THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 From the library of 
 William W. R. Woodbury 
 Presented by his famil; 
 1934 
 
 621.06 
 D62o 
 
DIPEOSE'S 
 
 NATIONAL SONG BOOK, 
 
 COIfTAINING- THE MOST 
 
 POPULAR SONGS OP THE DAY, 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 i 
 
 Clown.—" What hast here ? Ballads ? 
 
 ^ MOPSA.— Pray now buy some. I love a ballad in 
 print, a life, for then we are sure they are true."— 
 Shazspeaee, 
 
 Winter's Tale, Act IV. Scene III 
 
 T[f! L'^---'^ f?^ THE' 
 NOV? 1934 
 LONiMV '~ : "^Y OF ILLINC^ 
 
 MILNER AND COMPANY, 
 PATERNOSTER ROW, 
 
E>'TERED AT STATIONERS' HALL. 
 
TO J. SIMS REEVES, Esq. 
 WHOSE MUSICIAN-LIKE ATTAINMENTS, 
 
 iND PUEITT OP VOICE AND STTIB STAMP HIM AS 
 IHE HOST EMINEirl OF ENOUSH LTBIC lEKOBS, 
 
 f lis Mnmt, 
 
 WHICH EMBEACES SEVEEAL OE THE MOST 
 
 FOPULAU SONGS IN HIS EEPERTOIEE, 
 
 IS, WITH HIS KIND PEEMISSION, 
 DEDICATED BT 
 
 THE PUBLISHEES. 
 
 •879852 
 
PBEFAOE. 
 
 This is the Eighth of a series of Song Books I hare 
 had the honour of presenting to the Public. 
 
 The great success of the Seven preceding volumes 
 was the result of the superior manner in which they 
 were got up. 
 
 Before I issued my first volume, publishers of Song 
 Books — to judge from their productions — imagined 
 that Songs, and Ballads, which Fletcher ofSaltoun 
 said, formed the mind of a nation, were not of suffici- 
 ent importance to require taste and judgment in their 
 selection and production. 
 
 In taking to myself the merit of setting the first ex- 
 ample of a better and more elegant style of work, I 
 simply state a fact, and though it would seem invidi- 
 ous to state how that example has been followed, still 
 I may be pardoned the pride and satisfaction I feel, 
 that an attempt, first made by myself, has been deem- 
 ed, as regards this class of books, worthy of general 
 imitation. 
 
vi 
 
 PEEPACE. 
 
 The success of the Seven preceding volumes amply 
 testifies that the Public were ready to appreciate and 
 encourage my endeavour to produce, in a superior 
 form, the popular Songs and Ballads of England. 
 
 ThepresentVolume—entitledDiPEOSE's National 
 Song- Book — has had the same care and diligence ex- 
 pended on it, as the preceding volumes, and, like them, 
 contains nothing verging on vulgarity, nor indelicacy. 
 
 The Music-Publishers' names being attached to each 
 Song, the book constitutes a complete Guide to the 
 
 FU£CHASEBS of MUSIO* 
 
 JOHN DIPROSE. 
 
 CAUTION. 
 
 As the words of all the Copyright Songs in this Col- 
 lection are inserted with express permission from the 
 respective Proprietors, publishers of Song Books and 
 others are hereby cautioned from printing or pirating 
 the same; as, in the event of their so doing, legal pro- 
 ceedings will be immediately taken against them. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 THE DEATH OF NELSON. 
 Written by Arnold. — Composed by Brabam. 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Eeeves. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co*s. 
 
 EECITATIVE, 
 
 O'eb Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd, 
 Britannia mourns her hero now at rest. 
 But those bright laurels ne'er shall fade with years, 
 Whose leaves are water' d by a Nation's tears. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's bay, 
 We saw the Frenchmen lay, 
 
 Each heart was bounding then j 
 We scorned the foreign yoke — 
 Our ships were British oak, 
 
 And hearts of oak our men. 
 Our Nelson mark'd them on the wave, 
 Three cheers our gallant seamen gave, 
 
 Nor thought of home or beauty j 
 Along the line this signal ran — 
 " England expects that every man 
 
 This day will do his duty !" 
 
8 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 And now the cannons roar 
 Along the affrighted shore — 
 
 Our Nelson led the way. 
 His ship the Yict'ry named : 
 Long be that vict'ry famed ! 
 
 For Tict*ry crown' d the day ! 
 But dearly was that conquest bought, 
 Too well the gallant hero fought 
 
 For England, home, and beauty ; 
 He cried, as midst the fire he ran — • 
 " England expects that every man 
 
 This day will do his duty V* 
 
 At last the fatal wound, 
 Which spread dismay around, 
 
 The hero's breast received j 
 ** Heaven fights on our side, 
 The day's our own," he cried ; 
 
 Now long enough I've lived ! 
 In honour's cause my life was past — 
 In honour's cause I fall at last. 
 
 For England, home, and beauty ! 
 Thus ending life as he began, 
 England confess' d that every man 
 
 That day had done his duty. 
 
 OUR COUNTRY, OUR CHURCH, AND 
 OUR QUEEN. 
 
 Written by J. B. Walker.-— Composed by E. J. Loder. 
 Music at T. E. Purday's, 
 
 I HATE loved thee, dear England, blest land of 
 the free, [thro' my veins. 
 
 When the fire- blood of youth swiftly coursed 
 Arid have kindled with fervent emotion to see 
 
 Thy records of conquest o'er ocean and plains j 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 9 
 
 I have loved thee in manhood, and dared to defend 
 In my full tide of vigour thy glory and fame ; 
 
 And yet, till that tide shall have ehb'd to its end, 
 I will love thee, and honour thy time-hallowed 
 name! 
 
 And yet, &c. 
 
 I have loved thee, 'mid peace of thy valleys and 
 hills ; 
 
 I have loved thee, 'mid din of thy cities and 
 halls ; 
 
 I have smil'd o'er thy blessings, have sigh'd o'er 
 thy ills. 
 
 And I still cherish all that thy glory recalls. 
 I have warm'd with the glow that a Briton must 
 feel 
 
 When he scans thy vast charities, countless and 
 grand ! 
 
 And have felt how the secret they proudly reveal 
 Of the source of thy greatness, my dear native 
 land ! 
 
 I've felt how, &c. 
 
 I have loved thee, as roaming in neighbouring 
 climes, 
 
 I have there learned the worth of thy freedom 
 and laws ; 
 
 And there loved more dearly thy Church as she 
 shines 
 
 Out in beautiful contrast to bigotry's cause! 
 And now, when they menace that Church and the 
 Throne, 
 
 We will up and defend them, our strength shall 
 be seen ; 
 
 f Our cry, " No surrender," allegiance we own 
 
 To none save " Our Country," " Our Church," 
 and " Our Queen." 
 
 Our cry, &c. 
 
10 
 
 rOPULAE soKas. 
 
 THE FLAG THAT BEAY'D A THOUSAISTD 
 YEAES. 
 
 Written by Joseph Oliver.— Composed by G. J. O, AU- 
 mann. 
 
 Music at Lewis and Go's, 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Eeeves. 
 
 Theee is a fair and sea-girt isle 
 
 Whose home is 'mid the waves, 
 Where Liberty's benignant smile 
 
 Doth Freemen make of slaves ! 
 And to all eyes Beitannia rears, 
 
 As Empress of the Seas ! 
 The Flag that braved a thousand years, 
 
 The Battle and the Breeze ! 
 
 That banner meets the Briton's eyes, 
 
 'Neath which so oft he's bled, 
 He proudly points to it, and dies 
 
 On Honour's glorious bed. 
 Affection every fold endears. 
 
 Whene'er a Briton sees 
 The Flag that braved a thousand years. 
 
 The Battle and the Breeze ! 
 
 And while Old England rears with pride 
 
 Her Lion Flag unfurled. 
 It shall proclaim her far and wide 
 
 The Mistress of the world ; 
 For like a bulwark, still appears, 
 
 TJnconquered o'er the seas, 
 The Flag that braved a thousand years, 
 
 The Battle and the Breeze ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 11 
 
 THE CALL OF FREEDOM. 
 
 Written by Eev, J, Youn^, M. A.— Composed by 'Williara 
 Wilson. 
 
 Music at Metzler's. 
 
 Abotjsb thee, my country, at freedom's loud call, 
 
 Let thy standard still proudly wave ; 
 And spurn the base thought at the Pope's feet to 
 fall, 
 
 Nor sink in disgrace to a slave. 
 The blood of our forefathers, martyrs for truth, 
 
 Our Ridleys, our Latimers, hail us 
 To be firm in the struggle, let manhood and youth 
 
 Be bold 'gainst the foes which assail us. 
 
 No Pope and his Cardinals shall ever rule us, 
 Our country has bled 'neath their sway ; 
 
 Their sophistries vain no longer deceive us, 
 We live in true learning's bright ray ; 
 
 Then arouse ye, my countrymen, yield not to fear, 
 For your Queen and your country arise. 
 
 Truth must triumph, and soon the nations will 
 hear, 
 
 r Your Freedom's loud chant from the skies. 
 
 The freedom to think is the charter of Heaven, 
 To Grod only conscience may bow ; 
 
 We wish not to take what to all men is given, 
 Nor lose what to all we allow. 
 
 Hence we spurn the oppression of foreign aggres- 
 i sors, 
 
 ? We'll manfully guard what we give ; 
 
 Nor yield up dur minds to Pope or confessors, 
 < While the spirit of England shall live. 
 
12 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 A SONG- FOR THE TIMES. 
 
 Written by Chas. J eiferys.— Composed by Stephen Glover. 
 
 Music at Jeffery and Go's. 
 
 Not with sword, and not with brand, 
 Fight we in our Fatherland :— • 
 Arm'd with G-od's own Book we'll go, 
 Read, and conquer thus the foe. 
 Englishmen to England's throne 
 Firm and full allegiance own ; 
 This our guide and guard must be, 
 No divided love have we : — 
 Think of what the bard hath said, 
 Mightiest he of England's dead, 
 " Nought shall make Old England rue. 
 If England to herself bo true." 
 
 Shall we have the taper's ray, 
 
 Or the glorious light of day ? 
 
 Shall we bow at human shrine, 
 
 Or before the Grreat Divine ? 
 
 Is it not 'neath Papal sway, 
 
 Faction wakes the wildest fray ? 
 
 Where is Strife and Hatred's home ? 
 
 Name it in your hearts — *tis Rome j 
 
 Be it ours to banish hence 
 
 Would-be Power and poor Pretence ; — 
 
 "For nought shall make Old England rue. 
 
 If England to herself be true.'* 
 
13 
 
 TEAB! TRAB! 
 Sung by Mdlle. Jetty Treliz. 
 Music at Duff and Go's. 
 
 One day while gently riding, 
 
 To reach my fair one's home, 
 I found her fondly waiting, 
 
 And when she saw me come 
 She cried aloud with glee, 
 " My lov'd one haste to me I 
 Trab, trab, trab, trab my gallant steed, 
 And bring my love to me." 
 
 Trab, trab, &c. 
 
 With eager haste to her, 
 
 My steed still faster flew ! 
 And thus I fondly answered 
 
 Her greeting fond and true — 
 " My ever faithful fair, 
 Why art thou waiting there ? 
 Trab, trab, trab, trab my gallant steed. 
 My lov*d one's smiles to share." 
 
 Trab, trab, &e. 
 
 Then off my horse alighting, 
 I sprang with open arms, 
 And soon within them folded, 
 I held the maiden's charms j 
 As through the fields we stray, 
 Her bright eyes seem to say ; 
 "Trab, trab no more my gallant steed. 
 But here with my love stay.'* 
 
 Trab, trab, &c. 
 
11 
 
 rOPTJLAR soNas. 
 
 We fondly talk'd, while sitting 
 
 Beneath a pleasant shade : 
 But who would care to listen 
 To all the vows we made? 
 Alas ! too short the day, 
 Her look no more is gay. 
 Trab, trab, trab, trab my gallant steed, 
 We now must hie away. 
 
 Trab, trab, &c. 
 
 OH! CHARMmO- MAY. 
 
 Written by P. H. Hatch,— Composed by G. H. Rod well. 
 Music at B. Williams's. 
 
 Oh ! charming May, 
 
 Fresh, fair, and gay. 
 
 That com'st from thy bowers, 
 
 'Mid perfume and flowers j 
 Charming May I 
 Thou art spring with its wintry days gone by, 
 And summer without its scorching sky. 
 The sun may be bright, the storm may be free, 
 But the tranquil beauty of May for me. 
 
 Oh ! charming May, 
 
 Fresh, fair, and gay, 
 
 That com'st from thy bowers, 
 
 *Mid perfume and flowers ; 
 Charming May ! 
 There is gladness and joy in thy genial face, 
 Fit emblem of innocence, freshness, and grace j 
 There is peace and delight to me ever dear. 
 In the charming May, the queen month of the 
 
 year. 
 
ropuLAB soNas. 15 
 
 OUR OWN FIRESIDE. 
 Written by W. J. Clifton.—Composed by J. Pask. 
 Published by J. Pask. 
 TWERE vain to seek on foreign shore the comforts 
 of a home ; 
 
 Chat name is less familiar still as farther on we 
 roam. 
 
 S"o other clime can boast the peace, the calm and 
 tranquil pride 
 
 i Briton feels when all is mirth around his fire- 
 side. 
 
 Tis there the old forget their age, and gambol 
 
 with the young, 
 ind mingle in the merry dance, or join the social 
 
 song. 
 
 3h ! if from thought thou'd'^t turn away, some 
 rankling care thoud'st hide, 
 
 >o imitate the Briton's lot, his home and fire- 
 side. 
 
 ky, who can view the happy few, in innocence 
 and mirth, 
 
 issembled round the very hearth which sparkled 
 
 at their birth j 
 kVho, launch' d upon life's troubled sea, have 
 
 struggled with her tide, 
 ind not proclaim the blessings of a Briton's fire** 
 
 side I 
 
 jong may the hand which guards this isle avert 
 
 the luckless day, 
 iVhen from her shore such happy scenes must 
 
 fade and pass away 5 
 jong, long may Britons boast their peace, and 
 
 feel an honest pride, 
 ihat Britain still, through ev'ry change, retains 
 A . her fireside. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 aOD SAYE THE QUEEN. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine'8, 
 
 God save our gracious Queen. 
 Long live our noble Queen, 
 
 God save the Queen ! 
 Send her victorious, 
 Happy and glorious, 
 Long to reign over us, 
 
 God save the Q.ueen ! 
 
 O Lord, our God, arise. 
 Scatter her enemies, 
 
 And make them fall I 
 Confound their politics, 
 Frustrate their knavish tricks, 
 On her our hopes we fix, 
 
 God save us all ! 
 
 Thy choicest gifts in store. 
 Deign on our Queen to pour. 
 
 Long may she reign ; 
 May she defend our laws. 
 And ever give us cause, 
 To sing with heart-applause, 
 
 God save the Queen I 
 
POPFLAE SONGS. 
 
 17 
 
 yiYA YICTOEIA! 
 
 " THE THEONE AND THE QUEEN." 
 Written by Chas. J efferys. Composed by Chas, W. Glover. 
 Music published by C. Jeffreys. 
 
 KoTJSE, ye lovers of Peace and of Order, 
 
 Of true Freedom with honour united ; 
 Bally round the old banner of England, 
 
 And its glory shall never be blighted. 
 We have bold hearts in Britain's dominions 
 
 Who dare all that a Freeman should dare, 
 But " the Throne of the Queen" is their watch- 
 word, , 
 
 And let Traitors and Foemen beware. 
 
 Yiva "Victoria ! 
 
 We'll have Peace, but it must be with honour, 
 
 We have need of no new names in story j 
 But if war sound the tocsin then Britain 
 
 Still has heroes enough for her glory. 
 Shame the brawlers who trade in Sedition, 
 
 Base misleaders who traffic in lies. 
 And beware lest these self-seeking martyrs, 
 
 Would-be-lions, prove wolves in disguise. 
 
 Viva Victoria ! 
 
 ^y the head or the hand if he toileth, 
 
 May the honest man live by his labour ; 
 But the drone who can work and who will not 
 
 Shall not rest on the strength of his neighbour ; 
 To the throne, as the safeguard of Freedom, 
 
 By our birthright, allegiance we swear, 
 For the Queen as the monarch of Freemen • 
 
 To til e King op all kings be our prayer, 
 Yiva Victoria I 
 
 .315 B 
 
18 
 
 POPri/AB SONGS. 
 
 WHY CHIME THE BELLS SO MEREILY; 
 
 OE, THE OLD AND NEW TEAK, 
 
 Written by J. B. Phillips, Esq. Composed by Joseph 
 Philip Knight. 
 Music to be had of all Musicsellers. 
 Why chime the bells so merrily, 
 
 Why seem ye all so gay ? 
 Is it because the New Year's come, 
 
 And the Old has pass'd away ? 
 Oh ! can ye look upon the past 
 
 And feel no sorrow now, 
 That thus ye sin^ so joyously 
 
 And smiles light ev'ry brow ? 
 Oh ! if ye can, be blithe and gay, 
 
 The song troul gaily on. 
 And the burden be the New Year's come, 
 
 And the Old Year's gone. 
 
 The old man gazes on the mirth, 
 
 He smiles not like the rest, 
 He sits in silence by the hearth 
 
 And seems with grief oppressed j 
 He sees not in the merry throng, 
 
 The child who was his pride. 
 He listens for her joyous song, 
 
 She is not by his side ! 
 But scarce a twelvemonth she was there, 
 
 And now he is alone : 
 Yet still yc sing the New Year's come, 
 
 And the Old Year's gone. 
 
 Dance on ! dance on ! be blithe and gay, 
 Nor pause to think the while ! 
 
 That ere this year has passed away, 
 Ye too may cease to smile. 
 
POPULAE SOKGa. 19 
 
 For time in his resistless flight, 
 
 Brings changes sad and drear, 
 The sunny hopes of youth to blight, 
 
 With every coming year. 
 But still be happy while ye may, 
 
 And let the dance go on, 
 Still gaily sing the New Year's come, 
 
 And the Old Year's gone. 
 
 DEAR NATIVE ISLE. 
 
 Written by W. H. Bellamy, Esq. Adapted by "VV. Eave- 
 staff. 
 
 Music published by Metzler and Co. 
 
 Dear native isle, the summer's sun is glowing 
 
 O'er thy wide vales in calm tranquillity ; 
 From thy blue hills the cool fresh breeze is blow- 
 ing 
 
 Speaking to the soul of health and liberty. 
 
 Dear native isle, 
 Dear to me, 
 Thou'lt ever be. 
 
 My own native isle. 
 
 )Gar native isle, the days of childhood glided, 
 In thy calm bosom peacefully away ; 
 
 'here when the storms of life have all subsided, 
 In safety raoor'd my little bark shall stay. 
 Dear native isle, 
 
 i Dear to me, 
 
 y- Thou'lt ever be, 
 
 ] My own native isle. 
 
20 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 YES, I HAVE DARED TO LOYE THEE. 
 
 Music published by Duff and Hodgson. 
 
 Yes, I have dared to love thee. 
 Cold and senseless though I seem. 
 And sweet have been the phantasies 
 Of this my heart's first dream. 
 
 The sun does not a brighter beam 
 On all creation pour. 
 
 Than that which now lights up the mind, 
 Where all was dark before. 
 
 Alike he shines on hill and dale, 
 On valley, mount and sea ; 
 And as he is to one of these, 
 Thou'rt even that to me. 
 
 'Twas not thy beauty that enthralled. 
 And yet thy form is fair. 
 The painter's eye would love to dwell 
 On all the graces there. 
 
 It was thy mental loveliness 
 That bound my soul to thine, 
 And made me dream of hapjDiness j 
 Oh, can it e'er be mine ! 
 
 Thy magic tones have lured me 
 Into paths before untrod. 
 And led my wandering spirit back, 
 A captive, to its Q-od. 
 
 Yes, still this lonely heart must lovj — 
 E'en I knew not how well, 
 Until the blight of sickness 
 On thy youthful beauty fell. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 21 
 
 1 thought 'twas admiration 
 
 And esteem I felt before, 
 
 But then I knew I loved, 
 
 And in that hour I loved thee more. 
 
 Then chide me not if I confess 
 My heart's no longer free. 
 Thou hast made me love the lovely, 
 Then can I help loving thee ? 
 
 BETTER TIMES ARE COMING-. 
 Songs for the People, 'No. 1, Lewis and Co, 
 Written and Composed by G. I. O. AUmau. 
 
 I WILL not prate of grief and care, 
 
 As is so much the fashion, 
 Nor in each speck that dims the air^ 
 
 See clouds to blight the Nation I 
 Like those who magnify each ill, 
 
 And swell each petty sorrow, 
 Who fain would every bosom fill 
 
 "With dark thoughts of the morrow. 
 Choeus. — For Better Times are coming, Friends, 
 Better Times are coming ; 
 For trials past to make amends. 
 Better Times are coming. 
 
 My creed is not so dark as this, 
 
 This world is one of beauty ; 
 And Life would be unchangeful bliss, 
 
 Did Man but do his duty ! 
 \Vhat were we born for, save to aid 
 
 Each poor and suffering Brother, 
 Remember what Heaven's law hath said, 
 
 " Be Jcind to one another,^* 
 I Chorus. — For Better Times, &c. 
 
22 
 
 POPULAR 
 
 Yes, Better Times, when Tyrant-fight, 
 
 And venal party-faction. 
 Shall only seek to compass flight, 
 
 Nor seminate distraction. 
 When Freedom's banner, soaring wide, 
 
 Shall spread the power of Reason, 
 And Art and Science serve to guide 
 
 To Man's divinest season. 
 
 Chorus. — For Better Times, &<s. 
 
 When cruel war no more we wage, 
 
 And foully call it " glory 
 But battle with the words of Age, 
 
 The wisdom of the hoary ! 
 Then nations shall not sink in blood, 
 
 And kindred ties dissever, 
 But Peace and holy Brotherhood, 
 
 Dwell with mankind for ever! 
 
 Chorus.— For Better Times, &c. 
 
 SHE COMES m VISIONS FAIR AND 
 BRiaHT. 
 
 \\ ritten by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music by Charles Oberthur. 
 
 She comes in visions fair and bright, 
 
 My lonely path to bless. 
 And to this poor bereaved heart 
 
 To whisper Happiness, 
 The same enchanting voice I hear, 
 
 In all its dulcet tone, 
 The same dear bosom fondly pres3 
 
 Which throbb'd for me alone. 
 
POriJLAE SONGS. 
 
 23 
 
 Then gentle sleep mine eyelids seal, 
 
 Since joy like this you bring, 
 Oh ! who wo^ld wish from such a state 
 
 To wake to suffering ? 
 The precious interval of bliss, 
 
 Bv balmy slumber given, 
 Is liKe the dawn of childhood's day, 
 
 The soul's first glimpse of Heaven, 
 
 OUR YILLAaE LOVES. 
 
 Written by F. W. Bayley.— Composed by G, A. Mao- 
 farren. 
 Music at Eiist and Stahl'g, 
 
 My village love — it used to be 
 The farm where I was born : 
 And where kind nature's melody 
 
 Was tuned from night to morn ! 
 The outer world looked beautiful. 
 
 By every season's light ; 
 And all my glowing heart kept full. 
 
 From cheery morn till night. 
 There was a kind of calming joy 
 
 That kept that heart from strife j 
 And ever bless' d, without alloy, 
 The seasons of my life I 
 
 I saw the May-day blossoms shine, 
 
 The summer's golden tide — 
 The grateful autumn fruits were mine, 
 Nor did my spirit e'er repine 
 When winter logs were plied ! 
 
 No ! all through every changing year, 
 
 The things I used to love, 
 Grew dear and dear, and still more dear, 
 
 My happiness to prove ! 
 
24 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 The churcli-patli lit by childhood's smilo 
 
 On every Sabbath-day — 
 The sprightly May-feasts that beguile 
 
 The maiden's heart away ! 
 The gleaming glory of the June, 
 
 When blushing roses come ; 
 And then the mad and merry tune 
 Of noisy " Harvest-home!" — 
 Tliese were my village loves, and they 
 
 May innocently bide 
 Within all hearts that bless to-day, 
 — That magic of old Winter's sway — 
 The farmer's log fireside ! 
 
 THE GIFT THAT HATH A SIMPLE 
 CHARM. 
 
 Written by F. W. N. Bayley.— Composed by Brinley 
 Kichards. 
 Music at Eiist and Stahl's. 
 I LOVE the tokens that are brought 
 
 All pure to the heart's shrine ; 
 Oh ! not with jewell'd dazzle fraught, 
 
 Be any gift of mine ! 
 Affection glows — not grand but warm, — 
 
 And weaves a gentle spell ; 
 Your token hath a simple charm. 
 And so I love it well ! 
 
 A thought is finer than a look, 
 
 If it be truthful kind ; 
 No gem is ever like the book 
 
 Love reads within the mind. 
 Affection's cup is filled with dew, 
 
 Distill'd from the heart's cell; 
 Pure is the chrystal brought by you 
 
 And so I love it welll 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 25 
 
 THE CHEERFUL MELODY. 
 
 \7ritten by F. W. N. Bayley.— Composed by Alexander 
 Lee. 
 
 Music at Eiist and StaM's. 
 When offc there flits before mine eyes, 
 
 Bright dreams that sparkle Hke the birds 
 Whose plumage shines to tropic skies, 
 
 I shape them into words. 
 They give their colour to my brain, 
 
 My heart makes rainbows of their hues ; 
 And out I pour a mirthful strain 
 That seemeth to infuse 
 
 A kindred gladness into me — 
 It is a cheerful melody ! 
 
 It seems that in all happy trills, 
 
 Fair Nature plays her friendly part ; 
 Oh ! there is not a joy that thrills 
 
 Like singing from the heart. 
 When the glad spirit must be gay, 
 
 Moved by some impulse pure tho' wild ; 
 I care not what may wake the lay, 
 
 A bird or little child ; 
 
 'Tis something happy — so in me 
 Is my dear cheerful melody ! 
 
 A HOUSEHOLD NARRATIYE. 
 
 Written by F. W. N. Bayley. —Composed by R. Alexander 
 Riist. 
 
 Music at Eiist and Stabl's. 
 I I MIND, when I was very young, 
 
 I used to love my mother's tongue, 
 And love it now ; it was a treat 
 To hear her voice — so silver sweet, 
 
26 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 That, — when its music used to ring, 
 As the' her heart tuned every string, — 
 Made all think home our dearest spot ; 
 Loved — holy — hallowed — unforgot I 
 
 She used to sing with fairy powers, 
 Of days when she had home like ours. 
 She said — or rather swell'd her song, 
 As richly rolled its strain along, — 
 How dearly her affection found 
 Its happiness, in all around ; 
 And then, such happiness she'd pray, 
 Might never pass from us away I 
 
 Her dear Old G-randfather, she told, 
 Was like our own, as good as gold ! 
 Her Father too was like our own. 
 When he made her kind heart his throne ; 
 Her mother's children were not loth 
 To bless them as we blessed them both ; 
 And so our love was taught to live, 
 Upon her household narrative, 
 
 "HOME ONCE AND FOE EYER." 
 
