[Music by J. MAZZINGHI.
YE shepherds, tell me have you seen
My Flora pass this way,
In shape and feature beauty's queen,
In pastoral array ?
A wreath around her head she wore,
Carnation, lily, rose,
And in her hand a crook she bore,
And sweets her breath compose.
The beauteous wreath that decks her head
Forms her description true;
Hands lily white, lips crimson red,
And cheeks of rosy hue.
O YE voices round my own hearth singing!
As the winds of May to memory sweet,
Might I yet return, a worn heart bringing,
Would those vernal tones the wanderer greet,
Once again?
Never, never! Spring hath smiled and parted
Oft since then your fond farewell was said;
O'er the green turf of the gentle-hearted
Summer's hand the rose-leaves may have shed,
Oft again!
Or if still around my heart ye linger,
Yes, sweet voices! there must change have come, Years have quelled the free soul of the singer, Vernal tones shall greet the wanderer home, Ne'er again.
MY LOVED HOME I SHALL NE'ER
[Music by W. V. WALLACE.
My loved home I shall ne'er see more-
My kinsmen I no more shall greet!
Defenceless on a distant shore,
From ruthless foes my death I meet.
Though ev'ry transient hope hath fled,
Yet this true heart will ne'er repine;
No cause have I my fate to dread,
Since honour's star doth o'er me shine.
Bereft of her whom I adored,
No charms would life now have for me,
The world could nought but woe afford,
All love is o'er, joy's ceased to be.
Then why should I my fate bewail,
Or at my joyless doom repine;
No grief shall this true heart assail,
While honour's star doth o'er me shine.
THE NEVA BOATMAN'S SONG.
[New version. Russian tune.]
HASTE, my boys, haste, my boys,
Ply the oar and row away,
The wind's noise, the wind's noise,
Tells there'll be a storm to-day.
Push along the gallant bark,
See the sky has become dark,
Listen to the thunder's roar,
Mountain waves now lash the shore.
Come, my boys-come, my boys,
Ply the oar and row away,
Winds are toys-winds are toys,
With which Neva boatmen play.
And later, when we lov'd to dance
Upon the village green,
I mind me how the merry maidens
Chose me for their queen.
A rosy wreath they wove for me,
How gaily was it worn!
I lov'd the garland made for me,
From out the old pink thorn.
Then tell me not 'tis old and frail,
I could not spare it now,
I prize each tender leaf and flower,
I know each knotted bough;
For happy memories of the past
Its every leaf adorn.
Take all the fairest trees away,
But spare the old pink thorn.
[Music by C. BLAMPUIN.
OH, would I were a bird,
That I might fly to thee,
And breathe a loving word,
To one so dear to me.
How happy would I be,
Carolling all the day-
If only blest with thee,
Beguiling time away.
Then life would be a pleasure,
My mind would be at rest,
If with my only treasure,
This heart was ever blest.
Oh, would I were a bird,
That I might fly to thee,
And breathe a loving word,
To one so dear to me.
Oh, would that I could fly
This bright and glorious day,
To give a sigh for sigh,
To thee so far away.
My heart would beat with joy,
To see thee once again,
Thy sorrows to allay,
For cherish'd is thy name.
And when the moon is beaming
O'er distant grove and tree,
And joyous stars are gleaming,
Then would I were with thee.
Oh, would I were a bird,
That I might fly to thee,
And breathe a loving word,
To one so dear to me.
I ONLY ASK A HOME WITH THEE. [Music by LANGTON WILLIAMS.
I ONLY ask a home with thee,
Though humble it may prove;
No matter where the dwelling be,
If hallow'd 'tis by love.
For that will shed its magic light
Around the chosen spot,
And e'en a palace fair and bright
Will make the lowly cot.
And if a passing shade of care
One moment dim our way;
Just as a cloud will oft appear,
E'en on the brightest day;
Believe me then, the purest gold
Will only worthless prove,
Compared to gentle words, when told
By those we dearly love.
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