Their twinkling rays have come to gaze To see how bright are you, love. The breeze that brings such balmy things

From all that's bright and fair, love, It sighs to sip from thy sweet lip The perfume that lies there, love.

THE CARRIER DOVE

FLY away to my native land, sweet dove,

Fly away to my native land,

And bear these lines to my lady, love,
That I've traced with a feeble hand.
She marvels much at my long delay,
A rumor of death she has heard,
Or she thinks, perhaps, that I falsely
stay,

Then fly to her bower, sweet bird.

Oh, fly to the bower, and say the chain, Of the tyrant is o'er me now,

That I never shall mount my steed again

With helmet upon my brow!

No friend to my lattice a solace brings, Except when your voice is heard,

When you beat the bars with your snowy wings,

Then fly to her bower, sweet bird.

I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove,

I shall miss thy visit at eve, But bring me a line from my lady, love, And then I shall cease to grieve. I am here in a dungeon to waste away youth,

I can fall by the conqueror's sword, But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth,

Then fly to her bower, sweet bird.

THE MALTESE BOAT SONG.

SEE, brothers see, how the night comes

on,

Slowly sinks the setting sun,

Hark, how the solemn vesper's sound Sweetly falls upon the ear;

Then haste let us work till the daylight is o'er,

And fold our nets as we row to the shore,

Our toil of labour being o'er,

How sweet the boatman's welcome

home,

Home, home, home, the boatman's welcome home

Sweet, oh sweet the boatman's we!come home.

See how the tints of daylight die,
Soon we'll hear the tender sigh;
For when the toil of labour's o'er,
We shall meet our friends on shore.

THE HAUNTED SPRING.

GAILY through the mountain glen,
The hunter's horn did ring

As the milk-white doe escaped, hir bow,

Down by the haunted spring.
Again his silver horn he wound,
Twas echo answered back,

For neither groom nor baying hound,
Was on the hunter's track.

In vain he sought the milk-white dɔe, That made him stray, and 'scap'd his bow

For, save himself, no living thing
Was by the silent, haunted spring.

The purple heath-bells blooming fair,
Their fragrance round did fling,
As the hunter lay, at close of day,
Beside the haunted spring.

A lady fair, in robe of white,
To greet the hunter came,
She kissed a cup with jewels bright
And pledged him by his name.
"Oh! lady fair," the hunter cried,
"Be thou my love, my blooming bride,
A bride that well might grace a king,
Fair lady of the haunted spring."

In the fountain fair she stooped,
And forth she drew a ring;

And that bold knight, his faitn did plight,

Beside the haunted spring.

But since that day, his chase did stray,
The hunter ne'er was seen ;
And legends tell, he now doth dwell
Within the hills so green.

But still the milk-white doe appears,
And wakes the peasant's evening fears,
While distant bugles faintly ring,
Around the lonely haunted spring.

THE SPRING TIME OF YEAR IS

COMING.

THE spring time of year is coming, coming,

Birds are singing blithe and gay,
Insects, they are humming, humming,
And all the world is May, love,
And all the world is May, love.
The glorious sun is brighter,
The balmy air is lighter;

E'en woman when we meet her,
In this sweet time is sweeter.

The spring time, &c.

The gale is gently swelling, swelling, With fragrance from the balmy grove,

And youthful swains are telling, telling, Their happy tales of love, love, Their happy tales of love, love. Spring makes the pulse with pleasure beat;

Spring makes the heart with rapture thrill,

Each maiden hastes her lover to meet, With hope and joy his heart to fill

The spring time, &c.