 Written by F. W. N". Bayley.—Coomposed by Kobert 
 Guylott. 
 
 Music at Eiist and Stahl's, 
 
 Mine was a lowly birth, 
 
 Within a rural cot ; 
 The gifts that Heaven sheds o'er earth 
 
 Were all my lot. 
 The wild fields made my park domain, 
 
 The lowing herd my deer j 
 The song-bird's tree sent down a strain, 
 
 My heart to cheer. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 27 
 
 Brothers, and sisters fair with me 
 The path of flow'rs would roam 
 
 Till tired at last — our greatest glee 
 Was " going home I'* 
 
 Then rose a supper din, 
 
 Telling the board was spread; 
 Till the laughing group that romped within, 
 
 Tripp'd off to bed! 
 They used to give a parting kiss 
 
 To dad and mother ; 
 Then creep to rest, with sleepy bliss, 
 
 And bless each other ! 
 I since have slept, with no alloy, 
 
 To dream 'neath princely dome. 
 My sweet and youthful cottage joy 
 
 Of " going Home!'* 
 
 Mine is an altered fate — 
 
 My riches shine : 
 Palace and park, and seemly state, 
 
 Are really mine ! 
 My lord and husband, and the loves 
 
 Who climb my knee. 
 Pride all my heart, — and yet there moves 
 
 A spirit free, 
 That blesses him, and them, and her 
 
 Whose cottage kindred come 
 Upon our mansion, to confer 
 
 The name of Home ! 
 
 VILLAGE MAIDS. 
 
 While with village maids I stray 
 Sweetly wears the joyous day ; 
 Cheerless glows my artless breast 
 Mild content and constant guest. 
 
28 
 
 POPTJLAR SONGS. 
 
 THE MUSICAL FIRESIDE. 
 
 Written by F. W. K. Bayley.— Composed by Eugene Eolt, 
 Music at Kiist and Stahl's, 
 It wa3 not quite a placid night, 
 Some songs were in the wind, 
 But we had in-door love and light, 
 And music sweet and kind. 
 We did not listen to the breeze 
 That sang among our ancient trees ; 
 For we had friends within our door, 
 Whose melodies we cherished more — • 
 
 To hear them was our pride : 
 They only came on Christmas night. 
 To group themseives in dear delight. 
 And charm our glad fireside. 
 
 That night there was no time to dream. 
 
 Or many words let fall — 
 The cheerful music shed its gleam 
 
 So swiftly over all ! 
 
 The music kept our souls in thrall — 
 
 There was a tenderness in all ; 
 
 And then some gamesome glee would rise, 
 
 From lighter, livelier melodies. 
 The laugh which none defied — 
 
 Would make the red flames, sparkling rise; 
 
 Till musical as beamed our eyes, 
 Became our glad fireside ! 
 
 aLEE.— OLD WINTER. 
 
 Old winter has his clarion blown 
 O'er field and leafless wood. 
 
 And with a silver mantle strown 
 The forest and the flood. 
 
POrULAE SONGS. 
 
 29 
 
 ALL'S WELL. 
 
 Music at Metzler's, 
 
 Deseeted by the waning moon, 
 
 When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon, 
 
 On tow'r, or fort, or tented ground, 
 
 The sentry walks his lonely round ! 
 
 And should a footstep haply stray 
 
 Where caution marks the guarded way, 
 
 " Who goes there ? Stranger, quickly tell 
 
 "Afriend"-— the word — " Sroodnight — All's well." 
 
 Or, sailing on the midnight deep. 
 While weary messmates soundly sleep, 
 The careful watch patrols the deck. 
 To guard the ship from foes or wreck. 
 And while his thoughts oft homeward veer. 
 Some well-known voice salutes his ear. 
 
 What cheer ! Oh brother, quickly tell !" 
 "Above! below! goodnight! All's well." 
 
 WE'YE HAPPIER DAYS IN STOEE ! 
 Written by L. M. Tliornton. 
 Music by Henry Farmer, 
 
 I TET shall see you smile again. 
 
 As you were wont to smile, 
 Before the heart was crush' d by pain, 
 
 Thy spirit bow'd by toil. 
 On that pale cheek I yet shall see, 
 
 Life's roses as of yore, 
 Those eyes resume their brilliancy, 
 
 We've happier days in store. 
 
30 
 
 rorULAE SONGS. 
 
 Thougli with the monster grim Despair, 
 
 Too oft compel!' d to cope, 
 Shall we forget that Angel form, 
 
 Whose heavenly name is Hope ? 
 Who sweetly whispers midst our grief, 
 
 " Take courage, sigh no more," 
 And bids us on her anchor lean, 
 
 We've happier days in store ! 
 
 WILL YOU LOVE ME THEN AS NOW? 
 Music published by Duff and Hodgson. 
 You have told me that you love me ! 
 And your heart's thoughts seem to sj)eak, 
 As you look on me so fondly, 
 And the life-blood tints your cheek. 
 May I trust that these warm feelings 
 Never will grow cold and strange ? 
 And that you'll remain unaltered. 
 In this weary world of change ? 
 When the shades of care and sorrow 
 Dim my eyes and cloud my brow, 
 And my spirits sink within me, 
 Will you love me then as now ? 
 
 Though our youth may pass unclouded. 
 In a peaceful happy home ; 
 Yet, as year on year advances, 
 Changes must upon us come. 
 For the step will lose its lightness, 
 And the hair be changed to grey, 
 Eyes once bright give up their lustre, 
 And the hopes of youth decay. 
 When all these have pressed upon me, 
 And stern age has touched my brow. 
 Will the change find you unchanging ? 
 Will you love me then as now ? 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 31 
 
 DEAEEST, THEN I'LL LOYE THEE 
 MORE. 
 
 Music published byDuflf and Hodgson, 
 
 Yes, I'll love thee, oh, how dearly, 
 Words but faintly can express ! 
 This fond heart beats too sincerely, 
 E'er in life to love you less ! 
 No my fancy never ranges, 
 
 Hopes like mine can never soarj 
 If the love I cherish changes, 
 
 It will be to love thee more. 
 
 Though the world has many sorrows, 
 And perchance they may be ours. 
 Love from tears a brightness borrows, 
 Like the earth from summer showers. 
 We will share our grief and gladness, 
 
 In the future as of yore. 
 And in all your hours of sadness, 
 
 Dearest, then I'll love thee more. 
 
 Youth may pass, but ask not whether 
 When you're old I'll love as true, 
 Shall we not grow old together, 
 And Time's changes mark me too ? 
 Life may cease, but then to heaven 
 
 Will my pure affection soar ; 
 Yet, when freed from earthly leaven. 
 
 Dearest, then I'll love thee more 1 
 
82 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 Music — at Coventry and Co'a. 
 
 Shotjld auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 An* never brought to min' ; 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 An' days o' lang syne ? 
 
 For auld lang syne, my friend, 
 
 For auld lang syne ? 
 We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa ha'e run about the braes. 
 
 An' pu'd the go wans fine ; 
 But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 We twa ha'e paid'lt in the burn, 
 
 Frae morning sun till dine ; 
 But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 An' there's a hand, my trusty frien', 
 
 An' gi'e's a hand o' thine, 
 An' we'll toom the stoup to friendship's growth, 
 
 An' auld lang syne. 
 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 An' surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, 
 
 As sure as I'll be mine, 
 An' we'll take a richt gude willie waiight, 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 33 
 
 PEACE ! PEACE ! PEACE ! 
 Written by L. M, Thornton. 
 Music by W. T. Wrighton. 
 
 Joy in every face is beaming, 
 
 Hearts beat higb, and voices ring, 
 War no longer slays its thousands, 
 
 Lo ! the olive branch we bring. 
 Shout then, Britons, raise your voices, 
 
 High as Heav'ns eternal throne. 
 Change the war drum for the tabor, 
 
 Swords to ploughshares— Peace is known. 
 
 No longer down the cheek of beauty, 
 
 Shall the tears of sorrow fall ; 
 Wives no longer see their partners 
 
 Drop before the vengeful ball. 
 Lisping babes, the parents' treasures, 
 
 Still shall own a father's hand. 
 Peace, with her twin sister. Plenty, 
 
 Reign triumphant o'er the land. 
 
 THE MONKS OF OLD. 
 
 Written by W. Jones.— Composed by T. Glover. 
 Music published by Eausford. 
 
 Many have told 
 
 Of the monks of old, 
 What a saintly race they were ; 
 
 But 'tis most true 
 
 That a merrier crew 
 Could not be found elsewhere; 
 
 For they sung and laugh' d, 
 
 And the rich wine quaff' d, 
 315 O 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 And lived on the daintiest cheer ; 
 
 For they laugh'd, ha ! ha ! 
 
 And they quaff" d, ha ! ha ! 
 And lived on the daintiest cheer. 
 
 And then they would jest 
 
 At the love confess'd 
 By many an artless maid ; 
 
 And what hopes and fears 
 
 They had breath' d in their ears 
 Of those who had sought their aid j 
 
 And they sung and laugh'd, 
 
 And the rich wine quaff 'd, 
 As they told of each love-sick jade, 
 
 And they laugh'd, &c. 
 
 And the abbot meek, 
 
 With his form so sleek, 
 AVas the heartiest of them all ; 
 
 And would take his place, 
 
 With a smiling face. 
 When refrection bell would call ; 
 
 When they sung and laugh'd. 
 
 And the rich wine quaff'd. 
 Till they shook the olden wall. 
 
 And they laugli'd, &c. 
 
 Then say what they will. 
 
 We'll drink to them still, 
 For a jovial band they were j 
 
 And 'tis most true 
 
 That a merrier crew 
 Could not be found elsewhere ; 
 
 For they sung and laugh'd, 
 
 And the rich wine quaff"' d, 
 And lived on the daintiest cheer. 
 
 For they laugh'd, &c. 
 
POPTJIAE SONGS. 
 
 85 
 
 I SLEPT, AND OH! HOW SWEET THE 
 DEEAM. 
 
 Written by L. M, Thornton. 
 Music at Wessell's. 
 I SLEPT, and oh ! how sweet the dream, 
 
 Methought I saw once more 
 Each old familiar spot, where I 
 
 Had rambled o'er and o'er. 
 When with my tiny hands I used 
 
 To bunch the flow'rets wild. 
 And carol forth my simple strain, 
 
 A happy, happy child. 
 
 Bright vision that which brings again 
 
 A season fraught with joy, 
 A summer scene, ere winter stern 
 
 Rides onward to destroy. 
 Come, sweet dream, come ! and with thee bring 
 
 Again these flow'rets wild ; 
 The tearless eye, the rosy cheek, 
 
 And all that spoke a child 
 
 KATTY O'CORNEY. 
 
 A popular Parady on *• Kathleen Mavourneen j" written 
 by Mr. J» H. Jewell, 
 
 Katty O'Coenet, de top of de morning 
 
 Is breaking upon me, wid frost and wid snow, 
 And de chilbains, my honey, yourself 'ud be scorn- 
 ing, 
 
 Have seized like de cramp on my tig little toe. 
 Oh, have you forgotten de wake of Tim Riley ! 
 
 Oh, have you forgotten de groan dat he gave ! 
 If ye kape me all night, dis here mighty cowld 
 morning, 
 
 It's not long before dat I'll be in my grave. 
 
POrULAE soNas. 
 
 Katty O'Corney get up from yer snoring, 
 
 And don't be a slapeing from morning to night ; 
 
 And what would I gain, ii I stand here adoring, 
 Unless yer swate lips hreathe the words " Take 
 a sightJ* 
 
 O'Corney, O'Corney, de snow what is falling 
 It makes me all white, like a labourer's hod ; 
 
 And all dis here time dat yerself I've been calling, 
 I find that yeVe been to the swate land of Nod. 
 
 THE FADED ROSE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by T. Wrigbton. 
 
 Queen of the many blushing flowers, 
 
 Alas ! how short thy reign, 
 Companion of a few bright hours. 
 
 And lost to us again : 
 Whether we view thee on the stem, 
 
 With blooming mates around, 
 Or on the breast of Innocence, 
 
 The same result is found. 
 
 But though thy leaves are faded all, 
 
 They still about them bear 
 That fragrance, even which in death, 
 
 Still renders thee so dear, 
 So is it with the forms we prized, 
 
 Now laid within the tomb, 
 The memory of their worth endures, 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 THE LONaEST DAY WILL HA YE AN 
 END. 
 
 Written by L. M, Thornton. 
 Music by Anne Fricker. 
 
 The longest day will have an end, 
 
 And this dark day will go, 
 And ere to-morrow s sun doth set, 
 
 You happiness may know. 
 Never despair, but forward look. 
 
 And brighter hours will dawn, 
 Sorrow endureth but a night, 
 
 Joy Cometh with the morn. 
 
 Oh ! sit not drooping by the way, - 
 
 But gird your loins anew, 
 Many have trod the self-same road, 
 
 And felt its thorns with you, 
 But, persevering to the last. 
 
 With Faith and Hope their guide, 
 Have found the longest day to pass — 
 
 The darkest storm subside. 
 
88 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE HAPPY DAYS OF YORE. 
 
 Written by Alfred Waymark. Composed by Thomas 
 Baker, 
 
 SuDgby Mr. G. Tedder at the Surrey Zoological Gardens 
 and Exeter Hall. 
 
 Published by Tedder and Christian. 
 
 My heart is gladly beating, 
 
 As I tread the scene once more, 
 Where boyhood gaily revell'd, 
 
 In the happy days of yore ; 
 And I greet the Zephyr's melody, 
 
 That round me sweetly plays, 
 Eor its tone is still as joyous 
 
 As it was in early days. 
 
 The fragrant breath of summer 
 
 Would fan the boyish brow, 
 That once so fair, by cruel care 
 
 is sadly altered now ; 
 For the glossy raven tresses, 
 
 In which that brow was dress'd, 
 Have faded 'neath the hand of Time 
 
 Into a snowy crest. 
 
 The green and waving meadows, 
 The bed of fragrant thyme, 
 
 The flowers fair, — all seem to wear 
 The dress of olden time. 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 29 
 
 The wavelets in the river, 
 
 Still seek their sunny track, 
 And vanish like the golden hopes 
 
 That never can come back. 
 
 OH ! SAY WHElSr WE AGAIN SHALL 
 MEET. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music by Edward Land. 
 
 Oh ! say v^hen we again shall meet, 
 
 And I will hail each day's decline, 
 Until are heard those accents sweet. 
 
 And press'd that tender heart to mine. 
 The scenes which once my heart could cheer, 
 
 And hills I lov'd to wander o'er, 
 The fond, the sweet companion near, 
 
 Bereft, of thee, delight no more. 
 Then say when we again shall meet. 
 
 And I will hail each day's decline. 
 Until are heard those accents sweet. 
 
 And press'd that tender heart to mine. 
 
 My dreary hours alone I spend, 
 
 I count them as they travel on ; 
 The value of a constant friend 
 
 We know not till that friend is gone. 
 Then say when we again shall meet. 
 
 And I will hail each day's decline, 
 Lentil are heard those accents sweet. 
 
 And press'd that tender heart to mine. 
 
40 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 A DEAR ENGLISH aiRL. 
 
 Written and composed by George Linlej. 
 Music published by John Alvey Turner. 
 
 I'VE wander'd the world, been in many a clime 
 But, in all the strange lands where my flaa did 
 unfurl, b 
 
 ^ ^^'^^ ^dame7^ '"^^^^ ^'^''^^S^ 
 
 Ought to match or compare with a dear Eng- 
 lish girl. ^ 
 Other countries may boast of the graces and art 
 Which I grant, that the fair ones possess • ' 
 But one sweet touch of nature speaks more to 
 the heart, 
 And is more to my taste, I confess. 
 
 Oh yes ! on land or sea. 
 My boast shall henceforth be. 
 That I've wander' d the world, &c. 
 
 Safe anchored at last, in my own native isle 
 With a wish to enjoy all the wealth I have 
 gain'd, 
 
 I turn with delight to my first dream of love 
 To the being with whom every feeliuff's'en- 
 chain'd. ° 
 Tho' my fair one may lack all the graces and art 
 
 Which your gay foreign damsels possess, 
 Yet one sweet touch of nature speaks more to 
 my hear^ 
 And is more to my taste, I confess. 
 
 Oh yes I on land, &c. 
 
POrULAB SONaS. 
 
 41 
 
 YOU SEE THAT BEiaHTLY BEAMING- 
 STAR. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music at Cocks and Co., 
 
 YoiT see that brightly beaming star, 
 
 The nearest to the Queen of night ; 
 I never on that planet gaze 
 
 But gushing tears obscure my sight, 
 To think how oft beneath its ray 
 
 I've rambled forth by Mary's side ! 
 And hoped to hail the happy day, 
 
 When I should claim her as my bride. 
 
 We ramble side by side no more, 
 
 Yon hillock tells the reason why ; 
 Oh I if the mansions of the blest 
 
 Are those bright orbs which deck thy sky, 
 It never can be deemed a sin 
 
 To think that from that orb I see, 
 Amid the pause in rapture's song. 
 
 My Mary looking down on me. 
 
42 
 
 POPULAE SONaS. 
 
 AUT THOU IN SMILES ? 
 Written by Mrs. Crawford.—Composed by P. N. Crouch. 
 Music published by Messrs. Duff and Hodgson. 
 
 Abt thou in smiles, while I am sad ? 
 
 It was not so with me ; 
 When thou wert griev'd my soul forbade, 
 
 One smile unshar'd by thee. 
 Thine eyes look beautiful to-night, 
 
 As stars in azure deep, 
 But yet methinks, I'd have their light, 
 
 More soft, like stars that weep. 
 
 Art thou in smiles ? the time draws on — 
 
 The time we two must part ; 
 I know thou'lt weep when I am gone, 
 
 With all thy maiden heart. 
 Then let not worldly forms control. 
 
 Thy parting looks to me. 
 But give me in one glance, the soul 
 
 That won me first to thee. 
 
 Art thou in smiles ? not now — oh no ! 
 
 Within thine eyes I see 
 Sweet tears at last begin to show, 
 
 They're gathering pearls for me. 
 Now thou art mine, all mine thou art, 
 
 My own Helena dear ! 
 Oh ! nothing moves the manly heart, 
 
 Like beauty's parting tear. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 43 
 
 THE LONELY ISLE. 
 
 Poetry from Sir Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake.*' 
 Composed by George I. O. Allmann. 
 Music at Leader and Cocks'. 
 
 Not faster yonder rowers' might 
 Flings from their oars their spray, 
 
 Not faster yonder rippling bright 
 
 That tracks the shallop's course in light, 
 Melts in the lake away ! 
 
 Than Men from memory erase 
 
 The benefits of former days. 
 
 Then, Stranger! go! good speed the while, 
 
 Nor think again of the Lonely Isle ! 
 
 Or if on Life's uncertain main, 
 
 Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
 If faithful, wise, and brave in vain. 
 Woe, want, and exile, thou sustain, 
 
 Beneath the fickle gale — 
 "Waste not a sigh on Fortune changed, 
 Or thankless Courts, or Friends estranged, 
 But come where kindred worth sliall smile 
 To greet thee in the Lonely Isle ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 SWEET SUMMER, ADIEU. 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music at Cramer, Beale, and Co'g., 
 
 Sweet summer, Adieu ! 
 
 With thy roses so gay, 
 Thy bright sky of blue, 
 
 And thy warm sunny ray. 
 Thou season of beauty 
 
 Ah ! why in such haste 
 To fly, ere thy pleasures 
 
 We scarcely do taste ? 
 
 Yet while thy departure 
 
 Thus sadly I mourn, 
 A voice sweetly whispers, 
 
 " I go to return !" 
 But no such sweet whisper, 
 
 Stern fate doth impart, 
 When once the bright summer 
 
 Has fled from the heart. 
 
 LOOK UP ! 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by W. T. Wrighton. 
 
 Look up ! though gloomy seems to-day, 
 
 To-morrow bright may be, 
 Look up ! yon bird though nestless now. 
 
 Will yet a warm home see. 
 
POPTJIAE SONGS. 
 
 45 
 
 Look up ! the glorious queen of night, 
 
 Eclipsed awhile from view, 
 Shall yet illume with radiance bright, 
 
 The canopy of blue. 
 
 And thus oh ! man, though teen the pang 
 
 From care's assaulting dart, 
 Though troubles in battalions come, 
 
 To crush the lonely heart. 
 Believe them blessings in disguise, 
 
 As they'll at length appear, 
 'Tis midnight's gloomy hour that makes 
 
 The dawn of light so dear. 
 
 BONNY KATE AND HAEHY. 
 
 Founded on the proverb, ** Marry in haste and repent at 
 leisure." 
 
 Written by Henry Lovell.— Composed by N. J. Sporle. 
 Music published by H. Tolkien. 
 
 The moon is waning fast, my dear, 
 
 To bonny Kate, said Harry, 
 And I'm afraid you'll miss the year, 
 
 Before we safely marry ! 
 My mother says we shall repent, 
 
 And waken her displeasure. 
 But when 'tis done she will relent, 
 And if indeed we must repent 
 
 Why ! — we'll repent at leisure. 
 
 I should not like to miss the year. 
 To blushing Kate, said Harry, 
 
 Eor great good luck it brings, I hear, 
 To those who wisely marry : 
 
46 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 What mothers say, may still be true, 
 
 But there's a homely saying ; 
 That though the cup just touch the lip, 
 We stumble— and one little slip, 
 
 Sets all our hopes decaying. 
 I would not hurry you, my dear, 
 
 Again to Kate, said Harry, 
 But if we wish to pass the year 
 
 Contentedly, we'll marry. 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 Who would not do as Harry did ? 
 
 Obedience is a pleasure ; 
 Do gentlemen, what ladies bid, 
 And ladies, quickly pray get rid 
 
 Of all repentant leisure. 
 
 HE NEVER HAS DECEIYED MB YET. 
 Written by L. M. Thornton, 
 
 He never has deceiv'd me yet, 
 
 I've always found him true ; 
 When I prove otherwise, I'll heed 
 
 The story told by you. 
 Your good intention doubting not, 
 
 I thank you from my heart ; 
 But till / find my lover false, 
 
 I'll never from him part. 
 
 Would sweethearts give less heed to news, 
 Which, second-hand they gain, 
 
 They would not have so oft to sigli, 
 Or think they love in vain. 
 
POPULAE SOKGS. 
 
 4.7 
 
 Seeing's believing, and till I 
 See him I love do wrong, 
 
 I give suspicion to the v^inds, 
 What think you of my song ? 
 
 A FEIEND m DISTRESS. 
 
 Written by W. H. Bellamy, Esq.— Composed by J. W. 
 Hobbs. 
 
 Music published by Duff and Hodgson. 
 
 Oh ! if there's a pleasure on earth that's more 
 pure, 
 
 Or more blest than another, say is it not this ; 
 To lighten the sorrows that others endure ! 
 
 To hold out a hand to " A Friend in Distress ?*' 
 'Tis a pleasure that selfishness never can know, 
 
 A joy that no language, no pen can express, 
 Ah, who can forget, that has once felt the glow 
 
 That the heart gives while helping " A Friend 
 in Distress ?" 
 
 Since each has his trials and troubles to bear, 
 While as pilgrims we journey along the same 
 road, 
 
 When we meet with a brother with more than 
 his share 
 
 'Tis " humanity" bids us to " lighten his load." 
 The richest to-day may to-morrow be poor, 
 If we've little, how many there are who have 
 less. 
 
 Oh ! when should the heart then, the hand, or 
 the door, 
 
 Be clos'd to the claims of " A Friend in Dis- 
 tress?" 
 
48 
 
 POPFIAR SONaS. 
 
 I WAITED BY THE BEECH TREE. 
 
 Written bj L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by J. W. Thirwell. 
 
 I WAITED by the Beech Tree, 
 
 Beside the rippHng rill, 
 The orb of day was sinking fast. 
 
 Behind the distant hill. 
 The bee had sought its hive of sweets, 
 
 The bird its feather' d nest, 
 I waited by the Beech Tree, 
 
 Eor her I lov'd the best. 
 
 'Tis long ago since that sweet ere : 
 
 JN^ear the same tree stand I, 
 But gaze not in the happy face, 
 
 Nor hail the laughing eye. 
 Those features I behold no more, 
 
 Those eyes no more shall see, 
 Yet still I wander as before. 
 
 Beside the Old Beech Tree. 
 
 I wander — perhaps you ask me why ? 
 
 My simple strains condemn. 
 So be it, I can chidings bear, 
 
 Have long been used to them. 
 But rob me of my bliss, who can ; 
 
 Through life's short hour to last, 
 *Tis reccollection takes me there, 
 
 Sweet memory of the past. 
 
rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 THE BAY OF BISCAY, O! 
 
 Music at Cramer & Co's. 
 
 LoTTD roar'd the dreadful thunder ! 
 
 The rain a deluge showers ! 
 The clouds were rent asunder 
 
 By lightning's vivid powers ! 
 The night both drear and dark, 
 Our poor devoted bark, 
 
 Till next day, there she lay, 
 In the Bay of Biscay, O ! 
 
 Now, dashed upon the billow, 
 Her opening timbers creak 5 
 
 Each fears a watery pillow, 
 None stop the dreadful leak ! 
 
 To cling to slippery shrouds. 
 
 Each breathless seaman crowds, 
 As she lay, till the day. 
 
 In the Bay of Biscay, O ! 
 
 At length the wished-for morrow 
 
 Broke through the hazy sky 5 
 Absorbed in silent sorrow, 
 
 Each heaved a bitter sigh ! 
 The dismal wreck to view. 
 Struck horror to the crew. 
 As she lay, on that day. 
 
 In the Bay of Biscay, 0 ! 
 315 D 
 
50 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Her yielding timbers sever, 
 Her pitchy seams are renfc ; 
 
 When Heaven, all-bounteous ever, 
 Its boundless mercy sent! 
 
 A sail in sight appears, 
 
 We hail her with three cheers ! 
 Now we sail with the gale. 
 
 From the Bay of Biscay, O I 
 
 YOU ASK OF WHAT I'M THINKING 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by Walter Evelyn. 
 
