That moss-cover'd vessel I hail as a treasure, B For often at noon, when return'd from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing, How quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell, Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-cover'd bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ; Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though fill'd with the nectar that JUPITER sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-cover'd bucket which hangs in his well.
F. W. Thomas is better known as a novelist than as a song-writer ; but if success is any guarantee of merit, the experiment he has made in the latter department would warrant farther essays. His song ""Tis said that Absence conquers Love," was pronounced by the publisher the most popular lyric he had ever issued . Thomas has since written other songs, but their success has not as yet been so decisive . After all, the sentiment of this favorite lyric has been the true secret of its popularity. 'TIS SAID THAT ABSENCE CONQUERS LOVE. "Tis said that absence conquers love ! But, O! believe it not ; I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot. Lady, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art as dear, As fix'd in this devoted heart As when I clasp'd thee here. I plunge into the busy crowd, And smile to hear thy name; And yet, as if I thought aloud, They know me still the same. And when the wine-cup passes round, I toast some other fair,But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echo'd there. And when some other name I learn, And try to whisper love. Still will my heart to thee return , Like the returning dove. In vain! I never can forget, And would not be forgot; For I must bear the same regret, Whate'er may be my lot. E'en as the wounded bird will seek Its favorite bower to die, So, lady, I would hear thee speak, And yield my parting sigh. "Tis said that absence conquers love ! But, O, believe it not ; I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot.
THE MINSTREL RETURNED FROM THE WAR. THE minstrel return'd from the war, With spirits as buoyant as air, And thus on his tuneful guitar, He sung in the bower of his fair, " The noise of the battle is over ; The bugle no more calls to arms , A soldier no more, but a lover, I bend to the power ofthy charms, Oh! lady, fair lady, I'm thine ; I bend to the magic of beauty ; Tho' the banner and helmet are mine, Yet love calls the soldier to duty." The minstrel his suit warmly pressed ; She blush'd, sighed and hung down her head ; Till conquer'd, she fell on his breast, And thus to the happy youth said : 66 The bugle shall part us, love, never ; My bosom thy pillow shall be, Till death tears thee from me forever ; Still faithful, I'll perish with thee, Sweet lady, fair lady, I'm thine, I bend to the magic of beauty ; Tho' the banner and helmet are mine, Yet love calls the soldier to duty." But fame called the youth to the field ; His banner waved high o'er his head ; He gave his guitar for a shield, And soon he lay low with the dead ; While she, o'er her young hero bending, Received his expiring adieu ; " I die whilst my country defending, But I die to my lady love true." 66"Oh, death!" then she cried, " I am thine ; I tear off the roses of beauty ; The grave of my hero is mine, For he died true to love and to duty !"
Hill's " Leila" is a very beautiful song, but it has an unfortunate resemblance to Pinkney's " Health” —an instance, to speak in a paradox, of the strength or weakness of Mr. Hill's memory, we care not which. Were it not for this plagiarism we should speak in terms of unqualified praise of " Leila.". LEILA . When first you look upon her face You little note beside The timidness which still betrays The beautics it would hide ; But, one by one, they look out from Her blushes and her eyes : And still the last the loveliest, Like stars from twilight skies. And thoughts go sporting thro' her mind, Like children among flowers : And deeds of gentle goodness are The measure of her hours. In soul or face she bears no trace Of one from Eden driven, But like the rainbow, seems tho' born Of Earth, a part of Heaven.
So thickly do the songs of our poets crowd on us that we are almost dazzled by the continuous splendor of the Hewitt is a favorite song-writer, and his " Minstrel's sight. Our soul dissolves beneath the unceasing music Return from the War," which is generally attributed to of their lyrics. We must give up the task, although a foreign source, is certainly a fine lyric. Notwithstand- many fine songs remain yet behind. But these we C. must defer to another occasion. ing it is so extensively known we give it here.
