley, lake, and tree! And now a thousand maidens stray, Or range the echoing groves; While, flutt'ring near, on pinions gay, Fan twice ten thousand loves, In that soft clime, at even time, Hope says"

Strait to her humble roof she led The partner of her spotless bed; Her young, a flutt'ring pair, arise, Their welcome sparkling in their eyes, Transported, to their sire they bound, And hang, with speechless action, round.

'O Larghan Clanbrassil, how sweet is thy sound, To my tender remembrance as Love's sacred ground; For there Marg'ret Caroline first charm'd my sight, And fill'd my young heart with a flutt'ring delight.

It is always prompt to hope that the expression of it's feelings, if any way adequate, cannot but produce the effect it wishes; and I wrote the following song, or love-elegy, or what thou wilt. Rash hope avaunt! Be still my flutt'ring heart; Nor breathe a sorrow, nor a sigh impart; Appease each bursting throb, each pang reprove; To suffer dare But do not dare to love!

Yet, O favor'd ones! to chase Victory, to grasp her flutt'ring skirt, and so, with warm, panting cheeks, kissing her, to fall, escaping evil days! How could they laugh? For me, the late passionate struggle left me shaken with sobs; and for the starting tears I saw neither moors around, nor sun, nor twinkling sea.

Brace high each nerve to dare the fight, And boldly steer to seek the foeman; One secret prayer to aid the right, And many a secret thought to woman Now spread the flutt'ring canvas wide, And dash the foaming sea aside; The cry's, "A sail! a sail!" Three cheers for victory!

"Yet the lily has drank of the show'r, And the rose 'gins to peep on the day; And yon bee seems to search for a flow'r, As busy as if it were May: In vain, thou senseless flutt'ring thing, My heart informs me, 'tis not Spring." May pois'd her roseate wings, for she had heard The mourner, as she pass'd the vales along; And, silencing her own indignant bird, She thus reprov'd poor Silvio's song.

He spends the length of longsome night without a doze; * Fire-brent and drent in tear-flood flowing infinite: Ah; cut not off the longing of my fondest heart * Now disappointed, wasted, flutt'ring for its blight." Then he folded the scroll and gave it to the old woman, together with three hundred dinars, saying, "This is for the washing of thy hands."