HE ROSE UPON THE CHEEK.

'Tis not the rose upon the cheek,
Nor eyes in langour soft that roll,
That fix the lover's timid glance,
And fire his wilder'd soul.

But 'tis the eye that swims in tears,
Diffusing soft a joy all holy;
So soothing to the heart of love,
And yet so melancholy.

The note that falters on the tongue,
Sweet as the dying voice of eve,
That calms the throbbing breast of pain,
Yet makes it love to grieve!

The hand, alternate fiery warm
And icy cold, the bursting sigh,
The look that hopes, yet seems to fear,
Pale cheek and burning eye.

These, these the magic circle twine,
The lover's thoughts and feelings seize;
'Till scarce a son of earth he seems,
But lives in what he sees.

I HEARD THE EVENING LINNET'S VOICE.

AIR--_"Gramachree."_

I heard the evening linnet's voice the woodland tufts among,
Yet sweeter were the tender woes of Isabella's song;
So soft into the ear they steal, so soft into the soul,
The deep'ning pain of love they soothe, and sorrow's pang control.

I look'd upon the pure brook that murmur'd through the glade,
And mingled in the melody that Isabella made;
Yet purer was the residence of Isabella's heart,
Above the reach of pride and guile, above the reach of art.

I look'd upon the azure of the deep unclouded sky,
Yet clearer was the blue serene of Isabella's eye;
Ne'er softer fell the rain-drop of the first relenting year,
Than falls from Isabella's eye the pity-melted tear.

All this my fancy prompted, ere a sigh of sorrow proved,
How hopelessly, yet faithfully, and tenderly I loved!
Yet though bereft of hope I love, still will I love the more,
As distance binds the exile's heart to his dear native shore.

OH! DEAR WERE THE JOYS.

AIR--_"Here 's a health to ane I love dear."_

Oh! dear were the joys that are past!
Oh! dear were the joys that are past!
Inconstant thou art, as the dew of the morn,
Or a cloud of the night on the blast!

How dear was the breath of the eve,
When bearing thy fond faithless sigh!
And the moonbeam how dear that betray'd
The love that illumined thine eye!

Thou vow'dst in my arms to be mine,
Thou swar'st by the moon's sacred light;
But dark roll'd a cloud o'er the sky,
It hid the pale queen of the nigh