Dream!--Who dreams Of the God that governs a thousand streams? Ah, who is this Spirit fine? 'T is WINE, boys, 't is WINE! God Bacchus, a friend of mine. O better is he Than grape or tree, And the best of all good company. [Decoration] _SHE WAS NOT FAIR NOR FULL OF GRACE._ She was not fair, nor full of grace, Nor crowned with thought or aught beside; No wealth had she, of mind or face, To win our love, or raise our pride: No lover's thought her cheek did touch; No poet's dream was 'round her thrown; And yet we miss her--ah, too much, Now--she hath flown! We miss her when the morning calls, As one that mingled in our mirth; We miss her when the evening falls,-- A trifle wanted on the earth! Some fancy small or subtle thought Is checked ere to its blossom grown; Some chain is broken that we wrought, Now--she hath flown! No solid good, nor hope defined, Is marred now she hath sunk in night; And yet the strong immortal Mind Is stopped in its triumphant flight! Stern friend, what power is in a tear, What strength in one poor thought alone, When all we know is--"She was here," And--"She hath flown!" [Decoration] _THE SEA-KING._ SET TO MUSIC BY THE CHEVALIER NEUKOMM. Come sing, Come sing, of the great Sea-King, And the fame that now hangs o'er him, Who once did sweep o'er the vanquish'd deep, And drove the world before him! His deck was a throne, on the ocean lone, And the sea was his park of pleasure, Where he scattered in fear the human deer, And rested,--when he had leisure! Come,--shout and sing Of the great Sea-King, And ride in the track he rode in! He sits at the head Of the mighty dead, On the red right hand of Odin! He sprang, from birth, like a God on earth, And soared on his victor pinions, And he traversed the sea, as the eagles flee, When they gaze on their blue dominions. His whole earth life was a conquering strife, And he lived till his beard grew hoary, And he died at last, by his blood-red mast, And now--he is lost in glory! So,--shout and sing, &c. [Decoration] _A SERENADE._ SET TO MUSIC BY THE CHEVALIER NEUKOMM. Awake!--The starry midnight Hour Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight: In its own sweetness sleeps the flower; And the doves lie hushed in deep delight! Awake! Awake! Look forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake! Awake!--Soft dews will soon arise From daisied mead, and thorny brake; Then, Sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes, And like the tender morning break! Awake! Awake! Dawn forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake!