| "In Happy
Moments" - Don José |
Alas! Those chimes -
Lazarillo |
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| In happy moments day by
day, |
Alas! those chimes so
sweetly stealing, |
| The sands of life may pass, |
Gently, dulcet to the ear, |
| In swift but tranquil tide
away |
Sound like pity's voice
revealing |
| From time's unerring glass. |
To the dying: "death
is near." |
| Yet hopes we used as bright
todeem, |
Still he slumbers, how
serenely, |
| Remembrance will recall, |
Not a sigh disturbs his
rest; |
| Whose pure and whose
unfolding beam |
Oh, that angels now might
waft him |
| Is dearer than them all. |
To the mansions of the
blest. |
| Though anxious eyes upon us
gaze, |
Yes, Yes, those chimes so
softly swelling, |
| And hearts with fondness
beat, |
As from some holy sphere, |
| AWhose smile upon each
feature plays, |
Sound like hymns of spirits
telling |
| With truthfulness replete - |
To the dying; "Peace
is here." |
| Some thoughts none other
can replace, |
Come! Abide with us in
heaven; |
| Remembrance will recall, |
Here no grief can reach thy
breast. |
| Which, in the flight of
years we trace, |
Come! Approving angels wait
thee |
| Is dearer than them all. |
In the mansions of the
blest. |
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| "Scenes that are
brightest" - Maritana |
"There is a flow'r
that bloometh" -Don Caesar |
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| Scenes that are brightest |
There is a flow'r
that bloometh |
| May charm awhile, |
When autumn leaves are
shed, |
| Hearts which are lightest |
With the silent moon it
weepeth, |
| And eyes that smile: |
The spring and summer fled; |
| Yet o'er them, above us, |
The early frost of winter, |
| Though nature beam, |
Scarce its brow hath
overcast - |
| With more to love us, |
Oh, pluck it ere it wither: |
| How sad they seem! |
'Tis the mem'ry of the
past. |
| Words cannot scatter |
It wafteth perfume o'er us, |
| The thoughts we fear, |
Which few can e'er forget, |
| For, though they flatter, |
Of the bright scenes gone
before us |
| They mock the ear. |
Of sweet, tho' sad, regret. |
| Hopes will still deceive
us, |
Let no heart brave its
power, |
| With tearful cost, |
By guilty thoughts
o'ercast, |
| And while they leave us, |
For then a poison'd flower, |
| The heart is lost. |
Is the mem'ry of the past. |
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'Tis the Harp in the
air! - Maritana |
"Sainted
Mother" - Maritana & Lazarillo |
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|
| It was a night of princely
mien |
Sainted Mother, guide his
footsteps, |
| I hear it again: 'tis the
harp in the air! |
Guide them at a moment
sure; |
| It hangs on the walls of
the old Moorish halls, |
Let the wicked heart then
perish, |
| Tho' none know its
minstrel, or how it came there. |
And the good remain secure, |
| List pilgrim, list!
'Tis the harp in the air! |
Sainted Mother, oh,
befriend him, |
|
And thy gentlest pity lend
him! |
