110 
Yellow Rose. — * Smile again .’ 
The smiles of those who are dear to us incite to exertion, quite as 
surely as the absence of them depresses and discourages. 
I touch my wayward lute no more, 
Unless thou’lt smile again, love! 
For feebler far than all before 
Would be the heartless strain, love! 
Whene’er to catch wild Fancy’s ray, 
I ever truly try, love, 
’Tis but to mark Affection’s play, 
In thy approving eye, love! 
The cherished hope then wither not, 
Which tunes at times my lute, love; 
But yield the boon so fondly sought, 
Or, ah, it must be mute, love! 