 YoTT ask of what I'm thinking, 
 
 You mark my brow o'ercast. 
 You long to learn the secret ; 
 
 I'm thinking of the past, 
 Bright hours of pure enjoyment, 
 
 I trusted would remain, 
 Alas ! they all are vanished, 
 
 No more to come again. 
 
 Where is the tender parent, 
 
 Who at the close of day. 
 Would by my side be kneeling, 
 
 And with her offspring pray, 
 Where is the little sister, 
 
 Whose eyes so brightly shone ? 
 V/hereare the merry playmates ? 
 
 The answer is — all gone. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 51 
 
 You ask of what I'm thinking 
 
 You mark my brow o'ercast, 
 You long to learn the secret, 
 
 I'm thinking of the past. 
 And where is she who met me> 
 
 And listen'd to my song, 
 And hoped for years to cheer me. 
 
 Life's rugged path along ? 
 
 Gaze on yon spot sequester' d, 
 
 Where yew trees darkly wave, 
 Beneath their sombre branches 
 
 You'll find the lov'd one's grave. 
 You ask of what I'm thinking, 
 
 You mark my brow o'ercast, 
 You long to learn the secret j 
 
 I'm thinking of the past. 
 
 THE SWEETEST HOUR IN TWENTY^ 
 FOUR. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton, 
 
 Music at Cocks and Cov, 
 
 Thebe is an hour more sweet to me, 
 
 Than all the rest in twenty -four^ 
 *Tis when from worldly cares I flee, 
 
 To meet the maiden I adore. 
 Just as the star of eve doth glisten, 
 
 And bird and bee their slumbers take, 
 Then doth my love appear and listen 
 
 To that pure vow I ne'er can break. 
 
52 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 And when in after years we stray, 
 
 And gaze on that pale star of eve, 
 As side by side we wend our way, 
 
 I'll say thou didst my vows believe ! 
 Oh, sweet and glorious satisfaction, 
 
 To know as Time doth onward roll ; 
 The look, the form, the prospect changing, 
 
 It cannot, cannot change the SOUL ! 
 
 CAN I E'ER FOUaET THE VALLEY. 
 
 Written and composedby A. Fry, 
 Music published by Duff and Hodgson, 
 
 Can I e'er forget the valley, 
 
 Or the gentle rippling rill, 
 Whose unwearied waters wander'd, 
 
 Thro' my good old father's mill; 
 Where oft in happy childhood, 
 
 The limpid brook I'd leap. 
 Or roam at will the wild wood, 
 
 Or climb the craggy steep. 
 
 Can I e'er forget the valley, 
 
 Or those friends to mem'ry dear, 
 Who at eventide surrounded 
 
 The easy elbow chair : 
 The group of happy faces, 
 
 In fancy still I see, 
 But ah! their vacant places, 
 
 Alone remains for me. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 53 
 
 Can I e'er forget the valley, 
 
 Or the ivy -mantled pile, 
 "Where those^much lov'dformsnow moulder 
 
 Within its sacred aisle : 
 Tho' fortune's choicest treasure, 
 
 Be mine where'er I roam, 
 Can that restore the pleasure 
 
 Of childhood's happy home. 
 
 I WISH HE WOULD DECIDE. 
 
 Written by J. E, Carpenter. Composed by J. Harroway. 
 Music published by T, Prowse. 
 
 I WISH he would decide, mamma, 
 
 I wish he would decide ! 
 I've heen a bride's-maid twenty times, 
 
 When shall 1 be a bride ? 
 My cousin Ann, my sister Fan, 
 
 The nuptial knot have tied ; 
 Yet come what will, I'm single still ! 
 
 1 wish he would decide. 
 
 I throw out many hints, mamma ! 
 
 I speak of other beaux ; 
 I talk about domestic life. 
 
 And sing — " They don't propose.'* 
 But ah ! how vain each piteous strain, 
 
 His youthful heart to guide, 
 Do what I will, I'm single still ; 
 
 I wish he would decide. 
 
54 
 
 ropuLAE soya?. 
 
 I really shall insist, mamma, 
 
 If nothing intervenes, 
 My brother Thomas questions him, 
 
 And asks him what he means ; 
 And if he wants to break, mamma, 
 
 My passion or my pride, 
 Unconquered yet, shall scorn regret ; 
 
 Yet, — I wish he would decide. 
 
 LAST NIGHT I WAS DBEAMIlSra OF 
 YOU! 
 
 By L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Last night I was dreaming of you — 
 
 Methought that you came to my door, 
 And spake in such language as I 
 
 Ne'er heard you address me before : 
 You told me, nigh twelyemonths had fled. 
 
 Since first you love's passion confess'd 
 And thought it now really high time 
 
 That you with my hand should be blest. 
 
 Yes, — last night I was dreaming of you I 
 
 You show'd me the ring you had bought. 
 
 And vow'd that as pure as the gold, 
 Your love unto me should remain, 
 
 Say, then, could I venture to scold ? 
 The scene chang'd and oh ! the sweet bells 
 
 Their music sent forth through the glen. 
 The happiest of women was I, 
 
 And you were the happiest of men. 
 
 Yes, — last night I was dreaming of you ! 
 
roruLAE soNas. 
 
 55 
 
 NORAH MY DARLINa. 
 
 Written by Thomas Hudson, Composed by N, J. Sporle. 
 
 Music published by H. Tolkien. 
 
 Oh ! Norah, my darling, your's is a sweet name, 
 Your face just like Flora, is sweet as that same ; 
 For your roses and lilies, and graces combine, 
 To bother this heart, that is yours and not mine. 
 There's the moon with a ring on all shining so 
 bright 
 
 I suppose she got married to-day or last night ; 
 Let me buy a small ring for you, size, dear, the 
 least, 
 
 And let me persuade you to go to the priest. 
 Och— hone I you had better be kind. 
 And take me — 'tis now I'm just in the mind 
 To marry my darling Norah, 
 
 There's the moon looking down still — she hears 
 
 all we're saying 
 Her ring's turned to mist, that's a great sign of 
 
 rain, 
 
 And a shower of tears have made both my eyes 
 blind. 
 
 So I'm in a mist because Norah's unkind ; 
 If you won't have me Norah, I won't have no 
 rest, 
 
 Then the crcwner will come with his jury inquest. 
 They'll sit on my body— hear evidence true, 
 And I'll swear 'tis all wilful murder 'gainst you. 
 Och — honey ! you had better be kind 
 And take me — 'tis now I'm just in the mind 
 To marry my darling Norah I 
 
53 
 
 POPULAR soNas. 
 
 I WILL LOYE THEE TO THE LAST. 
 
 Written by Charles Jefferys.— Composed by W. 
 Montgon. 
 
 Music composed by C. Jegreys, 
 
 When the moon is on the waters, 
 
 I will hasten, love to thee, 
 For of all earth's fariest daughters 
 
 Thou the dearest art to me : 
 Tho* rude winds may ruffle ocean, 
 
 Still my bark shall tempt the sea, 
 And in strains of pure devotion, 
 
 I will sing love's song to thee. 
 When my star of Hope was waning 
 
 There was one, but one heart true, 
 And which shar'd without complaining, 
 
 All the ills my bosom knew ; 
 It was thine, my gentle Mary, 
 
 ThoBi wert all the world to me. 
 And, however fortune vary, 
 
 I will still be true to thee. 
 
 Thou wert dear to me in childhood, 
 
 When the rosebud on its tree, 
 As it blossom' d in the wild wood 
 
 Was an emblem, love, of thee ; 
 In thy youth thou wert still dearer; 
 
 With the dawn of reason came 
 Thoughts that brought thee to me nearer, 
 
 Tho' they bore not yet love's name : 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 57 
 
 But thy womanhood unfolding, 
 
 Won the secret from my heart, 
 And my life was in thy holding, 
 
 For 'twas death from thee to part. 
 I have lov'd thee, gentle Mary, 
 
 I have lov'd thee through the past, 
 And, however fortune vary, 
 
 I will love thee to the last. 
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 Written by Miss Fanny E. Lacy. — Composed by E, L. 
 Hine. 
 
 Music published by Leoni, Lee, and Coxhead, 
 
 Oh tell me where is father gone ? 
 
 And when will he come back ! 
 Why have they writ his name on stone ? 
 
 Why are we dressed in black ? 
 If he is gone to that fair land 
 
 Where India's treasures grow, 
 I'd rather hold my father's hand, 
 
 Than all they could bestow. 
 
 If he's gone to some pleasant place, 
 
 Like that we used to roam ; 
 Indulgence smiling in his face. 
 
 Making each spot our home : 
 I I'll not complain, my mother dear, 
 
 But pleased with you abide ; 
 My pleasure still was incomplete 
 
 When absent from your side. 
 
58 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 Perhaps he's gone, my mother dear, 
 
 A little while before ; 
 And we shall find him, never fear. 
 
 When we shall grieve no more, 
 For ah ! I think from all you've said, 
 
 In mild instructions given ; 
 That my dear father is not dead, 
 
 But gone to live in heaven. 
 
 THE REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. 
 
 Written By J. H. Jewell. Adapted by E. Fawcett. 
 Music published by A. Lawson. 
 
 Away from my home, oh ! what sorrow had I, 
 Love clung to my bosom, and aided each sigh 5 
 But now I return ; yes, again to become 
 The child of affection — for dear is my home. 
 I gaze on the valley, the meadow so green, 
 The rill — with its ripple, — while near it is seen 
 My mother's dear roof, oh ! what spot when we 
 roam 
 
 Can efface from the mind the remembrance of 
 home. 
 
 I hear now with pleasure the sweet roundelay ; 
 *Tis far sweeter here than in courts rich and gay 5 
 Dear strains of my country, again should I roam. 
 Each note will recall fond remembrance of home. 
 
POPUXAE SONGS. 
 
 59 
 
 KYEU BE HAPPY AND LIGHT AS THOU 
 ART. 
 
 Pirate's Chorus. 
 
 Written by Alfred Bunn, Esq.— Composed by M. W. 
 Balfe. 
 
 Masic published by Chappell and Co, 
 
 EvEE be happy and light as thou art. 
 
 Pride of the Pirate's heart 1 
 
 Long be thy reign 
 
 On the land, o*er the main, 
 
 By the glaive, by the chart, 
 
 Queen of the pirate's heart. 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 
 
 Music~at Z, T, Furday's, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 "When we were first acquent, 
 Your locks were like the raven. 
 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
 But now your head's turn'd bauld, John, 
 
 Your locks are like the snaw, 
 Yet blessings on your frosty pow, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
60 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 J ohn Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 When nature first began 
 To try their cannie hand, John, 
 
 Her master- work was man ; 
 And you amang them a', John, 
 
 Sae trig from tap to toe, 
 She proved to be nae journeyman, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 Ye were my first conceit, 
 And ye need na think it strange, John, 
 
 Tho' I ca* ye trim and neat ; 
 Tho' some folks say ye' re auld, John, 
 
 I never think ye so, 
 But I think ye*re a' the same to me, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 We've seen our bairns' bairns, 
 And yet, my dear John Anderson, 
 
 I'm happy in your arms ; 
 And sae are ye in mine, J ohn, 
 
 I'm sure ye'U ne'er say no. 
 Though the days are gane that we ha'e seen, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 What pleasure does it gie 
 To see sae mony sprouts, J ohn. 
 
 Spring up 'tween you and me! 
 And ilka lad and lass, J ohn, 
 
 In our footsteps to go. 
 Makes perfect heaven here on earth, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
POPULAE SONaS. 
 
 Jolm Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 Frae year to year we've past, 
 And soon that year maun come, John, 
 
 Will bring us to our last ; 
 But letna' that affright us, John, 
 
 Our hearts were ne'er our foe. 
 While in innocent delight we've lived, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 We climb'd the hill thegither, 
 And monie a cantie day, John, 
 
 We've had wi' ane anither ; 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 
 But hand in hand we'll go. 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 [John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 They say 'tis forty year 
 Sin' Icau'd you my jo, John, 
 
 Sin' you cau'd me your dear : 
 I'm sure they must be wrang, John, 
 
 It never can be so ; 
 'Tis but a honey-moon at maist, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo.] 
 
63 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 SPEAK OF A MAN AS WE FIND HIM. 
 
 Written by J. Simmons. — Composed by J. Sporle. 
 Music published by J. Williams. 
 
 Let us speak of a man as we find him, 
 
 And censure alone what we see ; 
 And should a man blame, let's remind him, 
 
 That from faults there are none of us free ; 
 If the veil from the heart could be torn. 
 
 And the mind could be read on the brow, 
 There are many we'd pass by with scorn. 
 
 Whom we're loading with high honours now. 
 
 Let us speak of a man as we find him, 
 
 And heed not what others may say, 
 If he's frail then a kind word will bind him. 
 
 Where coldness would turn him away, 
 For the heart must be barren indeed, 
 
 Where no bud of repentance can bloom ; 
 Then pause ere you cause it to bleed ; — 
 
 On a smile or a frown hangs its doom. 
 
POPULAR 
 
 €3 
 
 OUR COUNTRY AND OUR QUEEN. 
 
 V/ritten and Composed by AUmann. 
 
 Music at Lewis and Co. 
 
 Britois^S ! be up and doing now, 
 
 And rally round the Throne, 
 Your Queen hath need of ev'rjlife, 
 
 To shield and guard her own. 
 Uplift your voices and your hands, 
 
 Nor tarry till too late, 
 Or never will your patriot hands 
 
 Preserve the Church and State: 
 Chokus. — For let us not forget our rights 
 Have best supported been ; 
 When we united to defend 
 Our Country and our Queen. 
 
 Let not Sedition rear its crest, 
 
 Nor Treason, 'vengeful cry, 
 Nor Faction bear its blood-stained arm, 
 
 Unto the peaceful sky ; 
 Oh ! British hearts, be firm, be true, 
 
 And Peace on ye will wait, 
 And that blest hour ye ne'er shall rue, 
 
 That sav'd the Church and State ; 
 
 Cho.— For let us not, &c. 
 
64 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 A glorious moment is at hand, 
 
 So let not your Great Cause 
 Expire, as surely 'twill, if ye 
 
 tJsurp the Nation's laws ; 
 Be Freedom and Fraternity, 
 
 And Peace the Charter Great, 
 That ye may e'er identify 
 
 With England's Church and State. 
 Cho. — So let us not, &c. 
 
 THE HUNTEE'S HORN AGAIN IS 
 SOUNDING. 
 
 Written by 0. Jeflfreys. — Composed by C. Gilfert. 
 Music at Balls and Co. 
 
 The morning dawns, o'er hill and dale 
 
 The horn of chase is blithely sounding, 
 "Whilst light of heart, and fleet of foot, 
 
 The hunter fearlessly is bounding. 
 In fell pursuit behold him now ; 
 
 Tho' fleet the stag, in vain his flight : 
 He mounts the hill, he gains the brow. 
 
 And shuns at last the hunter's sight j 
 But onward still the hunter wends, 
 
 Again in view the stag is flying. 
 With steady aim the ball he sends. 
 
 The fatal ball — the btag is dying. 
 Tra, la, la, The hunter's horn again is sounding. 
 
rorULAE SONGS. 
 
 C5 
 
 The day is spent, the shades of night 
 
 Are o'er the wood and valleys closing, 
 In hedge and tree, half hid from sight. 
 
 Both bird and beast are now reposing. 
 All else is still save those dear sounds 
 
 That greet afar the list'ner's ear; 
 And homewards now the hunter bounds 
 
 To her who makes that home so dear : 
 She flies to meet her hunter love. 
 
 With heart as light and steps as bounding 
 And brighter pleasures none can prove 
 
 Than he whose horn is gaily sounding, 
 Tra, la, la, Than he whose horn is gaily sounding 
 
 THE BATTLE AND THE BKEEZE. 
 
 Music at Metzler's. 
 
 To Britain's glorious Walls of Oak 
 
 Fill high the patriot glass ! 
 To all who spurn oppression's yoke 
 
 Bound let the goblet pass. 
 And, lo, where Freedom's flag appears 
 
 Queen of the subject seas — 
 The flag that braved a thousand years, 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
 O'er many a scene of purple war. 
 
 From India's cocoa bow'rs, 
 Has victory's banner beam'd afar, 
 
 To Saragossa's Tow'rs. 
 315 E 
 
66 
 
 POPULAl^ SONGS. 
 
 Nor least where her proud flag she rears 
 High o'er her subject seas — 
 
 The flag that braved a thousand years, 
 The battle and the breeze. 
 
 And now to England's Walls of Oak 
 
 The blushing bumper drain ; 
 And, spurning stern oppression's yoke, 
 
 We'll add The Mighty Main." 
 For, lo, where Freedom's Flag appears, 
 
 Borne o'er the subject seas — 
 The flag that brav'd a thousand years 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
 COME LET US BE HAPPY TOaETHER. 
 
 Writteu by C. Jeffeiys. — Composed by Donizetti. 
 Sung by Madle Alboni. 
 " II. SEaRETO PEE ESSEE EELICE.' 
 
 Come let us be happy together, 
 
 For where there's a will there's a way, 
 And the heart may be light as a feather 
 
 If maxims like mine hold their sway : 
 First pack up a store of contentment, 
 
 Who knows not the way is a dunce ; 
 If wrong'd never dream of resentment, 
 
 Get rid of such folly at once. 
 Be kind, 'tis the way to meet kindness, 
 
 If not, what's the use of regret, — 
 Rail not at the world for its blindness, 
 
 But pity, forgive, and forget. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 67 
 
 Our old friends, no doubt, will be true friends, 
 
 The longer, why love them the more ; 
 But shut not your heart against new friends 
 
 Tho' one be but true in a score : 
 Prize the one you have prov'd, as a jewel 
 
 With which it were madness to part ; 
 Who would carelessly throw by the fuel 
 
 That keeps up the warmth of the heart ? 
 Of true souls how good the communion. 
 
 Throughout the wide world as we roam ; 
 To preserve then the strong chain of union, 
 
 Let us rivet the fond links at home. 
 
 OH, WEEP NOT, LADY, FOE THY LOYE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Oh, weep not, lady, for thy love. 
 
 Though absent far from thee, 
 (The G-od of Mercy reigns above,) 
 
 He must protected be. 
 
 Though many an anxious hour may wend, 
 
 Those dreary hours of pain, 
 The day is long that has no end, 
 
 He shall return again. 
 
 Then, weep not, lady, for thy love, 
 
 Though absent far from thee, 
 (The God of Mercy reigns above,) 
 
 He must protected be. 
 
C8 
 
 poruLiR soNas. 
 
 I HAYE A LITTLE POKY. 
 (Altes Liebeslied.) 
 
 The ancient German Love Song, of Trab, Tkab. 
 
 Sung by Maddlle. Jetty TrefFz, at JuUien's Promenade 
 Concerts. 
 
 Composed by Frederick Kucken. 
 
 Rendered into English by J. H. Jewell, 
 
 Once on my little Pony 
 
 (On which I often ride), 
 I rode to see that maiden, 
 
 Whom I shall make a bride. 
 But ere she greeted me, 
 She spoke right earnestly, 
 Trot, trot, trot, trot, dear Pony, 
 Haste, oh, bring my love to me. 
 
 And thus with fond hopes glowing, 
 I urged my steed the more. 
 
 And soon such speed was showing 
 My maiden's cottage door. 
 
 Oh, my dear love, cried she, 
 
 How gladly thee I see, 
 
 Trot, trot, no more, dear Pony, 
 
 Eor now my love's with me. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 69 
 
 Then from my saddle leaping^ 
 
 I cast the rein away, 
 And found my fair one weeping 
 
 With joy's own kindred ray. 
 My love right glad am I 
 To mingle sigh with sigh, 
 Trot, trot, no more, dear Porjy, 
 Till I bid my love good bye. 
 
 And in her bower sitting 
 
 We breathed of love again. 
 And when I spake of quitting 
 
 Her tears would not refrain. 
 My heart for thee doth burn. 
 And for thy presence yearn, 
 Then trot, trot, trot, dear Pony, 
 And to-morrow I'll return. 
 
 KATTY, DAELING. 
 
 Written and arranged by Mr. Lawson. 
 Music published by B. Williams, 
 
 The flowers are blooming, Katty, darlings 
 
 And the birds are singing on each tree : 
 Never mind your mother's cruel snarling. 
 
 My love, you know I'm waiting for thee ! 
 The sun is sweetly smiling. 
 
 With his face so clear and bright ; 
 Haste to your lover, Katty, darling. 
 
 Ere the morning will change to night. 
 
 Katty, Katty, 
 The flowers are blooming, &o. 
 
70 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 Meet me in the valley, Katty, darling, 
 
 When the moon is shining o'er the sea ; 
 Oh, meet me near the stream, Katty, darling. 
 
 And tales of love I'll tell to thee. 
 When the twinkling stars are peeping, 
 
 Sure those eyes shine far more bright I 
 Oh, meet me in the valley, Katty, darling. 
 
 And our vows of love we'll pledge to-night. 
 
 Katty, Katty, 
 The flowers are blooming, &c. 
 
 Faith, I'm smiling at your fears, Katty, dar- 
 ling, 
 
 Then you say you ne'er can be mine ? 
 I've swore by heaven, Katty, darling. 
 
 That this heart, love, alone was thine. 
 The sun is sweetly shining, 
 
 With his face so clear and bright ; 
 Oh, come to your lover, Katty, darling, 
 Ere the morning will change to night. 
 
 Katty, Katty, 
 The flowers are blooming, &c. 
 
 WE MAY BE HAPPY YET. 
 
 From the Opera of '* The Daughter of St. Mark." 
 
 Written by Alfred Bunn, Esq.—Composed by M. W. 
 Balfe. 
 
 Music published by Chappell and Co. 
 
 Oh, smile as thou wert wont to smile, 
 
 Before the weight of care 
 Had crushed thy heart, and for awhile 
 
 Left only sorrow there j 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 71 
 
 Some'thouglits, perchance, 'twerebest to quell, 
 
 Some impulse to forget, 
 On which, should memory cease to dwell, 
 
 We may be happy yet ! 
 
 Oh ! never name departed days, 
 
 Nor vows you whisper'd then, 
 Round which too sad a feeling plays 
 
 To trust their tones again : 
 Regard their shadows round thee cast 
 
 As if we ne'er had met, 
 And thus unmindful of the past, 
 
 We may be happy yet ! 
 
 SALLY m OUR ALLEY. 
 
 Sung by Mr. Genge. 
 Music at Jeffery's. 
 
 Op all the girls that are so smavf, 
 
 There's none like pretty Sally, 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley ; 
 There is no lady in the land, 
 
 Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets. 
 And through the streets does cry 'em ; 
 
 Her mother she sells laces long. 
 To such as please to buy 'em ; 
 
POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 But sure such folks could ne'er beget 
 
 So sweet a girl as Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When she is by, I leave my work, 
 
 (I love her so sincerely) 
 My master comes like any Turk, 
 
 And bangs me most severely j 
 But let him beat me as he may, 
 
 I'll bear it all for Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Of all the days that's in the week, 
 
 I dearly love but one day, 
 And that's the day that comes betwixt 
 
 A Saturday and Monday ; 
 For then I'm drest all in my best, 
 
 To walk abroad with Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master forces me to church, 
 
 And often am I blam.ed. 
 Because I leave him in the lurch. 
 
 As soon as text is named. 
 I leave the church in sermon-time, 
 
 To walk abroad with Sally j 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When Christmas comes about again. 
 Oh then I shall have money ! 
 
 I'll hoard it up, and box and all, 
 I'll give it to my honey 5 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 73 
 
 I would it were ten thousand pounds, 
 
 I'd give it all to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master and the neighbours all, 
 
 Make game of me and Sally, 
 And (but for her) I'd better be 
 
 A slave, and row a galley ; 
 But when my seven long years are out, 
 
 Oh, then I'll marry Sally ! 
 Oh, then we'll wed, and happy be, 
 
 But not in our alley ! 
 
 WHEN DO YOU MEAN TO CHANGE 
 YOUR NAME? 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music at Gay & Go's., Oxford Street. 
 
 " When do you mean to change your name ?" 
 
 Sigh'd forth young Harry Bell : 
 For, since I first a wooing came, 
 
 Charm'd by your beauty's spell, 
 Nigh all the fair ones on the green 
 Are with their happy partners seen. 
 
 Now Harry dearly lov'd his lass, 
 
 And she as dearly him, 
 And, thus to let our best days pass, 
 
 Oh, wasn't it a sin? 
 I only wish that I could see 
 A nice young man to marry me. 
 
74 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 rd never hum and ah, 7 vow ; 
 
 Now mark you what I'd say, 
 In answer to " Will you have me ?" 
 
 " YeSy dear, I will, — to day !" 
 And wherefore should I answer so? 
 Delays are dangerous, you know. 
 
 OLD COWELL THE PILOT. 
 
 Music at Novello's. 
 
 Old Conwell, the pilot, for many a year 
 
 Had plenty of vessels in charge j 
 And knew of each sand-bank and shoal to steer 
 clear, 
 
 Whether sailing close haul'd or at large. 
 At last safely moor'd,witha well-timber'd purse, 
 
 Heart and house open'd wide to his friend. 
 With old Poll, once a dasher, now turn'd to a 
 nurse, 
 
 He had bought a snug berth at Grravesend. 
 
 From a kind of poop lantern placed over the 
 Thames, 
 
 Where he took with his messmates his prog, 
 Bound outward or homeward, the ships and their 
 names 
 
 They'd spy, as they guzzled their grog. 
 Now cocking the spy-glass, and clearing the 
 Nore, — 
 
 " Why, J ack, there they come without end ! 
 There's the Nejptune, the Glory , and, further in 
 shore, 
 
 Fame and Liberty, making Gravesend. 
 
POPITLAE SOKaS. 
 
 75 
 
 " And see ! where the river in branches divides, 
 
 Cut in two all the same as a fork ; 
 How proudly the Commerce with Industry rides ! 
 
 Then the Blarney — Oh, she is bound to Cork. 
 There's the homeward-bound fleets from the 
 Downs, only see ! 
 So stored, their top-gallant-masts bend ! 
 There's the Silhworm, the Beaver^ the Ant and 
 the Bee^ 
 
 And all standing on for Grrevesend. 
 
 *' There's the Fortune yonder, at danger that 
 mocks, 
 
 The Nimhle^ that swims like a tench; 
 The bold Resolution^ that steers clear of rocks, 
 
 The Britannia that laugh'd at the French f 
 Thus a magnet old Thames firmly holds in his 
 mouth, 
 
 To which all sorts of merchandize tend ; 
 And the trade of all nations. East, West, North, 
 and South, 
 
 Like the Needle, points right to Gravesend. 
 
 THE POSTMAN'S KNOCK 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 What a wonderful man the Postman is. 
 
 As he hastens from door to door. 
 What a medley of news his hands contain, 
 
 For high, low, rich, and poor : 
 In many a face he joy doth trace — 
 
 In as many he grief can see. 
 As the door is op'd to his loud ran-tan. 
 
 And his quick delivery. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Every morn, as true as the clock, 
 Somebody hears the Postman's knock. 
 
 No. 1, he presents with the news of a birth ; 
 
 With the tidings of death number 4 j 
 At 13, a bill of a terrible length, 
 
 He drops through the hole in the door. 
 A cheque, or an order at 15 he leaves, 
 
 And 16, his presence doth prove ; 
 While 17 does an acknowledgment get, 
 
 And 18, a letter of love / 
 Every morn, as true as the clock, 
 Somebody hears the Postman's knock. 
 
 May his visits be frequent to those who expcc t - 
 
 A line from the friends they hold dear : 
 Put rarely we hope that compelled he will be 
 
 Disastrous tidings to bear. 
 Far, far be the day, when the envelope shows 
 
 The dark border shading it o'er ; 
 Then long life to Her Majesty's servant we say, 
 
 And oft may he knock at our door. 
 Every morn, as true as the clock. 
 Somebody hears the Postman's knock. 
 
 A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE. 
 
 Music at Novello's. 
 
 A LIFE on the ocean wave, 
 A home on the rolling deep, 
 
 Where the scattered waters rave, 
 And the winds their revels keep. 
 
rOPITLAE SONGS. 
 
 77 
 
 Like an eagle caged, I pine, 
 
 On this dull, unchanging shore : 
 
 Oh, give ine the splashing brine, 
 The spray, and the tempest's roar. 
 
 A life, &c. 
 
 Once more on the deck I stand 
 
 Of my own swift, gliding craft : 
 Set sail! — farewell to the land! — 
 
 The gale follows far abaft. 
 We shoot through the sparkling foam, 
 
 Like an ocean bird, set free — 
 Like the ocean bird, our home 
 
 We'll find far out in the sea. 
 
 A life, &c. 
 
 The land is no longer in view. 
 
 The clouds have begun to frown ; 
 But with a stout vessel and crew. 
 
 We'll say. Let the storm come down ; 
 And the song of our hearts shall be, 
 
 While the winds and the waters rave, 
 A life on the heaving sea, 
 
 A home on the bounding wave ! 
 
 A life, &c. 
 
 'TIS THEN YOU'LL THINK OF ME. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Now, while around you lovers throng, 
 In hopes your hand to gain ; 
 
 You seek to trifle with one heart, 
 And hourly cause it pain. 
 
78 
 
 POPITLAE SONGS. 
 
 Allured by false and flattering words, 
 
 I must forgotten be ; 
 But when their worthlessness you prove, 
 
 'Tis then you'll think of me. 
 
 "When Time those charms for aye destroy, 
 
 Which make men flock to you ; 
 When, must the hearty and not the /ace, 
 
 Make each to other true : — 
 Andchang'd becomes that heart, which ought 
 
 Through life unchang'd to be, 
 And only death can comfort yield, 
 
 'Tis then you'll think me. 
 
 X'HE POPE HE LEADS A HAPPY LIFE. 
 
 Music published by Prowse. 
 
 The Pope he leads a happy life, 
 He knows no cares of marriage strife, 
 He drinks the best of Bhenish wine, 
 I would the Pope's gay lot were mine ; 
 But yet, all happy's not his life. 
 Ye loves no maid, nor wedded wife. 
 Nor child hath he to cheer his hope — 
 I would not wish to be the Pope. 
 
 The Sultan better pleases me. 
 
 He lives a life of jollity, 
 
 Has wives, as many as he will, 
 
 I would the Sultan's throne then fill ; 
 
 And yet, he's not a happy man. 
 
 He must obey the Alcoran j 
 
 But dares not taste one drop of wine^ 
 
 I would not that his face were mine. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 79 
 
 So liere I'll take my lowly stand, 
 I'll drink my own, my native land, 
 I'll kiss my maiden's lip divine, 
 And drink the best of Rhenish wine ; 
 And when my maiden kisses me, 
 I'll fancy I the Sultan be. 
 And when my cheery glass I tope, 
 I'll fancy that I am the Pope. 
 
 L^DY LOYE, LADY LOYE, EOAM 
 WITH ME. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Oh lady, sweet lady, a while let us roam ; 
 The songsters of heaven are mute on tlio 
 bough : 
 
 The honey-bee laden has fled to her home. 
 The glow-worm comes forth, it is evening now : 
 
 Then, lady love, lady love, roam with me, 
 Lady love, lady love, roam with me ; 
 
 True to the bosom that's constant to thee. 
 Lady love, lady love, roam with me. 
 
 The sun long has sunk to his home in the west. 
 The stars one by one deck the beautiful sky. 
 The moonbeams are mirror'd on Ocean's calm 
 breast. 
 
 And the murmuring zephyr re-echoes my sigh : 
 Then lady love, lady love, roam with me ; 
 
 Lady love, lady love, roam with me ; 
 True to the bosom that's constant to thee, 
 
 Lady love, lady love, roam with me. 
 
80 
 
 POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 MEET ME, LOYE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Meet me, love, when day is ending, 
 When the moon her light is lending, 
 When are flowers their petals closing, 
 When the honey bee's reposing ; 
 Then, oh ! then come forth te me, 
 And with happy heart I'll greet thee ! 
 
 I'LL MEET THEE TO-NiaHT. 
 
 Written by L. M. Tbornton. 
 
 I'll meet thee to-night, love, I'll meet theo to- 
 night. 
 
 When the firmament's gilded with sapphires 
 bright. 
 
 When moonbeams are dancing upon the blue 
 sea, 
 
 And flowers have yielded their sweets to the bee ; 
 When all that is lovely attracteth the sight. 
 Oh, then will I meet thee, I'll meet thee — to 
 
 NIG HT I 
 
POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 81 
 
 THE BLIND GIEL AND THE E03E. 
 Composed by J. H. Jewell.— Written by W. C. Selle. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'g. 
 
 Sweet flower, the joyous sun is on tliee shining. 
 Tinting thy blossoms with its ruddy beams ; 
 
 And all night long gay fancy hath been twining 
 Thy opening blossoms in my rosy dreams. 
 
 Sweet flower, I know around me thou art flinging 
 Thy sweetest fragrance on the balmy air ; 
 
 While in the floating breeze thine odour's winging 
 Its incense to the throne I seek in prayer. 
 
 3weet flower, I love thee ; and that love possess 
 
 My mind beholds thee beautiful to see ; 
 A.nd to yon heaven I offer up my blessing, 
 For sending gifts so precious unto me. 
 
 IT IS A DREAM, I SHALL AWAKE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 It is a dream, I shall awake. 
 These pangs can not be real ; 
 
 He would not wish my heart to break, 
 Too noble his I feel : 
 315 n 
 
83 
 
 POPTTLAi^ SONaS. 
 
 He would not stoop so low as e'er 
 To heed the tattler's tale, 
 
 Or let the force it must convey, 
 With him one hour prevail. 
 
 And yet, this silence doth portend 
 
 Some heavy trial at hand ; 
 But conscious innocence shall make 
 
 Me firm against it stand. 
 The enemy, when face to face, 
 
 With her he basely wrongs. 
 Will find to his extreme disgracOf 
 
 What unto Truth belongs. 
 
 MARY BLANE. 
 
 Written by Wellington Guernsey, — Composed by George 
 Baker. 
 
 Music published by J. Williams. 
 
 (The original and only correct edition.) 
 
 T ONCE did lub a pretty gal, I lub'd her as my life, 
 She came from Lousiana, and I made her my dear 
 wife; 
 
 At home we lib'd so happy, oh, free from grief or 
 pain! 
 
 But in the winter time of year, I lost my Mary 
 Blane. 
 
 Oh, fare dee well, poor Mary Blane I 
 One feeling heart bids you adieu j 
 Fare dee well, my Mary Blane, 
 We'll never meet again ! 
 
POPULAR SONOS. 83 
 
 I went into de woods one day, to hunt among de 
 cane, 
 
 De white man come into my house, and took poor 
 Mary Blane ; 
 
 It grieb me berry much to tink, no hope I enter- 
 tain 
 
 Of eber seeing my dear gal, my own poor Mary 
 Blane. 
 Oh ! fare dee well, &c. 
 
 When toiling in de cotton field, I cry and say 
 good bye. 
 
 Unto my broder comrades, dat oh, soon j oh, soon, 
 I die! 
 
 My poor wife gone, I cannot lib, amidst dis world 
 of pain. 
 
 But lay me in de grabe to find my own poor Mary 
 Blane. 
 
 Oh, fare dee well, dear Mary Blane ! 
 Do we are parted here on earth ; 
 Oh, fare dee well, my Mary Blane, 
 We soon shall meet again I 
 
 COME, m MY SADNESS, COME! 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Come, in my sadness, come ! 
 
 Oh come, my heart to cheer : 
 Sweet words of consolation speak. 
 
 And save me from Despair. 
 
84 
 
 rOPTJLAE SONGS. 
 
 Come, for apart from thee 
 
 No other friend have I ; 
 From East to West, from North to South, 
 
 In vain I turn mine eye. 
 
 Come, in my sadness, come I 
 
 Oh make no long delay ; 
 I hail thy presence as the light 
 
 Of the approaching day. 
 
 BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 
 
 Written by Alfred Bunn, Esq., in the Brides of Venice. 
 
 Composed by J. Benedict. 
 
 Music at Chappell and Cramer's, 
 
 By the sad sea waves I listen while they moan, 
 A lament o'er the graves of hope and pleasure 
 gone, 
 
 I was young, I was fair, 
 I had once not a care. 
 From the rising of the morn to the setting of the 
 sun, 
 
 Yet I pine like a slave, 
 By the sad sea wave, 
 Come again bright days of hope and pleasure 
 gone. 
 
 From my care last night, by holy sleep beguil'd, 
 In the fair dream-light my home upon me smil'd ; 
 
 O how sweet 'mid the dew, 
 
 Ev'ry flower that I knew, 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 85 
 
 Ereath'd a gentle welcome back to the worn and 
 weary child, 
 
 I awake in my grave, 
 
 By the sad sea wave, 
 Come again dear dream so peacefully that smil'd. 
 
 YOF ASK ME TO FOEaET HEE, 
 Written by L. M, Thornton. 
 
 YoTT ask me to forget her, 
 
 To mix in fashion's throng, 
 T might, if did not feeling 
 
 Unto this heart belong : — 
 I might, had I but sought her 
 
 Dull hours to wile away, 
 I might, if true affection 
 
 Existed to decay. 
 
 But since the heart's pure feelings, 
 
 Are destin'd to endure ; 
 How vain to say " Forget Aer," 
 
 And " rove" to peace restore. 
 When once within the bosom, 
 
 True love has rear'd a throne, 
 Nor time, nor change can move it, 
 
 Eternity its own. 
 
86 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 WHEN THE CHEERFUL LOa WAS 
 BURNING. 
 
 Musio at Balls*8. 
 
 Hail to the eve, when a welcome we give 
 
 To the friends we hold most dear ; 
 When we laugh at the jest of each happy guest 
 
 Who partakes of our homely cheer. 
 In each well-known face, good humour we trace, 
 
 All thoughts of sorrow spurning ; 
 All hearts are light, all eyes are bright, 
 
 When the cheerful log is burning. 
 
 Hail to the night, when the aged recite 
 
 All the hair-brain'd feats of youth ; 
 All the deeds they have done, and the nymphs 
 they have won, 
 
 With an air of honest truth : 
 " Oh, oh," quoth the dame, " a day I could name. 
 
 When one poor heart was mourning ; 
 Till I, poor thing, bade him go buy the ring. 
 
 When the cheerful log was burning." 
 
 Hail to the time when the merry bells chime. 
 
 And we open wide the door, 
 Not alone to the guest whom dame Fortune hath 
 bless'd, 
 
 But her hapless children, the poor. 
 On this joyous night, all hearts should be light. 
 
 On earth no soul be mourning ; 
 While innocent mirth encircles the hearth, 
 
 While the cheerful log is burning. 
 
 I 
 
POPTJLAE SONGS. 
 
 87 
 
 THE SUMMER OF THE HEAET. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music at Eobert Cock3 and Co., New Burlington Street, 
 Publishers to the Queen. 
 
 I SAW her with a rosy wreath 
 
 Of wild flow'rs fresh and gay ; 
 I heard her sing in dulcet strains, 
 
 Her simple merry lay. 
 Oh ! why that garland fresh and fair, 
 
 And why those notes so sweet, 
 And why that smile and beaming glance, 
 
 A wanderer to greet ? 
 
 Her sky of life was one clear blue. 
 
 No storm cloud flitted by ; 
 She'd yet to learn what pales the cheelf. 
 
 And what bedims the eye : 
 She'd yet to mourn that season bright, 
 
 Which comes but to depart ; 
 And having left us, comes qio more — 
 
 The Summer of the Heart. 
 
88 
 
 POrULAB SONGS. 
 
 A SOKa YOU OLD FEIENDS. 
 
 Written and Composed by Allmann, 
 Music at Lewis and Go's, 
 
 A SONG for Old Eriends ! for the dear friends of 
 childhood, 
 
 Who have lov'd us alike amid sunshine and 
 gloom, 
 
 Who cling to our hearts as the bird to the wild- 
 wood. 
 
 Though the summer-g^reen leaves tell of flowers 
 in bloom ! 
 
 A song for Old Friends ; who fled not, like the 
 stranger. 
 
 When the hour of adversity fill'd us with pain, 
 But were steadfast and true in the hour of danger ; 
 Till the heart could look up from its sorrow 
 again. 
 
 A song for Old Friends ! for the friends gone be- 
 fore us, 
 
 A tear and a blessing for those we have lost ! 
 Yos ! blessings be theirs for the love they once 
 bore us, 
 
 And tears ! — oh! how many tliose dear ones 
 have cost ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 89 
 
 |A. song for Old Friends ! from the heart's sacred 
 I altar 
 
 The strain like a prayer in silence ascends ! 
 Tet, though eyes may grow dim and the weak 
 tongue may falter, 
 Let our lips breathe in music — " A song for 
 Old Friends!" 
 
 liAND DO I MEET THEE ONCE AGAIN? 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music at Addison and Holier*3, 210, Regent Street. 
 
 And do I meet thee once again, 
 And press thee to my heart ! 
 Forgotten then those hours of pain, 
 
 Those tears that oft did start. 
 And do I hear a well known voice 
 
 My name at length repeat ! 
 And prove one bosom doth rejoice 
 The friend sincere to greet ? 
 
 If those within the realms of bliss 
 
 The forms of earth descry, 
 With what delight they witness this 
 
 Sweet proof of Friendship's tie. 
 They had their friends — and dear ones too, 
 
 They had their hopes and fears, 
 And joys which, thrill our bosoms through, 
 Find a response in theirs. 
 
90 
 
 POFULAE SONGS. 
 
 I CANNOT SMILE, DEAR MOTHEE. 
 
 Written by Mrs. St. Leg:er.— -Composed by George 
 Barker, 
 
 Music afc Kiist and Stahl's. 
 
 I CANKOT smile, dear mother, 
 
 Nor speak as others do, 
 I can't forget, dear mother. 
 
 One ever fond and true ; 
 My cheek was brightly blooming 
 
 Ere you forbad love's vow, 
 You meant it kindly, mother ! 
 
 But ah ! look at me now. 
 
 I cannot sleep, dear mother, 
 
 I'm thinking of the past, 
 I lov'd him — oh ! how fondly. 
 
 That love will be my last. 
 Then blame me not, dear mother 
 
 I'm dutiful to thee, 
 But now on earth, dear mother, 
 
 There is no hope for me. 
 
 A BOAT, A BOAT. 
 
 Music published by Z. T, Purday, 
 
 A BOAT, a boat —haste to the ferry — 
 
 For we'll go over to be merry. 
 
 To laugh and quaff, and drink old sherry. 
 
POPTJLAE SONGS. 
 
 91 
 
 SMILES AND TEARS. 
 Written by L. M. Thornton, 
 
 When all within is calm and bright, 
 
 And all around looks gay, 
 And every hour is pouring forth 
 
 New blessings on our waj ; 
 How lightsome are our spirits then, 
 
 In what a tone we sing, 
 We find a smile for every one, 
 
 A charm in everything. 
 
 Oh ! sad it is whene'er the heart 
 
 Is doomed a change to know ; 
 When, in the stead of happy smiles, 
 
 The bitter tears do flow. 
 But even then, we are not left 
 
 In griefs dark vale to grope ; 
 See from above a light appears. 
 
 It is the Star of Hope I 
 
 I CANNOT TELL THEE HOW I LOVE 
 THEE. 
 
 Written and Composed by Ailmann. 
 Music at Lewis and Co.'s. 
 
 I CANNOT tell thee how I love thee, 
 
 My words are weak and void of charm, 
 
 My lips but vainly seek to utter 
 The thought which keeps my bosom warm. 
 
92 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 The Poet's breathing fire enkindles 
 
 No glowing image in my brain, 
 And so my soulless strain must perish, 
 And Passion strikes the cords in vain, 
 Still, still, if homage deep and pure, 
 
 In simple tones can fail to move thee ; 
 Affection then must die obscure, 
 I cannot tell thee how I love thee ! 
 
 With roseate grace the blush of beauty 
 
 In glory mantles o'er thy brow ; 
 Thy sweet toned voice, thy wit so flashing. 
 
 Thy melting eyes which thrill me now 
 All speak thee of Earth's Children fairest, 
 
 Yet I, in whom no rare gifts meet. 
 Have dared to worship thee in secret. 
 
 Though all the world was at thy feet. 
 And still if homage, &c. 
 
 MITHER, BLAME ME NOT FOB LOVINa. 
 
 SCOTCH BALLAD. 
 Written by L. M, Thornton. 
 
 MiTHEB, blame me not for loving 
 
 Wherefore thus sae cruel be ? 
 'Deed I canna frown on Jamie, 
 
 When he comes a wooing me. 
 For I know his bosom's beating 
 
 Ever with affection kind, 
 And where I toeast him from me, 
 
 I might ne'er his equal find. 
 
rOPFIiAB SONGS. 
 
 03 
 
 Then, mither, blame me not for loving, 
 Wherefore thus so cruel be ? 
 
 'Deed I canna frown on J amie. 
 When he comes a wooing me. 
 
 Though your courting days are over, 
 
 You those days remember still ; 
 Know too, that at length, when married, 
 
 'Twas not, mither, 'gainst your will. 
 Would you wish your daughter happy, 
 
 You can now that bliss impart ; 
 Force me not my hand to give then. 
 
 Where I cannot give my heart. 
 Then, mither, blame me not for loving 
 
 Wherefore thus sae cruel be ? 
 'Deed I canna frown on Jamie, 
 
 When he comes a wooing me. 
 
 . MY MOTHER'S YOICE. 
 
 Written by J. fl. Jewell. — Composed by J. Bloekley. 
 
 Music at Duff & Hodgson's, 
 
 ** God knows how infantine the memory may have been 
 that was awakened within me, by the sound of my mother's 
 voice in the old parlour, when I set foot in the hall. She 
 was singing in a low tone. I think I must have lain in 
 her arms, and heard her singing so to me, when I was but 
 a baby. The strain was new to me, and yet it was so old, 
 that it filled my heart brimful ; like a friend come back 
 from a long absence." — David Coppebfield, page 79. 
 
 I'M standing on the threshold now. 
 
 Of what was home awhile ; 
 Ere care had mark'd my youthful brow. 
 
 Or check' d the rising smile. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 I listen, and a spell now seems 
 
 To bind my footsteps fast ; 
 I listen, and my waking dreams 
 
 Becall scenes of the past. 
 
 "For 'tis my mother's voice I hear, 
 
 Sad, sorrowful, and low : 
 Now sounding from me, — now more near. 
 
 So soft her accents flow. 
 I know I hear the melody 
 
 That used to calm my fears. 
 But what a void it opes to me. 
 
 This misty flight of years. 
 
 God knows how infantine the mind, 
 
 Or memory may be ; 
 But oh, each accent is defin'd 
 
 As when she sung to me 
 Those strains as I encradled lay, 
 
 Upon her gentle breast : 
 As watching o'er me night and day, 
 
 She sang my griefs to rest. 
 
 For mem'ry takes me back to days 
 
 Of infancy again, 
 Keviving in forgotten lays 
 
 One dear old welcome strain ; 
 So new, and yet so old : that song 
 
 How doth my fond heart yearn 
 To welcome it, (from absence long,) 
 
 Like some old friend's return. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 95 
 
 LIFE, SOME SAY, IS NOUaHT BUT 
 WOE. 
 
 By L. Wymark. 
 
 LiPE, some say, is nought but woe, — 
 
 With them I'll not agree ; 
 Life has a many pains, I know, 
 
 Yet gleams of bliss there be ! 
 Come, be contented with our lot, 
 
 'Twill make our sorrows lighter ; 
 Of trifles — prithee heed them not. 
 
 And prospects will grow brighter. 
 
 As life is short, then pleasure take, 
 
 And pass in joy the day, 
 For why should we more sorrows make 
 
 When we've enough alway ? 
 So brood no longer o'er our cares. 
 
 It will not make them lighter ; 
 Arise, I say, dry up your tears. 
 
 And prospects will grow brighter. 
 
 THE LASS O^aOWRIE. 
 
 Music published by Duff and Hodgson, 
 
 'TWAS on a summer afternoon, 
 A wee before the sun gaed down, 
 My lassie, with a braw new gown, 
 Came o*er the hills to G^owrie. 
 
POrXJLAE SONGS. 
 
 The rse-bud tinged wi' morning shower 
 Bloom' d fresh within the sunny bower ; 
 But Kitty was the fairest flower 
 That ever bloom' d in Gowrie. 
 
 I prais'd her beauty loud and lang, 
 Then round her waist my arms I flang, 
 And said, " My lassie, will you gang 
 
 To view the Carse o' Growrie ? 
 I'll tak' you to my father's ha'. 
 In yon green field beside the shaw, 
 And mak' you lady o' them a' — 
 
 The brawest wife in G-owrie." 
 Saft kisses on her lips I laid, 
 The blush upon her cheek soon spread j 
 She whisper' d modestly and said, 
 
 "I'll gang wi' ye to G-owrie." 
 The auld folks soon gave their consent, 
 And to Mess John we quickly went, 
 Wha tied us to our hearts' content — 
 
 And now she's Lady G-owrie. 
 
 ANSWER TO "ANKEE LAUEIE." 
 ■VVritten by L. M. Thornton, 
 ANNIE'S EEPLT. 
 
 If all you've now been saying, 
 Doth from the heart proceed, 
 
 Then upon those words relying. 
 Your Annie's blest indeed ! 
 Your Annie's blest indeed 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 And future years will prove 
 
 That in wedding Annie Laurie, 
 You'll not repent your love. 
 
 Though small our destin'd portion, 
 
 If by my side you be ; 
 I'll ask no greater blessing, 
 
 I have my all in thee ! 
 
 I have my all in thee ! 
 And shouldst thou trouble know 
 
 Thou wilt have thy Annie Laurie 
 To share it with thee too. 
 
 THE LEARNED MAN. 
 Written and composedby A. Fry^ 
 
 Since the distant day I prattled o'er 
 The horn-book and the battledore, 
 What musty tomes IVe rattled o'er, 
 
 And yet I've scarce began. 
 Then, if I've volubility 
 I'll tell with what facility 
 And wondrous ability 
 
 I've studied, if I can. 
 If of our views I any fit, 
 
 I'll tell you in a trice. 
 How you'll derive great benefit 
 
 By taking my advice. 
 First shake of all timidity, 
 Apply with due solidity. 
 Eschewing every quiddity, 
 
 To be a learned man. 
 315 o 
 
POPULAR SONOa. 
 
 Commence with etymology^ 
 
 Go next to genealogy, 
 
 Your head fill with chronology, 
 
 (Although it be a ban ;) 
 Then go next to ontology, 
 And physico-theology, 
 Observing strict philology, — 
 
 Go wrong you never can. 
 Mix up nolampoonery 
 
 In ought you say or do, 
 And let no vile buffoonery 
 
 E'er emanate from you. 
 If you touch on the majestical. 
 Celestial, or terrestrical, 
 Let it not be catachstical, 
 
 To be a learned man. 
 
 If you'd display chirography, 
 In any one's biography, 
 Look well to geography, 
 
 And times and dates well scan. 
 Antediluvian history. 
 Of mythology the mystery, 
 Theogany consistory, 
 
 To study be your plan ; 
 And if past mediocrity 
 
 In wisdom you would soar, 
 Go on with all alacrity, 
 
 And search for further lore. 
 Then turn to botanology, 
 
 Give a glance at mineralogy. 
 And ditto ictheology, 
 
 To be a learned man. 
 
 Learn alchemy by particle, 
 therapeutics every article, 
 
POrtTLAU SONGS. 
 
 And pharmacy cathartical 
 
 Or emetical you can ; 
 But there's a multiplicity 
 Of et ceteras, electricity, 
 Computation with felicity, 
 
 O'er which I have not ran. 
 Architecture and ichnography, 
 
 And dioptrics you will learn ; 
 From cosmography, topography 
 
 And mechanism turn ; 
 Forms of government, theocracy j 
 And that one termed democracy, 
 Not forgetting gynocracy, 
 
 To be a learned man. 
 
 ADDITIONAL VEESES BY ME. A. MANCLAEZ 
 
 To oratory turn your mind, 
 
 And diacoustics you will find 
 Will with each other be combined, 
 
 If a public life's your plan ; 
 And then, as you progressive be. 
 Mind that you don't digressive be, 
 But let your looks expressive be — 
 
 Go wrong you never can. 
 Didactics, dialectics, 
 
 And orthoepy you'll learn, 
 
 And discongruity you spurn. 
 Then let originality. 
 Ideality, casuality, 
 Be blended with morality, 
 To be a learned man. 
 
 that inconsistency 
 
100 
 
 POPFLAR SONGS. 
 
 Then go next to astography, 
 But skipping adenograpy, 
 Take lessons in stenography, 
 
 And practise when you can ; 
 Avoiding all tautology — 
 Of no use is amphibology, 
 But come on phrenology. 
 
 And all its points well scan. 
 And you must get anthology, 
 
 Implanted on your mind 5 
 Astronomy, astrology 
 
 But you must be defined. 
 And don't be egotistical, 
 
 By your knowledge stand or fall ; 
 And when you've learnt this budget all, 
 
 You'll be a learned man. 
 
 THE SMILE THAT PLAYS. 
 In the Opera of " The Brides of Venice." 
 Written by Alfred Bunn, Esq, — Composed by Benedict, 
 Music at Cramer's and Chappell's. 
 
 The smile that plays on woman's cheek, 
 
 The sigh which breaks her rest, 
 Though bright, or sad, but ill bespeak 
 
 The feelings of her breast j 
 These may some anxious thoughts impart, 
 
 But those who've most relied, 
 Know not the love of woman's heart. 
 
 Until that heart be tried ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 101 
 
 There may in her uncertain smile 
 
 Some token be of grief, 
 Some impulse which may for a while 
 
 In sorrow seek relief ; 
 But those "VJ'ho most have watched the part, 
 
 Pourtrayetby hope or pride, 
 Know least tL^ love of woman*s heart, 
 
 Until t'^at heart bo tried I 
 
 MEDISCOUESE. 
 
 Music published by D'Almaine and Co. 
 
 Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
 Or like a fairy trip upon the green ; 
 
 Or like a nymph, with bright and flowing hair. 
 Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 
 
 THE OLD FARM GATE. 
 
 Written by Eliza Cook.— Composed by Henry Russell. 
 Music at Walker's, 
 
 Wheee, where is the gate that once used to di- 
 vide 
 
 The old shaded lane from the grassy road side P 
 I like not this gate, so gay and so bright. 
 With its glittering latch, and its trellis of white. 
 
102 
 
 POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 It is pretty I own, yet oh dearer by far, 
 Was the red rusted hinge, and the weather warp- 
 ed bar, 
 
 Here are fashion and form of a modernized date, 
 But rd rather have looked on that old farm gate. 
 
 *Twas there where my sisters would gather to 
 play, 
 
 In the shadows of twilight, or sunny mid-day, 
 How we'd laugh and run wild mid those hillocks 
 of sand, 
 
 Where temptations existed no child could with- 
 stand. 
 
 But to swingon thegate rails, to clamber, and ride, 
 Was the utmost of pleasure, of glory, and pride j 
 And the car of the victor, the carriage of state, 
 Never carried such hearts as that old farm gate. 
 
 Oh, fair is the barrier taking its place, 
 But it darkens a picture my soul longs to trace, 
 I sigh to behold the rough staple and hasp. 
 And the rails that my growing hand scarcely can 
 clasp. 
 
 Oh, how strangely the warm spirit grudges to part 
 With the commonest relic once linked to the 
 heartj 
 
 And the brightest of fortune, the kindliest of fate. 
 Would not banish my love for the old farm gate. 
 
POPULAH SONGS. 
 
 103 
 
 MILLTS CONSOLATION. 
 
 Written by J. H. Jewell. — Composed by W. H, Holmes, 
 
 Sung by Madame Macfarren. 
 
 ** Children love me so, that sometimes I half fancy — it's 
 B silly fancy, William — they have some way I don't know 
 of, of feeling for my little child and me, and understand- 
 ing why their love is precious to me. If I have been 
 quiet since, I have been more happy, William, in a hun- 
 dred ways. Not least happy, dear, in this, — that even 
 when my little child was born and dead but a few days, 
 and I was weak and sorrowful, and could not help ijriev- 
 ing a little, the thought arose, that if I tried to lead a 
 good life, I should meet in heaven a bright creature, who 
 would call me mother." — Chaeles Dickens' Haunted 
 Man. 
 
 I'm joyous, yet Pm sorrowful, I think upon the 
 past, 
 
 Of one thing bright and beautiful, too beautiful 
 to last, 
 
 Of one sweet cherub sent to me, that came and 
 went again. 
 
 Ere I could love and cherish it — ah ! eartlily 
 hopes are vain. 
 
 Yes, I had hoped 'twould live, and be a fond en- 
 dearing child. 
 
 Returning all my love with love, so genial, so 
 mild, 
 
 Perchance, it was too innocent to live on earth 
 with me, 
 
 Its spirit sought for purer realms, while from 
 earth's guilt 'twas free. . 
 
104 P0PT7LAB SONGS. 
 
 It is a silly dream I know, but oft-times I have 
 thought, 
 
 That children seem to cling to me (I know not 
 
 why they ought) 
 They seem to have a sympathy for that dear child 
 
 that's gone, 
 
 Oh, while their love is precious, my heart is not 
 so lone. 
 
 When my sweet little child lay dead, one happy 
 
 thought arose, 
 A solace and a comfort 'twas to all my earthly 
 
 woes. 
 
 I thought that I would try to lead a pure and 
 godly hfe. 
 
 And try to wean myself from all world-vanity 
 and strife. 
 
 I thought if thus I liv'd on earth, to me it would 
 be given 
 
 To meet that angel cherub in its glorious place 
 in Heaven ; 
 
 To hear it call me mother once, oh! 'twould in- 
 
 deed be bliss. 
 And now I live for other worlds with comfort 
 
 left in this. 
 
POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 105 
 
 THE OUTLAW. 
 
 Composed by E. J. Loder. — Music published by T, 
 Prowse. 
 
 Oh, I am the child of the forest wild, 
 
 Where the red deer boundeth free ; 
 And the mavis sings with uncaged wings, 
 
 To his mate in the green-wood tree. 
 I range at will o'er mead or hill, 
 
 Or deep — in the woodland shade. 
 With my good yew bow in hand I go, 
 As free as the bird, or the wild red roe ; 
 And the woods ring out with song and shout, 
 
 For I'm king of the forest glade ! 
 
 The sparkling brooks they mirror the looks 
 
 Of the bright blue laughing sky, 
 And sweet flowers spring, and the gnarled oaks 
 fling 
 
 Their mighty limbs on high ; 
 Oh, I love to roam in my fresh green home, 
 With our nut-brown forest maids, 
 Or my bold, bold freres, who doff the cares 
 
 Which the hollow worldling seeks and shares ; 
 
 Then woods ring out, &c. 
 
 The franklin and priest, oh they love to feast 
 
 On the prime of the stalled steer. 
 But I am the lord of the free green sward, 
 
 And the best of the king's fat deer : 
 And the abbot should fast when Lent is past, 
 And the mass is sung and said. 
 Ere my freres and me lack malvoisie, 
 
 When the woods, &c. 
 
106 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 COME, BROTHEKS, AEOUSE. 
 Written by W. B. Bernard, Esq.—Composed by H. Eussell. 
 Music published by T. E. Purday. 
 
 Comb, brothers, arouse, let the owl go to rest, 
 
 Oh ! the summer sun's in the sky, 
 The bee's on its wing and the hawk's in his nest, 
 
 And the river runs merrily by. 
 Our mother, the World, a good mother is she, 
 
 Says, to toil is to welcome her fare. 
 Some bounty she hangs us on every tree, 
 
 And blesses us in the sweet air. 
 
 Oh ! come, brothers, arouse, let the owl go to rest, 
 
 Oh ! the summer sun's in the sky. 
 The bee's on its wing, and the hawk's in his nest, 
 And the river runs merrily by. 
 
 Come, dance, lads, come dance, lads, oh ! 
 Come, dance, lads, come dance, lads, oh ! 
 
 And this is the life for a man, a man. 
 
 And this is the life for me; 
 The prince may boast if he can, he can. 
 
 But he never was half so free. 
 Our mother, the World, a good mother is she, 
 
 Says, to toil is to welcome her fare. 
 Some bounty she hangs us on every tree, 
 
 And blesses us in the sweet air. 
 
 Oh ! come, brothers, arouse, let the owl go to rest, 
 
 Oh ! the summer sun's in the sky. 
 The bee's on its wing, and the hawk's in his nest, 
 And the river runs merrily by. 
 Come, dance, lads, come dance, lads, oh ! 
 Come, dance, lads, come dance, away, oh ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 107 
 
 WOMAN'S HEART. 
 
 From the Opera of "The Enchantress.'* 
 
 Written by Alfred Bunn, Esq.— Composed by M. W. 
 Balfe, 
 
 Masic published by Chappell and Co, 
 
 A YOUTHFUL knight, whose hopes were bent 
 
 On glory's high career, 
 Array'd himself, and forth he went 
 
 A dauntless cavalier. 
 Against each foe, upon each field, 
 
 He bore a gallant part ; 
 But there was one who would not yield,. 
 
 And that was — woman's lieart. 
 
 The noble youth, still undismay'd, 
 
 Determin'd not to flee — 
 Though, if the truth be told, afraid 
 
 That he might vanquish' d be : 
 Oh never be it said, he cried, 
 
 I bore a recreant part ; 
 And, fighting still for what he sigh'd. 
 
 He captured woman's heart. 
 
108 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 ALL IS LOST NOW. 
 
 In the Opera of " La Sonnambula." 
 
 Composed by Bellini, and adapted to the English stage by 
 Sir H. R. Bishop. 
 
 Music published by T. Boosey and Co. 
 
 All is lost now ! 
 
 Oh ! for me Love's sun is set for ever, 
 
 This poor heart in future never, 
 One hope of bliss can see. 
 
 Hence, thou lost one I 
 
 Go, ungrateful! 
 Thou away aU hope hath driven. 
 
 Q-o, ungrateful! 
 See those looks so fraught with sadness. 
 Oh ! once this heart was filled with gladness, 
 Now 'tis driven into madness. 
 
 Made unhappy still by thee ! 
 
 See these looks, &o. 
 
 Still so gently o'er me stealing, 
 Mera'ry will bring back the feelmg, 
 Spiteof all my grief revealing 
 
 That I love thee, that I dearly love thee still. 
 Tho' some other swain may charm thee. 
 Ah ! no other e'er can warm me I 
 Yet, ne'er fear, I will not harm thee, 
 No, thou false one, I fondly love thee still. 
 . Ah ! ne'er fear, &c. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 109 
 
 "REMEMBER ME!" 
 
 Written aud Composed by G. J. O. Allmann. 
 
 Music at C. and K. Ollivier's. 
 
 Remember me at the sun-lit hour, 
 
 When the light winds kiss the passion-flow' r : 
 
 When the world looks bright as thy golden tress 
 
 That is half abashed at its loveliness. 
 
 When the voice of buoyant life doth spring 
 
 A thousand-fold from everything ; 
 
 From the daisy to the stalwart tree, — 
 
 In that sweet hour remember me. 
 
 Oh yes, as I shall think of thee ; 
 
 In that sweet hour — Remember me ! 
 
 Remember me at the moon-lit hour. 
 
 When the stars keep ward in their signal tow'r, 
 
 When the wandering zephyrs float unseen, 
 
 And the frolic elves sport round their queen I 
 
 When, from the tranquil eye of night, 
 
 All human griefs and cares take flieht. 
 
 Like a seraph with the soul that's free, — 
 
 In that sweet hour remember me. 
 
 Oh yes, as I shall think of thee ; 
 
 In that sweet hour — Remember me ! 
 
 I 
 
110 
 
 POPULAB SONGS 
 
 A FEIEND m NEED IS A FEIEND 
 INDEED. 
 
 Songs for the People, No. 2. 
 
 Written and Composed by George J, O. AUmann. 
 
 Music at Lewis and Co's, 
 
 Give me the man whose open hand, 
 
 The promptings of his heart forestalls, 
 When suffering Friendship seeks his aid, 
 
 And, for its help, on Friendship calls. 
 Who questions not, nor weighs his wants, 
 
 Nor probes his sorrows till they bleed, 
 But gives at once his aid. Oh ! then, 
 
 A Friend in need is a Friend indeed / 
 
 Thrice blessed is he whose generous soul, 
 
 Unto such noble impulse yields, 
 Who stretches forth the saving arm, 
 
 And from pale want another shields. 
 'Tis but a duty we fulfil, 
 
 To help our brother in his need ; 
 Then let our hearts remember still, 
 
 A Friend in need is a Friend indeed / 
 
 A HOLY FRIAR. 
 
 Music at Wybrow*s. 
 
 I AM a friar of orders grey, 
 And down the valleys I take my way ; 
 I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip, 
 Good store of venison filh my scrip, 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 My long bead-roll I merrily cliaunt, 
 Wherever I walk no money I want ; 
 And why I'm so plump the reason I'll tell — 
 Who lives a good life is sure to live welL 
 What baron or squire, 
 Or Knight of the shire, 
 Lives half so well as a holy friar ? 
 
 After supper of Heaven I dream, 
 
 But that is fat pullet and clouted cream. 
 
 Myself, by denial, I mortify — 
 
 With a dainty bit of a warden pie ; 
 
 Tm cloth' d in sack-cloth, for my sin; 
 
 With old sack- wine I'm lined within 5 
 
 A chirping cup is my matin-song, 
 
 And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding, dong. 
 
 What baron or squire, &c. 
 
 I NEYER SAID THAT I HAD LOYED. 
 
 Music at Lawson's. 
 
 I NEVEE said that I had loved 
 
 No other girl but thee ; 
 I ne'er denied that I had roved 
 
 Far o'er the boundless sea. 
 But Mary, why these jealous thoughts? 
 
 Too oft you've doubted me : 
 I own, alas, too many faults, 
 
 Yet I've been true to thee. 
 
112 
 
 POPTTLAB SONGS. 
 
 Oh, never, Mary, let a thought 
 
 'Gainst me possess your heart, 
 Unless you are with malice fraught, 
 
 And wish with me to part. 
 But, dearest, hear my plighted love, 
 
 The while I bend the knee — 
 I fondly swear, by all above, 
 
 I will be true to thee 1 
 
 WHEN ALL AEOUND OUR PATH IS 
 DREARY. 
 
 In " The Daughter of St. Mark." 
 
 Music at Chappell's. 
 
 When all around our path is dreary, 
 
 And sorrows o'er us sweep — 
 When rest denied is to the weary, 
 
 And calm to hearts that weep — 
 When those the bitter world neglecteth 
 
 But ruin o'er them see, — 
 Then Heaven the innocent protecteth, 
 
 If pure their spirit be. 
 
 When friends in their affection falter 
 
 We deem'd before so true. 
 And that regard begins to alter 
 
 Which fond was hitherto ; 
 When time, that heals all grief rcspec eth 
 
 No more the ills we see. 
 Then Heaven the innocent protecteth, 
 
 If pure their spirit be. 
 
POPFLAB SONaS. 
 
 113 
 
 STAND TO YOUR GUNS. 
 Sung by Mr. Braham. — Music published at D'Almaine'a. 
 
 Stand to your guns, my hearts of oak! 
 Let not a word on board be spoke, 
 Victory soon will crown the joke — 
 
 Be silent and be ready. 
 Ram home your guns, and sponge them well, 
 Let us be sure the balls will tell, 
 The cannon's roar shall sound their knell ! 
 
 Be steady, boys, be steady ! 
 
 Not yet, — nor yet, — reserve your fire, 
 
 I do desire : — Fire ! 
 Now the elements do rattle. 
 The gods, amazed, behold the battle : 
 
 A broadside, my boys ; 
 See the blood in purple tide 
 Trickle down her battered side ; 
 Winged with fate the bullets fly — 
 Conquer, boys, or bravely die. 
 Hurl destruction on your foes — 
 
 She sinks — huzza! 
 To the bottom down she goes ! 
 
 815 
 
 H 
 
114 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 ATJLD ROBIN aRAY. 
 
 Music at Jeffery's. 
 
 YoUNa Jamie lo'd nae weel, and sought me for 
 his bride, 
 
 But saving a crown, he had naething else beside : 
 To mak' that crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to 
 sea, 
 
 And the crown and the pound they were baith 
 for me. 
 
 He had na been awa' a week but only twa, 
 When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was 
 
 stown awa' ; 
 My father brak' his arm, my Jamie at the sea. 
 And Auld Robin Gray cam' a-courting to me. 
 
 My father cou'dna work, and my mither cou'dna 
 spin, 
 
 I toil'd baith day and night, but their bread I 
 
 cou'dna win, 
 Auld Robin maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears 
 
 in his e'e, 
 
 Said, " Jenny, for their sakes. Oh, will you marry 
 me?" 
 
 My heart it said nay, I look'd for Jamie back; 
 But the wind it blew sae high, and the ship it 
 
 proved a wrack ; 
 The ship it proved a wrack, why didna Jenny dee ! | 
 And nae ha' lived to say, Oh I wae's me ? 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 115 
 
 Auld Eobin argued sair, though mj mither didna 
 speak, 
 
 Shelook'd in my face till my heart was like to 
 break ; 
 
 So they gied him my hand, though my heart was 
 at sea, 
 
 And Auld Eobin Gray is a gude man to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
 When sittingsae mournfully ane day at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think it 
 he, 
 
 Fntilhe said, Jenny, I'm come to marry thee. 
 
 O, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say, 
 We took but ane kiss, and tore ourselves away • 
 I wish I were dead, but I am nae Hke to de'- 
 And why do I live, to say. Oh ! wae's me ? ' 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, I carena to spin, 
 r darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin • 
 But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, * 
 For Auld Eobin Gray is kind unto me. 
 
 THE TEAES WHICH FEOM HEE 
 EYELIDS FELL. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 The tears which from her eyelids fell, 
 I The scarcely utter' d word, farewell! 
 
 The pallid cheek, the heaving breast, 
 I Each index of a heart distress'd. 
 
 Have only nerv'd my arm the more, 
 
 To drive oppression from our shore. 
 
-y-^Q pOPTTIiAH SONG?. 
 
 If I am slain in Honour's cause, 
 A nobler death I ne'er can die ; 
 If I survive, and conqueror prove— 
 Glorious the shout of ^ictory. 
 My Country and my Queen demand 
 The sermce of this heart and hand. 
 
 THE HEABT THAT CAN FEEL EOB 
 ANOTHEE. 
 
 Songs for the People, No. 3. 
 Written and Composed by G. J. O. Allmann. 
 Music at Lewis and Go's. 
 How 60ft is the sigh that compassion bestows 
 On Humanity's tale of distresses ; - 
 How brSs the tear-drop that pity doth shed 
 
 Eor a friend whom affliction oppresses. 
 A blessing on him who with brotherly love 
 
 E turns from a suffering brother, 
 O^I thousandsof blessings, kind Heaven, we m 
 
 On tl JheaH that can feel for another. 
 When bosoms are wrung by the sorrows of life, 
 
 And poverty's harrowing anguish 
 wth icCmbrace chills the life-blood within, 
 
 And leaves us despairing to languish. 
 
 ^ A blessing, &c. 
 
 Then ne'er let the §1°- <=°™CTnt" beaut^' 
 'Twould steal from the soul half ita beauty, 
 
 And rob us of one of We's gWusjoys, 
 Didwefailmsonob|ea^duty^_^ 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 117 
 
 FAITHLESS NELLY. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Oh ! Nelly was the sweetest girl, 
 
 That ever eyes did see ; 
 And when I wander'd by her side, 
 
 I thought she lov'd but me : 
 My fancy pictur'd happy years, 
 
 That Niggar gal my wife, 
 Alas ! she loves another now, 
 
 And all is dark in life. 
 
 cnoRUS. 
 
 Well, if she's false, you can't help that, then why 
 
 for her deplore ? 
 The loss of one's the gain of two, and choice of 
 
 twenty more ! 
 
 How often have I heard her say. 
 
 She had no wish to range ; 
 That 'mid the changing scenes of life, 
 
 Her heart could know no change, 
 But now, whene'er we chance to meet, 
 
 She turns her head away ; 
 I wish I never had been born 
 
 To see so sad a day. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 "Well, if she's false, you can't help that, then why 
 
 for her deplore ? 
 The loss of one's the gain of two, and choice of 
 
 twenty more! 
 
lis 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 JEAOTETTE AND JEANNOT. 
 
 Written by Charles Jefrreys.-Compoaed by C. W. 
 Glover. 
 
 Music published by C. Jefireys. 
 
 You are going far away, far away from poor J can- 
 nette, 
 
 There is no one left to love me now, and you too 
 may forget ; 
 
 But my heart will be with you, wherever you 
 may go. 
 
 Can you look me in the face and say the same, 
 Jeannot? , 
 
 When you wear the jacket gay, and the beauti- 
 ful cockade, 
 
 Oh! I fear you will forget all the promises you 
 
 With the gun upon your shoulder, and the bay- 
 onet by your side, 
 
 You'll be taking some proud lady and be making 
 her your bride. 
 
 Or when glory leads the way, you'll be madly 
 rushing on, . r. • 
 
 Never thinking, if they kill you, that my happi- 
 piness is gone : 
 
 If you win the day, perhaps a general you It be 
 
 Tlio' I'm proud to think of that, what will be 
 come of me ? 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 119 
 
 Oh! if I were Queen of France, or, still better, 
 Pope of Rome, 
 
 I would have no fighting men abroad, no weep- 
 ing maids at home ; 
 
 All the world should be at peace, or, if Kings 
 must show their might, 
 
 "VYhy let them who make the quarrels be the only 
 men who fight. 
 
 THE HOPE OF EETTJRK 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton, 
 Music at E. W. Ollivier's, N"ew Bond Street. 
 
 The bright star of eve from the blue sky was 
 peeping, 
 
 The bee homeward fled to add sweets to her 
 store, 
 
 As sadly I stray' d where no form was intruding, 
 To muse upon one I might never see more. 
 
 O'ercome by my^ramble, a slumber came o'er me; 
 Methought a bright being appear' d to my view, 
 
 And, chiding my grief, in my ear sweetly whis- 
 per' d — 
 
 "The Hope of return takes the sting from 
 Adieu 1" 
 
 " And who art thou, fair one, that thus would be 
 cheering 
 
 The spirit long bow'd by affliction and care ?" 
 She answer'd me thus — "I'm the Guardian Angel, 
 Who bids thee look forward, and cease to des- 
 pair.'* 
 
120 POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 I arose to new life from that soul-stirring slum- 
 ber, 
 
 And many a day kept the motto in view ; 
 'Twas a light in the darkness, a stream in the de- 
 sert, 
 
 "The Hope of return takes the sting from 
 Adieu!" 
 
 JEANNOT'S SONG. 
 
 Written by Charles Jeffreys. — Composed by C. W, 
 Glover. 
 
 Music published by C. Jeffreys. 
 
 Chrer up, cheer up, my own Jeannette, tho' far 
 away I go, 
 
 In all the changes I may see, I'll be the same, 
 Jean not ; 
 
 And if I win both fame and gold, ah ! be not so 
 unkind 
 
 To think 1 could forget you, in the home I leave 
 behind. 
 
 There's not a lady in the land, and if she were a 
 Queen, 
 
 Could win my heart from you, Jeannette, so true 
 as you have been ; 
 
 They must have gallant warriors, chance hath 
 cast the lot on me, 
 
 Jjut, mind you this, the soldier, love, shall node- 
 server be. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 121 
 
 Why, ever since the world began, the surest road 
 to fame, 
 
 Has been the field, where men unknown might 
 
 win themselves a name ; 
 And well I know the brightest eyes have ever 
 
 brighter shone, 
 When looking at some warrior bold, returned 
 
 from battles won ; 
 And you would put an end to deeds which ladies 
 
 love so well, 
 
 And have no tales of valour left, for history to 
 tell: ^ 
 
 The soldier's is a noble trade, Jeannette, then 
 
 rail no more. 
 Were only Kings allowed to fight, there'd be an 
 
 end to war. 
 
 THE NEW ANSWER TO "BEN BOLT." 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Tune—" Ben Bolt." 
 
 Indeed, I remember that much lov'd name, 
 
 As this pale sunken cheek can tell, 
 I think of that time when sweet Alice I met, 
 
 And the hour when she bade me farewell. 
 Shall I ever forget the fond look which she gave, 
 
 As she clasp' d in her hand my own ? 
 That look lights me on to a land far away. 
 
 Where parting's for ever unknown. 
 
122 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 The world little knows what the true lover feels j 
 
 Who lives for one object alone — 
 I once had a heart which could share in my joy, 
 
 And a sigh that re-echoed my own ; 
 But joy has departed no more to return — 
 
 Ah ! wherefore so transient the stay ? 
 Like the rose, which at morning we stoop'd to 
 admire, 
 
 Ere evening has faded away. 
 
 'Tis to learn us to look to that beautiful clime, 
 Where ne'er fading flow'rets bloom, 
 
 And friends parted here meet in gladness again, 
 The Eden of Griory their home. 
 
 Then love, though I now by thy grave sadly 
 stray, 
 
 Soon, soon will my pilgrimage cease, 
 And I (like the dove long imprison' d) away, 
 To dwell with my Alice in peace. 
 
 EOEGIYE AND FOEaET. 
 
 Songs for the People, ^o. 4. 
 Written and Composed by G-. J. O. Allmann. 
 Music at Lewis and Co.'s. 
 
 EoRGIVE and forget ! 'tis a maxim as holy 
 As ever was utter' d by angels above, 
 
 When over the slumbering form they bent lowly, 
 And whisper'd some message of comfort and 
 love. 
 
POPULAR SOKGS. 
 
 123 
 
 Forgive and forget ! oh! forgive one another ; 
 'Tis the noblest revenge for a wrong we can 
 take, 
 
 And forget the harsh word, for it falls from a 
 Brother, 
 
 Forget it ; if but for Humanity's sake. 
 
 Forgive and forget ! let it be our endeavour 
 To act unto others as would that they 
 
 Should do unto us, and remember that never 
 Are soft soothing answers to wrath thrown 
 away. 
 
 Forgive and forget ! let it be all in kindness, 
 There are times when the best some forgiveness 
 may need, 
 
 And oh ! be ye sure it destroys half the blindness 
 Which Adam entailed on Humanity's seed. 
 
 THE OBiaiNAL ANSWER TO " JENNY 
 JONES." 
 
 Written by L. M. Tliornton. 
 
 Tune — "Jenny Jones.'* 
 
 JENNY JOKES TO EDWARD MOEaAN". 
 
 Though many long years have gone by since, 
 
 dear Edward, 
 To the vale of your fathers you utter' d Adieu ; 
 And though you've return'd "a storm beaten old 
 
 mariner," 
 
 Jenny's heart still beats as ever for you. 
 
124 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Yes, though there were many who strove hard to 
 win me, 
 
 They found nought deep-rooted affection could 
 move ; 
 
 For I knew in my heart that you still lov'd Llan- 
 gollen, 
 
 And that heart told me plain I but Edward 
 could love. 
 
 Fve borne many hardships since you left me, 
 Edward ; 
 
 And father and mother lie low 'neath the sod : 
 But, knowing a good name surpasses all treasure, 
 
 I kept it, and shall till I go to my Grod. 
 I've often thought of you as loud roar'd the tem- 
 pest, 
 
 And pray'd He might from you all danger re- 
 move ; 
 
 And bring you safe back, though you ne'er might 
 see Jenny, 
 
 And let your bones rest in the land you so love. 
 
 But both spar'd, here's now hand and heart, 
 
 dearest Edward ; 
 A heart which ne'er answered to any but you : 
 And the few years we live may they so be spent, 
 
 dear. 
 
