ife.

The foregoing verses were written more than two years previously to
his marriage; and to show how averse his lordship was from touching in
the most distant manner upon the _theme_ which might be deemed to have
a personal allusion, he requested me the morning before he last left
London, either to suppress the verses entirely or to be careful in
putting the date when they were originally written.

At the close of his lordship's injunction, Mr. Leigh Hunt was
announced, to whom I was for the first time introduced, and at his
request I sang "O Marianne," and this melody, both of which he was
pleased to eulogize; but his lordship again observed, "Notwithstanding
my own partiality to the air, and the encomiums of an excellent judge,
yet I must adhere to my former injunction."

Observing his lordship's anxiety, and fully appreciating the noble
feeling by which that anxiety was augmented, I acquiesced, in
signifying my willingness to withhold the melody altogether from the
public rather than submit him to any uneasiness. "No, Nathan,"
ejaculated his lordship, "I am too great an admirer of your music to
suffer a single _phrase_ of it to be lost; I insist that you publish
the melody, but by attaching to it the date it will answer every
purpose, and it will prevent my lying under greater obligations than
are absolutely necessary for the _liberal encomiums_ of my _friends_."

IN THE VALLEY OF WATERS.

In the valley of waters we wept o'er the day
When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey,
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away.

The song they demanded in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill;
They call'd for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hand shall teach them one tone of their skill.

All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be.
Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free,
For our God and our glory--and Sion!--Oh thee.

THEY SAY THAT HOPE IS HAPPINESS.

"_Felix qui potuit ferum cognoscere causas_."--Virgil.

They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;
And all that mem'ry loves the most
Was once our only hope to be,
And all that Hope ador'd and lost
Hath melted into