Bright on the dew it sparkles clear, Bright on the water’s glittering fall, And life, and joy, and health appear, Sweet Morning! at thy call. Now thy fresh breezes lightly spring From beds of fragrance, where they lay, And roving wild on dewy wing, Drive slumber far away. Fantastic dreams, in swift retreat, Now from each mind withdraw their spell; While the young loves delighted meet, On Rosa’s cheek to dwell. Speed, zephyr! kiss each opening flower, Its fragrant spirit make thine own; Then wing thy way to Rosa’s bower, Ere her light sleep is flown. There, o’er her downy pillow fly, Wake the sweet maid to life and day; Breathe on her balmy lip a sigh, And o’er her bosom play; And whisper, when her eyes unveil, That I, since morning’s earliest call, Have sigh’d her name to ev’ry gale By the lone waterfall. GERMAN SONG. “Mädchen, lernet Amor kennen.” Listen, fair maid! my song shall tell How Love may still be known full well-- His looks the traitor prove. Dost thou not see that absent smile, That fiery glance replete with guile? Oh! doubt not then--’tis Love. When varying still the sly disguise, Child of caprice, he laughs and cries, Or with complaint would move; To-day is bold, to-morrow shy, Changing each hour, he knows not why. Oh! doubt not then--’tis Love. There’s magic in his every wile, His lips, well practised to beguile, Breathe roses when they move; See! now with sudden rage he burns, Disdains, implores, commands, by turns. Oh! doubt not then--’tis Love. He comes, without the bow and dart, That spare not e’en the purest heart; His looks the traitor prove; That glance is fire, that mien is guile, Deceit is lurking in that smile-- Oh! trust him not--’tis Love! CHAULIEU. “Grotte, d’où sort ce clair ruisseau.” Thou grot, whence flows this limpid spring, Its margin fringed with moss and flowers, Still bid its voice of murmurs bring Peace to my musing hours. Sweet Fontenay! where first for me The dayspring of existence rose, Soon shall my dust return to thee, And midst my sires repose. Muses! that watch’d my childhood’s morn, Midst these wild haunts, with guardian eye-- Fair trees! that here beheld me born, Soon shall ye see me die. GARCILASO DE VEGA. “Coyed de vuestra alegre primavera.” Enjoy the sweets of life’s luxuriant May Ere envious Age is hastening on his way With snowy wreaths to crown the beauteous brow; The rose will fade when storms assail the year, And Time, who changeth not his swift career, Constant in this, will change all else below! LORENZO DE MEDICI. VIOLETS. “Non di verdi giardin ornati e colti.”