 As to render us fit for a life pure and new. 
 Though humble our lot, we will dwell in content- 
 ment, 
 
 And long through our dear native valley will 
 rove 
 
 While you shall recount all your hardships and 
 sorrows. 
 
 And find true affection the Haven of Love, 
 
POPTJLAU SONGS. 
 
 125 
 
 MERRILY GOES THE MILL. 
 
 Written by George Colman. — Composed by S. Nelson, 
 
 Music published by C. Jeffreys, 
 
 Mereily rolls the mill-stream on, 
 
 Merrily goes the mill, 
 And merry to-night shall be my song, 
 As ever the gay lark's trill ; 
 
 While the stream shall flow. 
 
 And the mill shall go, 
 And my garners are bravely stor'd 5 
 
 Come all who will. 
 
 There's a welcome still 
 At the jovial miller's board. 
 
 Well may the miller's heart be light, 
 
 Well may his song be gay, 
 Eor the rich man's smile, and the poor man's 
 pray'r. 
 
 Has his been for many a day : 
 And they bless the name 
 Of the miller's dame, 
 In cots where the lowly mourn. 
 For want and woe 
 1 At her coming go, 
 
 |[ And joy and peace return, 
 
 t Fair is the miller's daughter too. 
 With her locks of golden hair, 
 • With her laughing eye and sunny brow 
 f Still BETTER is she than pair. 
 
POPULAR S0MG3. " 
 
 She hath lightened toil 
 With her 'witching smile, 
 
 And if ever his heart was sad, 
 Let her sing the song 
 He hath loved so long, 
 
 And the miller's heart was glad. 
 
 I'YE PAETED FROM ANNIE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 I've parted from Annie — but not to forget her, 
 
 Her form is still with me wherever I go, 
 'Mid the world's busy crowd, in the gloom of my 
 chamber, 
 
 Like a guardian angel she flits to and fro. 
 
 'Twas her that made Bath so endear'd to my bo- 
 som, 
 
 'Tis her who must still for its scenes make me 
 sigh. 
 
 The Bridge, and the Walk, and the sweet flowing 
 Avon, 
 
 And her favourite Church, pointing up to the 
 sky. 
 
rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 127 
 
 DO NOT MINGLE. 
 
 La Sonnambula. 
 Music published b^y Boosey and Co, 
 
 Do not mingle, one human feeling, 
 With the blisses o'er each sense stealing, 
 While these tributes to me revealing, 
 
 My Elvino, true to love ! 
 Ah, embrace me ! while thus forgiving. 
 Each a pardon is thus receiving : 
 On the earth, while we are living. 
 
 We will form a heaven of love ! 
 
 OH SINa NO MORE THAT SONQ TO ME. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Oh sing no more that song to me, 
 
 I cannot hear it now. 
 There was a time when I could sit, 
 
 And be as blithe as thou ; 
 And crave the very song, which I 
 
 To-night refuse to hear ; 
 I heard it sung in happier days, 
 A stranger to despair. 
 
128 
 
 POPULAR SONad. 
 
 Among this friendly group, I know 
 
 Are some who'll rise and sing, 
 Those songs which shall the spirits cheers, 
 
 While "Time is on the wing." 
 But, oh ! the ballad you propose, 
 
 Would only make me weep. 
 And bitter recollections rouse, 
 
 Which at this moment sleep. 
 
 BE KIND AND TEUE TO EACH OTHEB. 
 
 Songs for the People, No. 5. 
 
 Written and Composed by G. J. O. AUmann. 
 
 Music at Lewis and Co.'s, 
 
 Be kind and be true to each other, 
 
 Ne'er let us this lesson forget, 
 
 *Tis a duty man owes to his brother, 
 
 For oh! 'tis humanity's debt; 
 
 .Life is but brief at the longest. 
 
 And mortals are gone like a sigh. 
 
 Then pause when thine anger is strongest, 
 
 And think if thou then wast to die. 
 
 Oh be kind and be true to each other, 
 
 Ne'er let us this lesson forget, 
 
 'Tis a duty man owes to his brother. 
 
 For oh! 'tis humanity's debt. 
 
 Have faith and have trust in each other, 
 Without them we struggle in vain ; 
 To look upon man as a brother, 
 A link in humanity's chain. 
 
rorULAR SONGS. 
 
 12D 
 
 And so when the eye's slowly glazing 
 And the end of life's journey draws nigh ; 
 At peace with the world, to heaven gazing 
 With calm hopeful hearts we shall die j 
 Then be true, &c. 
 
 'TIS SWEET TO BE EEMEMBERED. 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 'TiS sweet to be remembered, 
 As through this world we stray ; 
 
 To know we have one kindred soul 
 To cheer us on our way — 
 
 Say there are happier hours in store, 
 
 And bid us yield to grief no more. 
 
 *Tis sweet to be remembered, 
 When from that friend we part j 
 
 Then stronger did we feel the tie 
 Which binds us heart to heart — 
 
 How cling we to the hand we take ! 
 
 How cordial is the parting shake ! 
 
 'Tis sweet to be remembered, 
 
 Sweet to remember, too ; 
 While to the mind's eye is reveal' d 
 
 What once appear' d to view — 
 Till Time, perchance, again restore, 
 And part us from that friend no more. 
 
 815 
 
130 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE MERRY DAYS Oi' OLD. 
 
 Written by Charles Jeffreys.— Composed by Sidney 
 Nelson. 
 
 Music published by May. 
 
 The merry days, the days of old 
 
 When hawk and hound were nigh j 
 When gallant lords and ladies fair 
 
 Drew sport from earth and sky ; 
 The horn resounded thro* the dell, 
 
 Forth rode the barons bold : 
 Oh ! these indeed were merry days, 
 
 The merry days of old. 
 
 When ruddy health and laughing joy 
 
 Illum'd the maiden's face, 
 And 'twas her pride on palfry free 
 
 To follow in the chase : 
 To dare the summer's scorching heat, 
 
 To brave the winter's cold j 
 Oh ! those indeed were merry days, 
 
 The merry days of old. 
 
 When troubadours and masquers gay 
 
 In castle halls would stand, 
 And wake the song to willing ears. 
 
 Of knights in holy land : 
 When winter brought its wassail bowl 
 
 To keep the heart from cold ; 
 Oh ! those indeed were merry days, 
 
 The merry days of old. 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 131 
 
 THE COLONEL. 
 
 Composed by Joseph Philip Knight. 
 Music at Allcroft's. 
 
 A COLONEL, such a creature I 
 
 I saw him at the ball, 
 So fair in form and feature, 
 
 And so divinely tall ; 
 He prais'd my dimpled cheeks and curls, 
 
 While whirling through the dance. 
 And matched me with the dark-eyed girla 
 
 Of Italy and Trance. 
 
 He said in accents thrilling, 
 
 Love's boundless as the sea ; 
 And I, dear maid, am willing, 
 
 To give up all for thee. 
 I heard him, blush' d, would ask Mamma, 
 
 And then my eyes grew dim ; 
 He look'd, I said Mamma, Papa, 
 
 I'd give up all for him I 
 
 That my Papa was rich and old. 
 
 Full well the Colonel knew, 
 Love's wings, he said, when fring'd with gold 
 
 Are beautiful to view 1 
 I thought his manner quite the ton. 
 
 Until I saw him stare ; 
 When merely told that brother John, 
 
 Papa would make his heir I 
 
133 
 
 POPULAR soKas. 
 
 Kext day, and the day after, 
 
 I dress' d for him in vain, 
 Was mov'd to tears and laughter, 
 
 He never came again ! 
 But I have heard, for widow Dash, 
 
 He bought the bridal ring, 
 And that he'll wed her for her cash, 
 
 The ugly, hateful thing 
 
 THE OLD FAMILIAR STRAIN. 
 
 Poetry by R, Shelton Mackenzie, D.C.L. — Composed by 
 Q, J. O. AUmann. 
 
 Music published by Duff and Hodgson. 
 
 Sing- me that Old Familiar Strain, 
 
 That touched my heart in bygone years, 
 Before its chords were jarred by pain. 
 
 Before its hopes were dimmed by tears ! 
 Time has fled fast since first I heard 
 
 Its music from those lips of thine ! 
 But well remembered is each word. 
 
 So sing, once more, oh ! Mary mine ? 
 
 The Old Familiar Strain ! 
 
 Yes ! sing as in those G-olden hours, 
 
 When Life, and Love, and Hope were young ; 
 When Fancy strewed our path with flow'rs, 
 
 Oh sing that strain which then you sung ! 
 Thy voice may have a sadder tone 
 
 Than may sweet music in that time ! 
 Fre grief or trials we had known, 
 
 When first you sang in youthful prime 
 
 The Old Familiar Stratj? ! 
 
POrULAB S0NG3. 
 
 133 
 
 NORAH M^SHANE. 
 Composed by J. Blewit. 
 Music at T. E. Purday's, 
 
 FvE left Ballymornach a long way behind me, 
 
 To better my fortune I've crossed the hlg sea ; 
 But I'm sadly lonely, not a creature to mind me, 
 
 And faith I'm as wretched as wretched can be j 
 I think of the buttermilk, fresh as the daisy, 
 
 The beautiful hill, and the emerald plain. 
 And ah! don't I oftentimes think myself crazy 
 
 About that young black-eyed rogue Norah 
 M*Shane. 
 
 I sigh for the turf pile so cheerfully burning, 
 
 When barefoot I trudg'd it from toiling afar, 
 When I toss'd in the light the thirteen I'd been 
 earning, 
 
 And whistl'd the anthem of " Erin of Bragh.*' 
 In truth, I believe that I'm half broken hearted, 
 
 To my country and love I must get back again. 
 For I've never been happy at all since I parted. 
 
 From sweet Bally mornach and Norah M'Shane. 
 
 Oh ! there's something so dear in the cot I was 
 born in, 
 
 Though the walls are but mud and the roof is 
 but thatch, 
 
 How familiar the grunt of the pigs in the morning. 
 What music in lifting the rusty old latch. 
 
 'Tis true I'd no money, but then I'd no sorrow, 
 My pockets were light, but my head had no pain, 
 
 And if I but live till the sun shine to-morrow : 
 I'll be off to dear Erin and I^orah M'Shane. 
 
131 
 
 POPITLAE SONGS. 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Composed by Franz Schubert. 
 
 Music at all Music-sellers. 
 
 T*VE wander'd from the rock-bound shore. 
 The misty vale, the wild sea*s roar, 
 With sad and brooding heart I roam, 
 And sigh for thee, my native Home. 
 
 The sunbeams shine, but I am cold, 
 The flowrets fade, and Life is old ! 
 Each voice falls strangely on my ear, 
 I gaze 5 — no well-known voice is near. 
 
 Where art thou ? Land so loved by mo, 
 Whom I have sought in vain to see. 
 Thou Land where Hope blooms 'neath the feefc, 
 Where roses shed their fragrance sweet. 
 
 Where friends so oft with me have strayed, 
 Where some in peaceful rest are laid, 
 Whose language first my lips essayed, 
 Dear Land, where art thou ? 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 135 
 
 THEY TOLD HER TO FOKQET ME. 
 Music at Allcroft's. 
 
 They told her to forget me, 
 
 To think of me no more ; 
 They hinted they had seen me, 
 
 Win other hearts before. 
 They bade her never mention 
 
 My hated name again, 
 And should she ever meet me, 
 
 To pass me with disdain. 
 They told her, &c. 
 
 A baron, rich and haughty. 
 
 Stood smiling at her side ; 
 A father's word was given, 
 
 He led her forth a bride ; 
 One smile she gave, which faded 
 
 Like the sun's last parting ray, 
 Her sad sweet spirit trembl'd, 
 
 And meekly pass'd away. 
 
 SHE LEAYES US FOR ANOTHER HOME. 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 She leaves us for another home — 
 
 The holy vow is giv'n ; 
 Blest at the Altar upon earth, 
 
 And from the Throne in Heav'n : 
 
136 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 All happiness attend the pair, 
 Who look to G-od for guide ; 
 
 Yea, He shall bless till life's last hour, 
 The Bridegroom and the Bride. 
 
 Her brother — ^he twin'd to her heart , 
 
 Like ivy round a tree, 
 Smiling through tears, is heard to say 
 
 " God send Prosperity !" 
 While He who form'd the holy rite, 
 
 And heart to heart hath tied. 
 Exclaims — *It shall be well with ye, 
 
 The Bridegroom and the Bride.' 
 
 IN EVERY BLOOMIJSra FLOWER. 
 
 Composed by Tranz Schubert. 
 Music at all Music-sellera. 
 
 Tn every blooming flow'r, 1 see thy faoe, 
 
 On evVy greenwood tree thy name I trace, 
 
 I fill the echoes as they float along 
 
 With thy dear name, which forms my daily song. 
 
 The groves, the trees, the flowers, these tender 
 
 words combine. 
 Thine is my heart / thinCy and for ever thine / 
 
 The morning breeze is laden with my sighs, 
 And with its burden to thy lattice flies. 
 I weep ! my tear-drops mingle with each stream, 
 Each zephyr lists to my unhappy theme ; 
 Their pebbly channels still these tender words 
 combine, 
 
 Thine is my heart / thine^ and for ever thine/ 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 137 
 
 COMINa THROUaH THE MEADOWS 
 ON A BEiaHT MAY-DAY. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton, 
 
 Coming- througli the meadows on a bright May- 
 day. 
 
 Birds were singing merrily, and all things gay, 
 While in rapture listening unto the feathered 
 throng, 
 
 Suddenly I first beheld sweet Lily trip along. 
 
 " Whither are you hastening, my pretty maid," 
 said I, 
 
 "Yonder where the ivied church peeps forth," she 
 did reply, 
 
 " Daily there I sit and spin, beside our cottage 
 door, 
 
 Earn enough to keep from want, and never sigh 
 for more." 
 
 Soon I reach'd her humble cot, the aged parents 
 saw. 
 
 Found from that sweet Angel-girl, did they their 
 
 comfort draw ; 
 Star of Home, whose beaming ray illumin'd all 
 
 around. 
 
 Innocence, by whose pure side is real enjoyment 
 found. 
 
138 ropuLAE soNas. 
 
 Then it was, I felt with her my life would sweet- 
 ly glide, 
 
 Then it was, I sought and gain'd sweet Lily for 
 my bride. 
 
 Her spinning-wheel is idle now, except when 
 
 turn'd in jest. 
 The virtuous a fortune prove, and all their days 
 
 are blest. 
 
 THEY NAMED HIM. 
 
 Poetry by the late L, E. L.—Composed by G. J. O. 
 AUmauD. 
 
 Musio at T. Prowse's. 
 
 They named him — Ah ! yet 
 
 Do I start at that name ? 
 Have I still to forget ? 
 
 Is my heart still the same P — 
 Long hours have passsd on 
 
 Since that name was too dear, 
 Now its music is gone, 
 
 It is death to mine ear ! 
 I had not a thought 
 
 In which thou had'st no part, 
 In the wild world I sought 
 
 But a place in thy heart, 
 I loved as those love 
 
 Who but one image know, 
 In the blue sky above, 
 
 Or the fair earth below. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 139 
 
 I was happy ; I dreamed 
 
 I could trust to thy word, 
 My soul's faith, it seemed, 
 
 In my idol — my lord — 
 And yet thou could'st change, 
 
 And, did we meet now 
 Thy voice would be strange. 
 
 And alter' d thy brow. 
 Yet, false one, farewell, 
 
 I have still enough pride — 
 Though hopeless to quell, 
 
 Yet at least it can hide ! 
 But ah ! may an hour 
 
 Be waiting for thee, 
 When Love, in his power 
 
 Shall avenge him for me ! 
 
 THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE 
 MUIR. 
 
 Sung by Mr. Templeton in his Musical Entertainment. 
 Music at Duff and Go's. 
 
 The last time I came o'er the muir 
 
 I left my love behind me ; 
 Ye powers, what pain do I endure 
 
 When soft ideas mind me! 
 Soon as the ruddy morn displayed 
 
 The beaming day ensuing, 
 I met, betimes, my loving maid 
 I In fit retreats for wooing. 
 
POPULAE SONaS. 
 
 Beneath the cooling shade we lay, 
 
 Gazing and chastely sporting ; 
 We kissed, and promised time away, 
 
 Till night spread her black curtain. 
 I pitied all beneath the skies, 
 
 Even kings when she was nigh me j 
 In raptures I beheld her eyes. 
 
 Which could but ill deny me. 
 
 Should I be called where cannons roar, 
 
 Where mortal steel may wound me, 
 Or cast upon some foreign shore. 
 
 Where dangers may surround me ; 
 Yet hopes again to see my love, 
 
 To feast on glowing kisses, 
 Sliall make my cares at distance move, 
 
 In prospect of such blisses. 
 
 In all my soul there's not one place 
 
 To let a rival enter ; 
 Since she excels in every grace, 
 
 In her my love shall centre. 
 Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, 
 
 Their waves the Alps shall cover, 
 On Greenland ice shall roses grow. 
 
 Before I cease to love her. 
 
 The next time I gang o'er the muir 
 
 She shall a lover find me ; 
 And that my faith is firm and pure. 
 
 Though I left her behind me. 
 Then Hymen's sacred bands shall chain 
 
 My heart to her fair bosom ; 
 There, while my being doth remain, 
 
 My love more fresh shall blossom. 
 
rOPTJLAB SONGS. 
 
 141 
 
 HERE'S A HEALTH TO ALL HONEST 
 MEN. 
 
 Music at Chappell and Co*8. 
 
 Ev*BT man take his glass in his hand, 
 
 And drink a good health to our Queen; 
 Many years may she rule o'er this land, 
 
 May her laurels for ever be green. 
 Let wrangling and jangling straightway cease, 
 Let every man strive for his country's peace. 
 Neither Tory nor Whig, 
 With their parties look big, 
 \ Here's a health to all honest men. 
 
 ! 'Tis not owning a whimsical name, 
 That proves a man loyal and just ; 
 Let him fight for his country's fame, 
 
 Be impartial at home, if in trust. 
 'Tis this that proves him an honest soul, 
 His health we'll drink a brimful bowl, 
 Then let's leave ofi" debate, 
 No confusion create. 
 Here's a health to all honest men. 
 
 When a company's honestly met. 
 
 With intent to be merry and gay ; 
 Their drooping spirits to whet, 
 
 And drown the fatigues of the day. 
 What madness it is thus to dispute, 
 When neither side can this matter confute. 
 
 When you've said what you dare, 
 
 You're but just where you were, 
 Here's a health to all honest men. 
 
142 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 Then agree, ye true Britons, agree. 
 
 And ne'er quarrel *bout " what's in a name," 
 Let your enemies trembling see. 
 
 That an Englishman's always the same. 
 For our Queen, Laws, our Church, and oui 
 right, 
 
 Then who need care a fig. 
 Who's a Tory or a Whig, 
 Here's a health to all honest men. 
 
 THE ORANGE BLOSSOM WREATH. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 YoTT may not, love, remember 
 
 This chaplet, once so gay, 
 Yet unto me you gave it. 
 
 Upon my bridal- day : 
 No jewels you presented, 
 
 For such I never sigh'd ; 
 You saw the wreath adorning 
 
 The forehead of your bride. 
 
 I thought that you might know, love, 
 
 The little oflTring now j 
 'Tis chang'd, I must acknowledge. 
 
 Nor fit to grace a brow : 
 And yet / still shall wear it — 
 
 You ask me — wherefore so ? 
 Because your wife's as happy 
 
 To day, as — long ago. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 143 
 
 EEE THATTE LOYES A EOSIE CHEEKE. 
 
 Music at Hawes'a. 
 
 Hee thatte loves a rosie cheeke, 
 
 Or a corall lip admires, 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 
 
 Euell to maintain his fires : 
 As old Time makes these decay, 
 So his flame must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfaste minde, 
 Grentle thoughts and calm desires, 
 
 Hearts with equal love com bin' d, 
 Kindle never-dying fires ! 
 
 Where there are not, I despise 
 
 Lovelye cheekes, or lippes, or eyes, 
 
 THE JACKETS OF BLUE. 
 Composed by A. Lee. 
 Music at Hime and Son's. 
 
 The lads are all singing, 
 
 The bells are all ringing, 
 Che lasses are trimming their caps all anew j 
 
 The young and the old come, 
 1^ The great and the small come, 
 
 ind all for to welcome the jackets of blue ; 
 
114 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 They come from the war far over the wave, 
 Oh, who would not fight 'neath the flag of the 
 brave ! 
 
 The poorest, the proudest the land can afford, 
 At the war-cry of Freedom will all draw the 
 sword ; 
 
 Then hurrah ! hurrah ! for the jackets of blue. 
 As the brave British tars, in their jackets of blue ! 
 
 Each tar has a story 
 
 To tell of his glory. 
 In battles all gory, his duty to do ; 
 
 Thro' climes still a ranger. 
 
 He braves every danger. 
 For fear is a stranger to jackets of blue. 
 His ship, trimmed so gaily, now gallantly rides, 
 With broad pennant waving — the Queen of the 
 tides. 
 
 The lasses all vow that none love so true. 
 
 As the brave British tars, in their jackets of blue. 
 
 THE EOSE m YOUR BOUQUET IS 
 FADED. 
 
 Music at P. Jewell's. 
 
 The rose in your bouquet is faded. 
 
 Its blooming beauties past ; 
 Old Care with blighting hand hath aided, 
 
 To guide the withering blast. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 145 
 
 PHELIM O'TOOLE. 
 
 Music at Eansford's. 
 
 Be still, Phelim dear, with your jealous com- 
 plaints, 
 
 For you know that your darling's as true as 
 the saints! 
 
 You will break the young heart that you won 
 long ago. 
 
 And that will be murder, dear Phelim, you 
 know. 
 
 It's yourself that would tell me a different tale, 
 With your arm round my waist in the Dargyle's 
 sweet vale, 
 
 'IVhen your own winning tongue made your 
 Korah a fool. 
 And taught her to love you so, Phelim O'Toole. 
 
 ifou swore that the wild rose that grew o'er my 
 head. 
 
 And the violet hid in its soft mossy bed, 
 j JVerethe emblems of innocence, beauty and truth, 
 , And you said, Phelim dear, I was fairer than 
 ; both ! 
 
 j im I different now, that you're always in doubt, 
 L With your cruel suspicions of wliat I'm about ? 
 I )h ! you had better be careful, or by the same 
 u rule, 
 
 li I'll be jealous of you, Mister Phelim O'Toole. 
 I 315 K 
 
146 POPULAR sor^as. 
 
 Say once more, Fhelim darling, the word in mine 
 ear, 
 
 That the girl of your soul is still cherish'd and 
 dear, 
 
 And believe that your Norah is faithful and true, 
 For she lives for you, Phelim, and only for you. 
 It's your own winning tongue that my heart can 
 beguile. 
 
 For there's love in your eye, and there's truth 
 in your smile. 
 Oh ! my heart has been taught in affection's fond 
 school, 
 
 That I can't live without you, dear Phelim 
 O'Toole. 
 
 O, WILLIE BEEW'D A PECK O' MAUT. 
 
 Music at Wybrow's. 
 
 O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut. 
 
 And Rob and Allan cam' to prie ; 
 Three blither hearts that lee lang night. 
 
 Ye wadna find in Christendie. 
 We are na' fu', we're na' that fu', 
 
 But just a drappie in our e'ee ; 
 The cock may craw, the day may daw', 
 
 But aye we'll taste the barley brie. 
 
 Here we are met, three merry boys. 
 Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 
 
 And mony a night we've merry been. 
 And mony more we hope to be. 
 
 We are na' fu', &c. 
 
POPXTLAB SONGS. 
 
 147 
 
 It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
 That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; 
 
 She shines sae bright, to wyle us hame, 
 But by my sooth she'll wait a wee ! 
 
 We are na' fu', &c. 
 
 Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
 A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
 He is the king amang us three. 
 
 We are na' fu', &c. 
 
 THE DYma WIFE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by W. -West. 
 
 « You've brought me to the spot, William, 
 
 Where first we own'd we lov'd ; 
 And weep to think that I'm so soon 
 
 To be from you remov'd : 
 But let this soothe your grief, William, 
 
 As wifeless on you rove. 
 That Mary with her dying lips 
 
 Said all was right above. 
 
 We hoped for many years, William, 
 
 Together here to dwell : 
 But &od hath will'd it otherwise ; 
 
 His way's inscrutable. 
 Then cease those tears to shed, William, 
 
 Which give your Mary pain ; 
 Though soon we part, soon shall we meet 
 
 And never part again. 
 
148 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 " Is there one wish unnamed, William ? 
 
 Then listen unto me, 
 I would the little one I leave, 
 
 A child of God might be ; 
 And when she lisps ' mamma,' William, 
 
 And no mamma is near, 
 Then think of her who dying wish'd 
 
 She Jesu's love might share. 
 
 •* And now — and now for aye, William, 
 
 I bid this spot farewell, 
 And parting with life's ties, can say 
 
 ' He doeth all things well 
 While you, supported by his hand. 
 
 Hereafter shall exclaim, 
 * The Lord doth give and take away 
 
 And blessed be his name.' '* 
 
 COME TO MY MERHY MOTO'TATN 
 HOME. 
 
 Composed by J. C. Beuthin. 
 
 Music at Gregg's, and Campbell's. 
 
 Come, come, come, to my merry mountain liom.e, 
 Come, come, come, thro' its valley we will roam ; 
 
 There bloom the flowers gay. 
 
 There wood birds sing all day. 
 
 The sky's soft blue 
 
 Hath a sunny hue, 
 And the vales echo with our roundelay ; 
 
 Come follow me 
 To my merry mountain home. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 149 
 
 Come, come, come, to my happy mountain home ; 
 Come, come, come, thro' its valley we will roam ; 
 
 There at the close of day 
 
 Dance we in glad array ; 
 
 Content is our3, 
 
 *Mid those happy bow'rs, 
 And the valleys echo to our Switzer lay 5 
 
 Come follow me 
 To my happy mountain home. 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE SEYEHN. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music by II. F. Sefton. 
 
 How sweet on the banks of the Severn to wander, 
 When daisies and buttercups spangle the mead ; 
 To hear at a distance the voice of the cuckoo, 
 Or gaze at the kine as they peacefully feed. 
 \ I've sojourn' d a season in many a city. 
 
 Each boasting some feature delightful to see ; 
 But class I together the walks I have taken, 
 The one by the Severn is dearest to me ! 
 
 The view of the city from here is enchanting, 
 
 While foremost the ancient Cathedral appears ; 
 1 And sweet on the ear sounds the bell from the 
 ! building, 
 
 Erected to call the poor boatmen to pray'rs. 
 
 Renown'd art thou Woecester, not only for 
 beauty^ 
 
 But justly renown'd thou for loyalty too ; 
 I And beauty and loyalty blended together, 
 j' Present us a city well worthy to view. 
 
