INCE our Country, our God-Oh, my
Sire!

Demand that thy Daughter expire;

Since thy triumph was bought by thy

VOW

Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more :
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure

As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!

I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.

(Set to Music by J. NATHAN.) ·

H! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous
tomb;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet,

(Set to Music by J. NATHAN and A. ALEXANDER.)

Y soul is dark-Oh! quickly string

M

The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.

If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again;

If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;