Songs

O tender songs !
Heart-heavings of the breast that longs
Its best-beloved to meet ;
You tell of love's delightful hours,
Of meetings amid jasmine bowers,
And vows, like perfume of young flowers,
As fleeting — but more sweet.

O glorious songs !
That rouse the brave 'gainst tyrant wrongs,
Resounding near and far ;
Mingled with trumpet and with drum,
Your spirit-stirring summons come,
To urge the hero from his home,
And arm him for the war.

O mournful songs !
When Sorrow's host, in gloomy throngs,
Assail the widowed heart ;
You sing in softly soothing strain,
The praise of those whom death has ta'en.
And tell that we shall meet again,
And meet no more to part.

O lovely songs —
Breathings of heaven ! to you belongs
The empire of the heart.
Enthroned in memory, still reign
O'er minds of prince and peer and swain,
With gentle power that knows not wane
Till thought and life depart.