150 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 THE YALET DE SHAM. 
 
 A Buffo Song. 
 
 Written by K. GKndon, and sung by him. 
 
 Note. — This Son? is adapted to the Music of the celebrat* 
 ed •* Largo al Factotum," in the Barber of Seville. 
 
 Oh ! what a whimsical comical lad I am, 
 
 Dancing and sighing, and laughing and jar- 
 ring, 
 
 Is the continuous life of a " Yalet de Sham," 
 Fortunate prospects Dame Eate always mar- 
 ring. 
 
 All think me clever, 
 
 My equal was never. 
 
 Sprightly and free, 
 
 Always at home, 
 
 Brisk as a bee. 
 Ah ! Master Anthony laugh and sing merrily, fal 
 
 la la la, la la la, lal lal lal, la la. 
 Care to Old Nick in a canter send cheerily, ha ha 
 
 ha ha, ha ha, ha ha, ha ha, 
 A Yalet de Sham is a fortunate dog. 
 Thro' the world at his ease, if he likes, he can jog, 
 Fal lal lal, lal lal lal, fal lal lal, lal la, 
 
 His master attending, 
 
 Assistance is lending. 
 The tie of his cravat so natty must be. 
 
 My master's bell ringing, 
 
 Hot water I'm bringing, 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 151 
 
 By day and by night, 
 
 Never wrong, always right, 
 
 As smart as a carrot the Yalet you see, 
 
 G-et ready to shave me; all ready, Sir, Ij 
 The razor, I strop it, 
 The lather, I slop it. 
 
 The brush to his chin in a jiffy I ply. 
 Master now sighing, in love he is dying, 
 Meets a disaster, a cut, sticking plaister, 
 What a disaster, la, la, la, la, 
 Court sticking plaister, la, la, la, la. 
 All think me clever, 
 My equal was never, 
 
 Sprightly and free, 
 Always at home. 
 
 Brisk as a bee ; 
 
 Brushing the toggery,, 
 
 Good elbow joggery, 
 
 Quizzing the lasses. 
 
 Thro' op'ra glasses. 
 Master I'm dressing, meet with a blessing. 
 Brush me you'd better — what's that: a love letter. 
 
 Brushing the toggery. 
 
 Good elbow joggery. 
 
 Master so civil, too, 
 
 Go to the Devil, do. 
 
 Quizzing the Issses, 
 
 So the time passes. 
 
 Called by them. 
 
 Every one. 
 
 Amiable, beautiful, comical, dangerous, elegant, 
 Fanciful, gammoning, wheeling, Antony ! 
 
 Oh ! Oh ! what a riot, 
 
 I can't keep 'em quiet, 
 "While screaming — lasses I master, 
 
 Then master obey, 
 
152 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 To give each an answer, 
 I well know the way ; 
 To give each an answer, 
 1 well know the waj. 
 
 The lasses I master, 
 
 Then master obey, 
 
 Antony! I'm here, 
 
 Antony! my dear, 
 
 Antony ! here, 
 
 Antony! dear, 
 
 Antony ! Miss, 
 
 Antony ! kiss, 
 
 Antony! I, 
 
 Antony! fly, 
 
 Antony dash, pocket the cash. 
 Like the wheel of a carriage, 
 
 Now high, and now low, 
 Rolling I go, 
 Rolling I go, 
 
 High and then low. 
 Ah ! little Antony, 
 Fortunate Antony, 
 Ah ! little Antony, 
 Fortunate Antony, 
 Oh ! what a comical fellow, 
 
 A comical fellow am I ; 
 Attending my duty time passes, 
 
 And seldom I get in disgrace, 
 Now waiting on master, then lasses, 
 
 As valet, I well know my place. 
 So merry my days go by, 
 What a comical fellow am I, 
 What a comical fellow am L 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 153 
 
 MY NATIYE LAND FOR ME. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by J. O. Smith, 
 
 Tho' California with her gold 
 
 May tempt mankind to roam, 
 Content with what I here enjoy 
 
 I'd sooner rest at home. 
 The love of lucre tempts me not 
 
 A far off clime to see, 
 And baffle with a thousand ills ; — 
 
 My native land for me. 
 
 Say that the storms of Ocean brav'd, 
 
 I land upon the shore. 
 Work like a galley-slave each day, 
 
 And count my earnings o'er ; 
 If in the balance these I place 
 
 With what I here can see, 
 Old England makes the scale go down ; — 
 
 My native land for me ! 
 
 Were I call'd forth in England's cause, 
 
 To fight for England's right, 
 So long as I an arm could lift 
 
 I'd exercise its might ; 
 But ne'er to Mammon all my days 
 
 Become a devotee, 
 No home and comfort with a crust 
 
 My native land for mel 
 
154 
 
 rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 THE MAID THAT TEjSTDS THE GOATS. 
 
 Music at Dufi" and Co.'a. 
 
 Up amang yon cliffy rocks, 
 
 Sweetly rings the rising echo, 
 
 To the maid that tends the goats, 
 
 Lilting o'er her native notes. 
 
 Hark, she sings, "Young Sandy's kind, 
 
 An' he's promised ay to lo'e me, 
 
 Here's a broach I ne'er shall tin'd, 
 
 Till he's fairly married to me : 
 
 Drive away, ye drone time. 
 
 An' bring about our bridal day. 
 
 *' Sandy herds a flock o' sheep, 
 Aften does he blaw the whistle, 
 In a strain sae saftly sweet, 
 Lammies listening dare nae bleat j 
 He's as fleet's the mountain roe. 
 Hardy as the Highland heather. 
 Wading through the winter snow, 
 Keeping ay his flock together ; 
 But a plaid, wi' bare houghs. 
 He braves the bleakest norlin blast. 
 
 " Brawly he can dance and sing 
 
 Canty Glee or Highland cronach 5 
 
 Nane can ever match his fling 
 
 At a reel, or round a ring ; 
 
 Wightly can he wield a rung 
 
 In a brawl he's ay the bangs ter s 
 
 A' his praise can ne'er be sung 
 
 By the langest winded sangster, 
 
 Sangs, that sing o' Sandy, 
 
 Come short, though they were e'er sae long." 
 
POPULAU SONGS. 
 
 155 
 
 PAINT THE CHAEMS OF HEJR I LOVE. 
 
 By Dermody, 
 
 Sweet is the woodbine's fragrant twine, 
 Sweet the ripe burden of the vine, 
 The pea-bloom sweet that scents the air, 
 The rose-bud sweet beyond compare; 
 Sweet the perfume of yonder grove, 
 Sweeter the lip of her I love. 
 
 Soft the rich meadow's velvet green, 
 Where cowslip-tufts are early seen ; 
 Soft the young cygnet's snowy breast, 
 Or down that lines the linnet's nest ; 
 Soft the smooth plumage of the dove. 
 Softer the breast of her I love. 
 
 Bright is the star that opens the day. 
 Bright the mid-noon's refulgent ray, 
 Bright on yon hill the sunny beam, 
 Bright the blue mirror of the stream. 
 Bright the gay twinkling fires above, 
 Brighter the eye of her I love. 
 
 To match her grace, with idle pain, 
 Through nature's stores I search in vain : 
 All that is bright, and soft, and sweet, 
 Does in her form concentred meet : 
 Then, muse, how weak thy power must prove 
 To paint the charms of her I love. 
 
156 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 OH WHEREFOKE SiaH? 
 Written by L. M. Thornton, 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh, 
 Because your lot is cast among the poor, 
 Because no laden coffer meets your eye 
 O'erflowing with its perishable store ? 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh ? 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh, 
 Because you see the roses fade away ? 
 Because the Autumn leaves are sear and dry. 
 Reminding mortals of their sure decay ? 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh ? 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh. 
 Because death robs you of the one you love ? 
 Are any born that are not doom'd to die ? 
 And will unceasing tears this tyrant move ? 
 
 Then wherefore sigh I 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh, 
 Because you're disappointed in your friend ? 
 Because you in his friendship did rely 
 And found him deceiving in the end ? 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh ? 
 
 Oh, wherefore sigh ? 
 Placed as a weeping exile here below j 
 Gaze but one moment upward to the sky, 
 And see a Friend and " elder brother" too : 
 
 And cease to sigh. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 157 
 
 Then sigh no more ! 
 Bear with affliction while on earth you stay : 
 The cross is borne before the crown is worn ; 
 But in the regions of eternal day 
 
 Sighing is o'er. 
 
 THOU'RT GcANE AWA\ 
 Music at Duff and Go's. 
 
 Thotj'et gane awa,' thou'rt gane awa,* 
 
 Thou'rt gane awa* frae me, Mary ; 
 Nor friends nor I could make thee stay, 
 
 Thou'st cheated them and me, Mary. 
 Until this hour I never thought 
 
 That aught could alter thee, Mary ; 
 ' Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart, 
 
 Think what you will of me, Mary. 
 
 ^Whate'er he said, or might pretend, 
 Wha stole that heart of thine, Mary ; 
 
 True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end, 
 
 ' Or nae sic love as mine, Mary. 
 
 I spoke sincere, nor flattered much, 
 
 Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary ; 
 Ambition, wealth, nor naetking such — 
 No, I loved only thee, Mary. 
 
 Though you've been false, yet, while I live, 
 
 I'll lo'e nae maid but thee, May; 
 Let friends forget, as I forgive, 
 I Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary, 
 
158 
 
 POPULAH SONGS. 
 
 So then, farewell ! of this be sure, 
 Since you've been false to me, Mary • 
 
 For all the world I'd not endure 
 Half what I've done for thee, Mary. 
 
 THE HEEO OF A HUNDRED FIGHTS^ 
 
 Written by Staite.— Composed by J. W. Hobbs.* 
 
 Music at Addison and Hodson's. 
 
 " The Hero of a Hundred Fights, the Conqueror of the 
 World I" 
 
 All hail to thee, brave Wellington, the British 
 
 soldier's boast ! 
 A bolder spirit ne'er led on Britannia's dauntless 
 
 host! 
 
 Breathe but thy veteran warrior-name, and loud 
 
 the plaudits ring, 
 For nobler heart ne'er beat beneath the corslet ol 
 
 a king ! 
 
 Thy dauntless deeds on battle-fields, in history'^ 
 page shall stand ' 
 
 Long as our meteor-banners blaze, or glory KghtJ 
 our land. 
 
 Down from the monarch on the throne to peasant 
 in the cot, 
 
 The idol of the nation's soul shall never be for- 
 got, 
 
 In thee will England trust, in thee her dearest 
 
 hopes repose, 
 The guardian of her liberties, the terror of hej 
 
 foes ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 159 
 
 ':hy glorious name shall live where'er the Eritish 
 
 flag's unfurl'd, 
 lie Hero of hundred fights ! the Conqueror of 
 
 the world! 
 
 Twas on those well remembered fields, the plains 
 of Waterloo, 
 
 Chy gallant heart resolved to show what British 
 arms COULD do : 
 
 ?roud in their strength of countless hosts the 
 " Scourge of nations" stood ; 
 
 2re night, his thousands lick'd the dust that 
 drank their bravest blood. 
 
 Che sabre-lightning flashed — loud roar'd the can- 
 nons' thunder-peal — 
 
 ;?he rushing bayonets broke the ranks, like cata- 
 racts of steel. 
 
 • Up, G-uards, and at them," — swift and strong 
 as eagles in their flight, 
 
 ^he helmet warriors charged " the lines," dash'd 
 headlong to the fight ! 
 
 Che torrent of Britannia's wrath roll'd on a liv- 
 ing sea, 
 
 Theblood-stain'd banners swept the air, 'mid 
 
 shouts of victory. 
 ?hy glorious name shall live where'er the British 
 1 flag's unful'd, 
 
 rhe Hero of a hundred fights ! the Conqueror of 
 the world ! 
 
 i 
 I 
 
IGO 
 
 rOPULAE soNas. 
 
 THE FOOTSTOOL. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 Music by Charles Orberthur. 
 
 Little about thee doth appear 
 
 To admiration claim ; 
 The Auctioneer might no one find 
 
 For thee a price to name, 
 And yet I could not part with thee 
 
 For all this world could give, 
 Thou relic of departed worth, 
 
 I'll prize thee while I live. 
 
 The last feet resting upon thee 
 
 A tender mother's were, 
 "While from her lips in accents sweet 
 
 Fell many a wish sincere ; 
 Methinks I see her now, as when 
 
 With bible on her knee, 
 She strove to form its hallo w'd truths 
 
 To my capacity. 
 
 The green grass now waves o*er her grave ; 
 
 Fm hast'ning down life's hill j 
 But I am oft a child again ; 
 
 Hear her address me still : 
 Then little stool I'll cherish thee, 
 
 Nor will I with thee part. 
 While there is memory in my brain, 
 
 Or feeling in my heart. 
 
POPULAB SOKGS. 
 
 161 
 
 LIYE AND LET LIYE! 
 
 Written by L. M. TLornton. 
 
 " Live and let live," 'tis a common expression, 
 Yet what a lesson the words do impart : 
 Oh ! where His learnt be it ever remembered, 
 Acting with fullest effect on the heart : 
 So that when we in society mingle, 
 proof of its influence soon may we give, 
 And till the light of our reason expireth, 
 Alway remember to — " Live and let live." 
 
 See we a mortal by industry striving 
 Onward to push through the troublesome scene, 
 Let us not seek to endeavour to crush him — 
 How many there are would do so I ween : 
 Have we to deal with him ? let honour guide us, 
 And what in reason he asks of us give. 
 Blush we to cavil, or hold back his profit ; 
 Let us rememember to — " Live and let live !" 
 
 But above all as through life we are passing, 
 
 Act we, oh ! never the slanderer's part ; 
 
 Just as soon may we with daggers be wounding. 
 
 As with ill words, for both go to the heart ! 
 
 Scorn we by thought, word, or deed, for an instant 
 
 Pain unto a fellow creature to give ; 
 
 Fail we to benefit, let us not injure : 
 
 Lee us remember to — " Live and let live !" 
 
 f 
 
 315 
 
 L 
 
182 
 
 POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 WHEN WEARIED WRETCHES SINK TO 
 SLEEP. 
 
 Sic juvat perire. 
 
 When wearied wretches sink to sleep, 
 How heavenly soft their slumbers lie 5 
 
 How sweet is death to those who weep, 
 To those who weep and long to die. 
 
 Saw you the soft and grassy bed 
 
 Where flow' rets deck the green earth's breast ? 
 *Tis where I wish to lay my head, 
 
 'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest. 
 
 Oh ! let not tears embalm my tomb. 
 None but the dews by twilight given | 
 
 Oh ! let not sighs disturb the gloom, 
 None but whispering winds of Heaven, 
 
 LAt)Y JANE GREY. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Music by J. W. Evans. 
 
 She kneels in her cell as the hours fast ily, 
 She knows her dread sentence to-morrow to die^ 
 Yet faileth that sentence her heart to appal, 
 The sting of Death banish' d, througli Jesus hera^^. 
 
POPULAB SONGg. 
 
 163 
 
 So young,— -and so beautiful, — can it be true 
 That thus with composure her end she can view ? 
 Her lamp trimm'd, she's ready the Bridegroom 
 
 to see, 
 
 Though e'en from tlie floor of the scaffold it be. 
 
 And now with the Army of Martyrs who praise 
 The High and the Lofty, the Ancient of days j 
 She proveth how great their eternal reward 
 Who through tribulation do follow the Lord. 
 
 THE IVY THAT GEOWS ON YON OLD 
 ABBEY WALL. 
 
 Composed by Edward L. Hime, 
 Music at Hime and Sons, 
 
 The Ivy that grows on the old abbey wall, 
 
 A type of affection should be, 
 Enduring and constant whatever may befall, 
 
 As thou, love, hast been unto me. 
 Clasp'd firmly for ever while time steals away, 
 
 The flowerets and blossoms so fair, 
 Its leaf-like affection contented to stay. 
 
 And bloom like an evergreen there. 
 
 Round the old Abbey wall will that ivy branch 
 climb, 
 
 More firmly as seasons shall roll, 
 And so should affection be strengthened by time| 
 Still binding more closely the soul. 
 
164 
 
 POPULAR S0NG3. 
 
 And thus when the summer of life shall depart, 
 And winter come chilly and bare, 
 
 The smile of affection will gladden the heart, 
 And bloom still an evergreen there. 
 
 I WELCOME THEE WITH GLADNESS, 
 
 From the Opera of Norma, 
 
 Written by Charles Jeflfreys, to "Ah! bellaameritorno," 
 
 Composed by Bellini, and adapted by S. Nelson. 
 
 Music at Jeffreys and Co, 
 
 I WELCOME thee with gladness, 
 Thy coming cheers my sadness, 
 And joy's delicious madness. 
 
 Reigns o'er my bosom now ; 
 The clouds that gathered o'er me 
 At last have fled before me, 
 And griefs that downward bore me. 
 
 Never more my heart shall know. 
 
 The sun-light that reposes 
 On beds of blooming roses, 
 No brighter beam discloses 
 
 Than shineth now for me. 
 For never yet did flowers 
 Enclosed in sunless bowers, 
 E'er pine for sunny hours. 
 
 As I have pin'd for thee. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 165 
 
 BEAM OF TRANQUILLITY. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 
 A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the "west, 
 
 The storms of the morning pursued us no more, 
 And the wave, while it welcom'd the moment of 
 rest, 
 
 Still heav*d, as remembering ills that were o*er ! 
 
 Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour, 
 Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the 
 dead, 
 
 And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their 
 power. 
 
 As the billow the form of the gale that was fled. 
 
 I thought of the days when to pleasure alone 
 My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; 
 
 When the saddest emotion my bosom had known, 
 Was pity for those who were wiser than I ! 
 
 I felt how the pure, intellectual fire 
 
 In luxury loses its heavenly ray ; 
 How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire, 
 
 The pearl of the soul may be melted away ! 
 
 And pray'd that the Spirit who lighted the flame, 
 That pleasure no more might its purity dim ; 
 
 And that sullied but little, or brightly the same, 
 I might give back the gem I had borrow'd 
 from him. 
 
106 
 
 popuLAB soxas. 
 
 The tliought was ecstatic 1 I felt as if Heaven 
 Had already the wreath of eternity shown 5 
 
 As if, passion all chasten' d and error forgiven, 
 My heart had begun to be purely its own I 
 
 I looked to the west, and the beautiful sky 
 Which morning had clouded, was clouded no 
 more — 
 
 *' Oh ! thus,'* I exclaimed, " can a heavenly Eye 
 " Shed light on the soul that was darkened be- 
 fore!" 
 
 THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE. 
 
 Music at Daff and Co'8. 
 
 The yellow-hair'd laddie sat down on yon brae, 
 Cries, Milk the ewes, lassie, let nane of them gae ; 
 And aye she milked, and aye she sang, 
 The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my gudeman. 
 
 And aye she milked, &c. 
 
 The weather is cauld, and my claithing is tliin. 
 The ewes are new clipp'd, they winna bught in j 
 They winna bught in tho' I shou'd die, 
 O yellow-hair'd laddie, be kind to me! 
 
 They winna bught in, &c. 
 
POrULAE SONGS. 
 
 167 
 
 THE LAKE OE THE DISMAL SWAMP. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 " They made her a grave, tooc old and damp 
 
 For a soul so warm and true ; 
 And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 
 Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, 
 
 She paddles her white canoe. 
 
 " And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see. 
 
 And her paddle I soon shall hear j 
 Long and loving our life shall be. 
 And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, 
 When the footstep of death is near!'* 
 
 Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — 
 
 His path was rugged and sore, 
 Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
 Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, 
 
 And man never trod before ! 
 
 And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, 
 
 If slumber his eyelids knew, 
 He lay where the deadly vine doth weep 
 Its venomous tear, and nightly steep 
 
 The flesh with blistering dew ! 
 
168 
 
 rOPFLAR SONGS. 
 
 And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake, 
 And the copper-snake breath' d in his ear, 
 ''ill he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
 ' Oh ! when shall I see the dusky lake, 
 And the white canoe of my dear ?" 
 
 He saw the lake, and a meteor bright 
 
 Quick over its surface play'd — 
 " Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light !" 
 And the dim shore echoed for many a night, 
 
 The name of the death-cold maid. 
 
 'Till he hollow* d a boat of the birchen bark, 
 Which carried him of£ from the shore ; 
 
 Far he follow'd the meteor spark. 
 
 The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 
 And the boat return' d no more. 
 
 But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, 
 
 This lover and maid so true 
 Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, 
 To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp. 
 
 And paddle their white canoe ! 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE DEW-DROPS. 
 
 Music at Campbell's and Eansford's. 
 
 Oh ! father, dear father, why pass they away, 
 The dew-drops that sparkle at dawning of day ; 
 That glitter'd like stars in the light of the moon, 
 Oh ! why are the dew-drops dissolving so soon ? 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 169 
 
 Does the sun in its wrath chase their brightness 
 away, 
 
 As though nothing that's lovely might live for a 
 day? 
 
 The moonlight has faded, the flowers still remain, 
 But the dew-drops have shrunk in their petals 
 again. 
 
 Oh ! father, dear father, why pass they away. 
 The dew drops that sparkle at dawning of day !" 
 
 "My child," said the father, "look up to the 
 skies. 
 
 Behold that bright rainbow— those beautiful 
 dyes ! 
 
 There — there are the dew-drops in glory reset, 
 'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet ! 
 Then are we not taught by each beautiful ray. 
 To mourn not earth's fair things, though passing 
 away ! 
 
 For though the youth of its beauty and bright- 
 ness be riven, 
 
 AU that withers on earth blooms more sweetly 
 in heaven. 
 
 Look up," said the father, " look up to the skies, 
 Hope sits on the wings of those beautiful dyes !" 
 
 Alas ! for the father — how little knew he. 
 That the words he had spoken prophetic would 
 be ; 
 
 That the beautiful cherub — the star of his day — 
 Was e'en then, like the dew-drops, dissolving 
 away. 
 
 Oh! sad was the father, when, lo! in the skie? 
 The rainbow again spread its beautiful dyes ! 
 And then he remember'd the maxims he'd given, 
 And thought of his child, and the dew-drops in 
 heaven^ 
 
170 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE FIGHTER'S WIFE, 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Within a lonely room sits one whose eyes are 
 
 dim with weeping, 
 (Upon her knees in tatters clad a starving child 
 
 is sleeping) ; 
 She's thinking upon byegone days, when beam'd 
 
 those eyes with gladness, 
 But now she is a FiaHTEE's wife, and joy is 
 
 turn'd to sadness. 
 
 He left his home at break of morn, left wife and 
 
 child to perish ; 
 Ile^ who did at the Altar stand, and vow a wife 
 
 to cherish ; 
 
 High bets to-day embolden him, he hails the 
 
 Ring with pleasure : 
 He won beforCy — he must win now^ and claim the 
 
 golden treasure. 
 
 Time flies — two days he's absent been, drear 
 
 night again is coming ; 
 Hark ! — what was that ? — a kncok — a cry — and 
 
 countless numbers running ; 
 What means that cover' d board ? — list ! — see men 
 
 have the stairs ascended, 
 Now they set down their ghastly load — THJS 
 
 FIGHTEH'S DAYS AEE ENDED ! 
 
POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 171 
 
 Only two days ago —and he the air of Hfe was 
 breathing ; 
 
 Only two days a*/©— his mind was Victory's chap- 
 let wreathing ; 
 
 When two days more their course have run, dust 
 will to dust be given, 
 
 And wife and infant fatherless upon the wide 
 world driven. 
 
 TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Music at C. Jeffreys. 
 
 Thott lingering star, with lessening ray, 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget ? 
 
 Can I forget the hallowed grove 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met. 
 
 To live one day of parting love ? 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past 5 
 Thy image at our last embrace — 
 
 Ah, little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 
X72 
 
 POPtTLAR SONGS. 
 
 -A^y^i g^^glijig) kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green, 
 The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 
 
 Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray ; 
 Till soon, too soon the glowing west 
 
 Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser-care ! 
 Time but the impression deeper makes. 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear*st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 LYING. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 I DO confess, in many a sigh 
 My lips have breath'd you many a lie. 
 And who, with such delights in view, 
 Would lose them for a lie or two ? 
 
 Kay — look not thus, with brow reproving j 
 Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving ! 
 If half we tell the girls were true, 
 If half we swear to think and do, 
 Were aught but lying's bright illusion. 
 The world would be in strange confusion ! 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 173 
 
 If ladies' eyes were, every one, 
 As lovers swear, a radiant sun. 
 Astronomy should leave the skies, 
 To learn her lore in ladies' eyes 1 
 
 Oh no ! — believe me, lovely girl, 
 When nature turns your teeth to pearl! 
 Your neck to snow, your eyes to lire. 
 Your yellow locks to golden wire, 
 Then, only then, can heaven decree, 
 That you should live for only me, 
 Or I for you, as night and morn 
 We've swearing kist, and kissing sworn ! 
 
 And now, my gentle hints to clear. 
 For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear ! 
 Whenever you may chance to meet 
 A loving youth, whose love is sweet. 
 Long as you're false and he believes you. 
 Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
 So long the blissful bond endures ; 
 And while he lies, his heart is your's : 
 But, oh ! you've wholly lost the youth, 
 The instant that he tells you truth ! 
 
 TOO LATE FOR THE TEAIN. 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 
 
 The porter's bell did cry ; 
 The Engine-man his whistle blew, 
 
 A train mov'd slowly by j 
 
174 
 
 POPULAR S0NG3. 
 
 I to the booking-office ran, 
 
 " For Cirencester," cried, 
 The Ticket giver shook his head 
 
 And " Too late, Sir," replied. 
 
 1 look'd — the train was still in sight, 
 
 But far, — too far to reach : 
 Eeader, this little incident, 
 
 A lesson true doth teach : 
 Oh ! may we while there yet is time j 
 
 While open is the door, 
 -And while we can a passport gain. 
 
 Our seats in Heav'n secure. 
 
 THE WOLF IS OUT. 
 
 Music at T. Williama. 
 
 Arm, brothers, arm ! the wolf is out. 
 The country's up and the bowmen shout ! 
 The shepherd leaves his fleecy care. 
 The glorious sport of the day to share ; 
 Night is fled, and the morn is grey — 
 
 Arm, brothers, arm, to the chase away ! 
 
 Arm, brothers, arm, to the chase away * 
 
 In yonder thicket, close and dark. 
 Softly tread, and careful mark ; 
 'Tis there the wolf is wont to prowl— 
 And, hark, I hear the savage howl I 
 Often, in the dead of night. 
 When to sleep our toils invite, 
 His horrid yell fond mothers hear, 
 And closer press their infants dear. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 17 
 
 Hence to the field, and the stranger soon 
 Shall cease to bay the cloudless moon ; 
 No more to range our fields for food, 
 Or welter in the traveller's blood. 
 
 No more to range, &c. 
 
 SHE TAKES HER EYENINQ WALK 
 ALONE. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 She takes her evening walk alone, 
 
 She seeks no bosom friend ; 
 Those days when she companions prized 
 
 Alas ! are at an end. 
 Graze on her now, as midst those trees 
 
 In sadness she doth rove, 
 Behold her pale and sunken cheek, — 
 
 The maid has lost her love. 
 
 I've seen her lean upon an arm. 
 
 And gaze upon a face. 
 In whose clear lineaments you might 
 
 Sincere afi'ection trace ; 
 No more that arm will hers support, 
 
 No more that face she'll view ; 
 The lov'd one died — and when he died 
 
 All happiness died too. 
 
 She takes her evening walk alone, 
 
 Yet not alone I ween. 
 Could we behold with other eyes 
 
 A form would now be seen 
 
176 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Consoling the disconsolate, 
 
 Protecting her from ill ; 
 Thank Grod that disembodied souls 
 
 Watch o'er the lov'd one's still. 
 
 MYBARK WHICH O'ER THE TIDE. 
 
 From the Opera of** The Daughter of St. Mark." 
 Written by Alfred Bunn, Esq. Composed by M. W. Balfe 
 Music at Chappell and Go's, 
 
 My bark which o'er the tide 
 
 Shall float with muffled oar, 
 Is watched for by a guide 
 
 On yonder friendly shore. 
 Come, while the wave is sparkling. 
 
 Far from the strand — • 
 Come, while the shade is darkling 
 
 Under the land. 
 The moon may guard the night, 
 
 While all around her sleeps, 
 Yet love, by that pure light, 
 
 Its constant vigil keep«. 
 
POPULAR SONGS* 
 
 177 
 
 TO . 
 
 Wheh" I lov'd you, I can*t but allow 
 
 I had many an exquisite minute j 
 But the scorn that I leel for you now 
 
 Hath even more luxury in it ! 
 Thus, whether we're on or we're off, 
 
 Some witchery seems to await you ; 
 To love you is pleasant enough, 
 
 And oh ! 'tis delicious to hate you ; 
 
 THE GONDOLIER. 
 
 From the Opera of" The Daughter of St. Mark/' 
 Written by Afred Bunn, Esq. Composed by M. W. BaliV. 
 Music at Chappell and Go's. 
 
 The gondolier, to wind and wave. 
 
 His fragile boat confides ; 
 Assured the soul that's pure and brave 
 
 Can stem the rudest tide ! 
 While able thus, through clime or sea, 
 
 Thy dauntless course to steer, 
 Where thou may'st be, oh, pray for me, 
 
 Poor GrO!idolier I 
 315 M 
 
178 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 The Grondolier, by vesper's chime, 
 
 When bid no more to roam, 
 Contented hails the happy time 
 
 That wakens thoughts of home— 
 Beneath that roof, on bended knee, 
 
 With all to thee so dear. 
 When thou shalt be, oh, pray for me, 
 
 Good Gondolier! 
 
 THE EAGGED BOY. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO LADIES. 
 
 Written by L. M. Thornton. 
 
 A KIND hearted Lady a child mark' d one morning, ' 
 As weeping with hunger he stood in the street, 
 She sigh'd as she gaz'd at his wretched appear- 
 ance, 
 
 No hat on his head and no shoes on his feet ; 
 She ask'd him his name, and where then he 
 resided, 
 
 She went with him home to his dreary abode, 
 And there she sat down and talk'd long about 
 
 And how ragged children were Md hy their God, 
 
 She sent him to School, and from thence to em- 
 ployment, 
 
 Where blest with a Master who liv'd to the Lord, 
 The child realiz'd soon the life-giving promise 
 Held out unto them who lay hold of the Word." 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 179 
 
 It plea8*d the Redeemer to shortly remove him ; 
 His kind benefactress stood by his bed, 
 And heard him with joy say " your kindness firsi 
 brought me 
 
 To Jesus^ who for ragged children hath hledJ^ 
 
 And now to those Ladies, who, strangers to 
 sorrow, 
 
 Are favor' d with all that this world can bestow, 
 I would say " let Ragged Schools share of your 
 bounty, 
 
 The poor little outcasts to save them from woe 
 
 Then when He who once knew not the joy of a 
 pillow, 
 
 Appears as our Judge, you rewarded shall be. 
 And hear Him exclaim " Inasmuch as ye did it 
 To one of these children, ye did it to me/' 
 
 WELL— PEACE TO TRY HEART. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Well — peace to thy heart, though another's it be, 
 And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not 
 for me ! 
 
 To-morrow, I sail for those cinnamon groves. 
 Where nightly the ghost of the Caribee roves, 
 And, far from mine eye, oh ! perhaps I may yet, 
 Its seduction forgive, and its splendour forget ! 
 Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom 
 Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume ; 
 May spring to eternity hallow the shade 
 Where Ariel has warbled, and Waller has stray*d 
 
180 
 
 POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 And thou — when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to 
 roam 
 
 Through the lime-corered alley that leads to thy 
 home, 
 
 Where oft, when the dance and the revel were 
 done, 
 
 And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, 
 I have led thee along, and have told by the way, 
 What my heart all the night had been burning 
 to say. 
 
 Oh ! think of the past — give a sigh to those times, 
 And a blessing for me to that alley of limes ! 
 
 THE STEERSMAN»S SONG. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 
 When freshly blows the northern gale, 
 
 And under courses snug we fly ; 
 When brighter breezes swell the sail, 
 
 And royals proudly sweep the sky ; 
 'Longside the wheel, unwearied still 
 
 I stand, and as my watchful eye 
 Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 
 
 I think of her I love, and cry. 
 
 Port, my boy ! port. 
 
 When calms delay, or breezes blow 
 Right from the point we wish to steer ; 
 
 When by the wind close-haul'd we go, 
 And strive in vain the port to near I 
 
POPULAE 
 
 181 
 
 I think 'tis thus the fates defer 
 My bliss with one that's far away, 
 
 And while remembrance springs to her, 
 I watch the sails, and sighing, say, 
 
 Thus, my boy ! thii3. 
 
 But see the wind draws kindly aft, 
 
 All hands are up at the yards to square, 
 And now the floating stu'n-sails waft 
 
 Our stately ship through waves and air. 
 Oh ! then I think that yet for me 
 
 Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, 
 Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee ! 
 
 And in that hope I smiling sing, 
 
 Steady, boy I so. 
 
 THE DEEAM OF THE DYING- MAIDEN* 
 
 Written by J. H. Jewell. 
 Composed by Eicardo Linter, 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 Mother, I have had a dream. 
 
 All was bright and gay, 
 Visions of a brighter sphere 
 
 Fading with the day. 
 Oh ! such sweet delightful sounds. 
 
 Made my spirit m.ove ; 
 Anf^els play'd upon their harps 
 
 Scraph-songs of love. 
 
1S2 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 There were virgins, clothed in white, 
 
 Seated round a throne, 
 Lustrous to my dazzled sight. 
 
 Oh ! how bright they shone. 
 Music and their voices sweet 
 
 Seem'd to welcome me ; 
 Tho* I covet nought on earth 
 
 There I wish'd to be. 
 
 Not alone, my mother dear, 
 
 Happy should I be, 
 If in realms of endless bliss 
 
 I was joined by thee. 
 Mother — now mine eyes are dim; 
 
 Hark ! that seraph strain 
 Welcome me in accents sweet ; 
 
 Let me dream again. 
 
 TAKE BACK THE YIRGIN PAGE. 
 
 Written by T, Moore. 
 Air — '* Dermot." 
 
 Take back the virgin page, 
 
 White and unwritten still ; 
 Some hand more calm and sage 
 
 The leaf must fill. 
 Thoughts come as pure as light, 
 
 Pure as even you require ; 
 But, oh! each word I write. 
 
 Love turns to fire. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 183 
 
 Yet let me keep the book ; 
 
 Oft shall my heart renew, 
 When on its leaves I look, 
 
 Dear thoughts of you. 
 Like you, 'tis fair and bright : 
 
 Like you, too bright and fair 
 To let wild passions write 
 
 One wrong wish there. 
 
 Haply, when from those eyes 
 
 Far, far away, I roam. 
 Should calmer thoughts arise 
 
 Towards you and home, 
 Fancy may trace some line 
 
 Worthy those eyes to meet ; 
 Thoughts that not burn, but shine, 
 
 Pure, calm, and sweet. 
 
 And, as the records are. 
 
 Which wand'ring seamen keep. 
 Led by their hidden star. 
 
 Through winter's deep ; 
 So may the words I write 
 
 Tell through what storms I stray. 
 You still the unseen light, 
 
 Guiding my way ! 
 
184 
 
 POPFLAR SONaS. 
 
 FROM THE RUIN'S TOPMOST TOWER. 
 
 From the Opera of " Der Vampyr." 
 Vv''ritten by J. R. Planche, Esq. — Composed by Marscliner. 
 
 Arranged and adapted by W, Ilawes. 
 Music published by W. Hawes. 
 
 Feom the ruin's topmost tow'r, 
 I have gazed a weary hour, 
 
 Wenzel to discover ; 
 In the sun's descending beam, 
 Mountain glow'd and glitter'd stream, 
 
 But they bore no lover* 
 Trooping came the guests so gay. 
 But no bridegroom. — Father, say — 
 
 Should not that my brow shade over. 
 
 Evening sinks on hill and dale, 
 And the sobbing nightingale, 
 
 Mourns one perjured lover ; 
 From her cloudy slumber soon. 
 She will wake the silver moon, 
 
 And to pity move her. 
 Night is on its starry way, 
 Yet no bridegroom. — Father, say — • 
 
 Should not that my brow shade over. 
 
rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 183 
 
 ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. 
 
 Written by T. Mooro, 
 Air — ** The brown thorn." 
 
 St. Senanus. 
 
 " Oh haste and leave this sacred isle, 
 Unholy bark, ere morning smile, 
 For on thy deck, though dark it be, 
 
 A female form I see ; 
 And I have sworn this sainted Sod 
 Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." 
 
 The Lady. 
 
 " Oh, father, send not hence my bark ; 
 Through wint'ry winds, o*er billows dark, 
 I come with humble heart to share 
 Thy morn and ev'ning pray*r 5 
 Nor mine the feet, oh ! holy saint. 
 The brightness of thy sod to taint." 
 
 The lady's pray'r Senanus spurn' d, 
 
 The wind blew fresh, and the bark return' d ; 
 
 But legends hint that had the maid 
 
 Till morning's light delay'd 
 And giv'n the saint one rosy smile, 
 She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 
 
186 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE HAPPY DEEAM. 
 
 Written by J. H. Jewell. 
 Composed by R. Fife, 
 
 Music at S, C. Taylor's, 
 
 I SLUMBERED by the tranquil stream, 
 
 And thought of other, happier days. 
 When basking in the sun's bright beam 
 
 I sung my merry gladsome lays. 
 I thought of her I lov'd so well, 
 
 As pure, as gentle as the dove j 
 I thought — but words can never tell, 
 
 My blissful, happy dream of love. 
 
 I thought her robe was spotless white. 
 
 And golden ringlets deck'd her brow ; 
 I thought her blue eyes shone more bright. 
 
 Than when I first beheld their glow. 
 And then her bright form seem'd to glide 
 
 From earth, to realms, far, far above, 
 And she, my fond and vision' d bride. 
 
 Thus left me but a dream of love. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 187 
 
 LOI ON THE MOUNTAIN HEIOTT. 
 
 Written by J. H. Jewe^ 
 Composed by Alexander Lee. 
 Ilusic at B. Williams's. 
 
 Lo! on tlie mountain height, 
 
 Bold hunters take their waj, 
 Long ere the morning light 
 
 Throws o'er the hills a ray. 
 To the wild chamois lair, 
 
 O'er the rude track they hie 
 Ere the lark's morning prayer 
 
 Wings its way to the sky. 
 
 When the poor chamois springs, 
 
 And the guiph yawneth wide ; 
 Where the bold eaglet wings 
 
 High up the mountain side. 
 There the bold hunter's found, 
 
 Toiling throughout the day, 
 Making the air resound 
 
 With his rude mountain lay. 
 
188 
 
 POPULAR SOKGS. 
 
 THE LEaACY. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 When in death I shall calm recline, 
 
 O bear my heart to my mistress dear ; 
 Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine 
 
 Of the brightest hue, whilst it linger' d here 
 Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow, 
 
 To sully a heart so brilliant and light ; 
 But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, 
 
 To bathe the relic from morn till night. 
 
 When the light of my song is o'er. 
 
 Then take my harp to your ancient hall ; 
 Hang it up at that friendly door 
 
 Where weary travellers love to call : 
 Then, if some bard who roams forsaken, 
 
 Revive its soft note in passing along, 
 Oh ! let one thought of its master awaken 
 
 Your warmest smile for the child of song. 
 
 Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 
 
 To grace your revel when Tm at rest ; 
 Never, oh I never its balm bestowing 
 
 On hps that beauty have seldom blest ; 
 But when some warm, devoted lover, 
 
 To her he adores shall bathg its brim, 
 Oh ! then my spirit around shall hover. 
 
 And hallow each drop that foams for him. 
 
j 
 
 POPTTLAE S0XG3. 
 
 189 
 
 ST. PATRICK: WAS A aENTLEMAN. 
 
 Music at T. E. Purday's. 
 
 I 
 
 Oh ! Sfc. Patrick was a gentleman, 
 
 Who came of dacent people ; 
 He built a church in Dublin town, 
 
 And on it put a steeple, 
 nis father was a Grallagher, 
 His mother was a Brady ; 
 His aunt was an O'Shaugnessy, 
 His uncle an O' Grady. 
 
 So success attend St. Patrick's fist, 
 
 For he's a Saint so clever ; 
 Oh ! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, 
 He bothered them for ever. 
 
 The Wicklow hills are very high, 
 
 And so's the hill of Howth, sir ; 
 But there's a hill much bigger still, 
 
 Much bigger than them both, sir. 
 'Twas on the top of this high hill, 
 
 St. Patrick preached his sarmint 
 That drove the frogs into the bogs, 
 
 And banished all the varmint. 
 I So success, &o. 
 
190 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 There's not a mile in Ireland's Isle, 
 
 Where dirty vermin masters, 
 But there he put his dear forefoot, 
 
 And murder' d them in clusters. 
 The toads went pop, the frogs went hop, 
 
 Splash dash into the water ; 
 And the snakes committed suicide, 
 
 To save themselves from slaughter. 
 
 So success, &c. 
 
 Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue. 
 
 He charmed with sweet discourses. 
 And dined on them at Killaloe 
 
 In soups and second courses. 
 When blind worms, crawling in the grass, 
 
 Disgusted all the nation ; 
 He gave them a rise, which opened their eyes 
 
 To a sense of their situation. 
 
 So success, &c. 
 
 No wonder that those Irish lads 
 
 Should be so gay and frisky, 
 For sure, St. Pat, he taught them that, 
 
 As well as making whiskey. 
 No wonder that the Saint himself 
 
 Should understand distilling. 
 Since his mother kept a sheebeen shop, 
 
 In the town of Enniskillen. 
 
 So success, &c. 
 
 Oh ! was I but so fortunate 
 
 As to be back in Munster, 
 *Tis I'd be bound, that from that ground 
 
 I never more would once stir. 
 
POPUXAE SONGS. 191 
 
 For there St. Patrick planted turf, 
 
 And plenty of the praties ; 
 With pigs galore magra ma *store, 
 
 And cabbages and ladies. 
 
 So success, &c. 
 
 EVELEEN'S BOWEE. 
 
 Written by T, Moore. 
 
 Oh weep for the hour, 
 When to Eveleen's bower, 
 
 The lord of the valley with false vows came ; 
 The moon hid her light 
 From the heavens that night, 
 
 And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's 
 shame. 
 Th e clouds past soon 
 From the chaste cold moon. 
 
 And heaven smiPd again with her vestal flame j 
 But none will see the day 
 When the clouds shall pass away. 
 
 Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. 
 
 The white snow lay 
 On the narrow path-way, 
 Where the lord of the valley cross'd over the 
 moor; 
 
 And many a deep print 
 On the white snow's tint," 
 ^ Showed the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. 
 
192 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 The next sun's ray 
 
 Soon melted away 
 Ev'ry trace on the path where the false lord came ; 
 
 But there's a light above, 
 
 Which alone can remove 
 That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 
 
 MEEEILY O'ER THE WATERS BLUE. 
 
 Written by Joseph Oliver, Esq. 
 Composed by Alexander Lee, 
 Music at Lewis and Go's, 
 
 Meerily o'er the waters blue 
 
 Our gallant bark doth bound, 
 She dashes the spray like the wild curlew, 
 
 From the world of waves around! 
 And merrily spreads each snow-white sail 
 
 To catch the flutt'ring breeze, 
 And merrily with the flowing gale 
 
 Like an ocean bird she flees. 
 
 Yeo ! merrily oh ! 
 
 Merrily, too, we sailors live, 
 
 O'er the sea so green and wide ; 
 Sorrow and care to the winds we give, 
 
 And our gallant ship's our pride ; 
 For we love to see her on the main. 
 
 Float like a fairy's wing. 
 And toss the green surges in disdain, 
 
 While we jovial sailors sing. 
 
 Yeo I merrily oh! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 WE MAY EOAM THROUGH THIS 
 WORLD. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — ** Garyone." 
 
 We may roam through this \^orld, like a child 
 at a feast, 
 
 Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the 
 rest. 
 
 And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the 
 east, 
 
 We may order our wings and be off to the west. 
 But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, 
 
 Are the dearest gift that heav'n supplies, 
 We never need leave our own green isle 
 
 For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. 
 Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 
 
 Through this world whether eastward or west- 
 ward you roam. 
 When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes 
 round. 
 
 Oh ! remember the smile which adorns her at 
 home. 
 
 In England, the garden of beauty is kept 
 By a dragon of prudery, plae'd within call ; 
 
 But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, 
 That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after 
 all. 
 
 815 N 
 
194 
 
 roPULAK SOXGS. 
 
 Oh, they want the wild sweet- briery fence 
 Which round the flowers of Erin dwells ; 
 
 Which warm the touch, while winning the sense, 
 JS'or charms us least when it most repels. 
 Then remember, &o. 
 
 In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, 
 On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, 
 
 Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, 
 
 But just pilots her off, and then bids her good 
 bye! 
 
 While the daughters of Erin keep the boy 
 Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 
 
 Through billows of woe and beams of joy. 
 The same as he look'd when he left the shore. 
 Then remember, &o. 
 
 WHO WOULD NOT BE A GIPSY FREE ? 
 Written by G. J. O. Allmann. — Composed by Alex. Lee. 
 
 Music at Lewis and Go's. 
 
 Who would not be a Gripsy free ? 
 
 Unfettered each thought, each whim. 
 Who would not rove through the merry green 
 wood 
 
 With a bounding step like him ? 
 Is the wind more free than the Gipsy's foot ? 
 
 It can roam wherever it will, 
 Though the wind blow east or the wind blow west, 
 
 Oh ! free is the Gripsy still. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 1S5 
 
 He mateth his home 'neath the sheltering boughs, 
 
 AboTe him the clear blue sky ; 
 But his sleep is far more sound and sweet 
 
 *Neath that leafy canopy. 
 He courts not state, nor honours, nor wealth ; 
 
 He envies not, nor doth despond ; 
 And so that he lives at his ease to-day. 
 
 He hath not a care beyond. 
 
 Then who would not be a Gipsy free, &c. 
 
 THE ARMY AND NAYY. 
 
 Sung by Messrs. Braham and Eansford. 
 
 Music at Campbell's & Ransford's. 
 
 1 Voice. Oh, give me the tented field I 
 With martial colours flying, 
 As long as my arm can wield 
 The sword, in my girdle lying ; 
 2nd Voice, Let me have the rolling tide. 
 
 The chase, and the raging battle. 
 The roar and the bold broadside, 
 And the sound of the cannons' rattle. 
 
 1. Oh, a soldier's life for me I 
 
 The march, and the bugle sounding, 
 
 2. But a sailor's bold and free 
 
 As thebark o'er the ocean bounding. 
 1. Though the blue sky's over head, 
 
 And beneath the trackless billow— 
 
196 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Both, Stm a knows no fears, 
 
 Bailor ' 
 
 When the signal calls to battle, 
 
 And the music that he hears 
 
 Is the sound of the cannon's rattle. 
 
 1. WeM die for our native land. 
 
 As our sires of old before us. 
 In the fame of their patriot band. 
 And the banner that waves o'er us. 
 
 2. And while woman's voice can cheer, 
 
 Will Britain's bold defenders 
 Make Britain's foes still fear 
 The flag that ne' er surrenders I 
 
 1. Oh, a soldier's life for me, 
 
 And a soul with ardour burning ! 
 
 2. Oh, a life on the rolling sea, 
 
 Yetforsome bright smile returning. 
 
 1. 'Mid the brave I'd take mj stand, 
 
 In Britain's Army ever! 
 
 2. In the cause of our native land, 
 
 Be the Nayy mine for ever I 
 Both. StiU a soldier ^^q^^ fgars. 
 
 sailor 
 
 SUBLIME WAS THE WARNINa. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Sublime was the warning which liberty spoke. 
 And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke 
 Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. 
 Oh ! liberty ! let not this spirit have rest. 
 Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west; 
 
POPITLAE SONGS. 197 
 
 Give the light of your looks to each sorrowing 
 spot, 
 
 Nor oh ! be the shamrock of Erin forgot, 
 While you add to your garland the olive of 
 Spain I 
 
 If the fame of our fathers, bequeathed with theij 
 rights. 
 
 Give to country its charm, and to home its de- 
 lights. 
 
 If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain ; 
 Then, ye men of Iberia ! our cause is the same — 
 And, oh ! may his tomb want a tear and a name, 
 Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death. 
 Then to turn his last sigh into victory's breath 
 
 For the shamrock of Erin and the olive of 
 Spain 1 
 
 Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd 
 The green hills of their youth, among strangers 
 to find 
 
 That repose which at home they had sigVd for 
 in vain, 
 
 Breathe a hope that the magical flame which you 
 light. 
 
 May be felt yet in Erin as calm and as bright ; 
 And forgive even Albion, while blushing she 
 draws, 
 
 Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted 
 cause 
 
 Of the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain ! 
 
193 
 
 rOPFLAE SOKGS. 
 
 God prosper the cause I — Oh ! it cannot but 
 thrive, 
 
 While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 
 
 Its devotion to feel and its rights to maintain ; 
 Then how sainted by sorrow its martyrs will die ! 
 The finger of glory shall point where they lie ; 
 While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, 
 The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter then* 
 grave 
 
 Beneath shamracks of Erin and olives of Spain ! 
 
 O LONELY FLOWER. 
 
 Written by Mark Lemon, Esq., to a Melody in Rosstoi's 
 Opera of the Lady of the Lake. 
 
 Adapted by J. H. Tally. Music at S. I^elson's. 
 
 O LONELY flower ! gentle blossom ! 
 Early faded, 
 By sorrow shaded, 
 ril enshrine thee in this fond bosom : 
 Thy dark fortune to mine uniting, 
 
 Ev'ry hope I know is thine ; 
 Ah ! thy affection with truth requiting, 
 All but thee, love, I now resign. 
 
POPTJLAB SONGS. 
 
 199 
 
 NORAH MAYOURNEEN. 
 
 Written and Composed by George J. O. Allmann. 
 Music at Lewis and Co'g, 
 
 Oh ! Norah ! what means the bright tear in thine 
 eye, 
 
 The silent drop slowly falls over thy cheek, 
 Oh ! tell me the cause of that bosom's low sigh, 
 
 What anguish of soul may thy sorrow bespeak ? 
 If a heart's pure devotion, unmingled with guile. 
 
 That would sacrifice all the world's pleasure 
 for thee, 
 
 Can wean thee from grief, oh ! look up and smile, 
 And cheer thee, dear Norah, a-cuishla-ma- 
 chree ! 
 
 Yes, Norah, love, cheer thee, the spring-time of 
 life 
 
 With the blossoming flowers encircles thee 
 now, 
 
 Tliy path with the bloom of Youth's morning is 
 rife, 
 
 Its roseate blush mantles over thy brow ; 
 And a true heart beats near thee, that lives in 
 thy smile, 
 
 It is sad while the shadow of gloom is on thee, 
 Then banish the tears that have lingered awhile. 
 And cheer thee, dear Norah, a-cuishla-ma- 
 chree ! 
 
 Norah Mavourneen ! Norah Mavourneen ! 
 
200 
 
 POPTTIAB SONGS. 
 
 aiVE BUT THE WORD. 
 
 From the Opera of "Norma.** 
 
 Composed by Bellini. Arranged by S. Welaon. 
 
 Musio at S. Nelson's 
 
 Give but the word ! at thy command, 
 Freedom shall bless our Fatherland ! 
 Give but the word ! and tyrant Kome 
 Enslaves no more our native home. 
 Dawning, the star of liberty, 
 Bids us again be free. 
 Yes! 
 
 Freedom inspiring prompts the blow ! 
 Shall we not lay their eagles low, 
 Banish them from our native shore, 
 And give to Gaul one glory more ? 
 
 And let the brazen trumpets s ound, 
 Who would be free, must onward bound. 
 Kindle each heart with patriot fire, 
 And win, with arms, the heart's desire, 
 Now for the warrior's deathless wreath. 
 Or for the warrior's death. 
 Yes! 
 
 Give but the word, &c. 
 
rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 201 
 
 EEIN! OH, EEIN! 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air—" Thatnanna Hulla." 
 
 Like the bright lamp that lay in Kildare's holy 
 shrine, 
 
 And burn'd through long ages of darkness and 
 storm, 
 
 Is the heart that sorrows have frown*d on in vain, 
 Whose spirit out-lives them unfading and 
 warm : 
 
 Erin ! oh Erin ! thus bright through the tears 
 Of a long night of bondage thy spirit appears ! 
 
 The nations have fall'n, and thou still art young, 
 
 Thy sun is but rising, when others are set ; 
 And though slavery's cloud o*er thy morning hath 
 hung, 
 
 The full noon of freedom shall beam round 
 thee yet. 
 
 Erin I oh Erin ! though long in the shade, 
 Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall 
 fade. 
 
 TJnchill'd by the rain, and unwaVd by the wind. 
 The lily lies sleeping through winter's cold 
 hour, 
 
 Till the hand of spring her dark chain unbind, 
 And day-light and liberty bless the young 
 flower. 
 
 Erin! oh Erin! thy winter is past, 
 And the hope that liv'd through it shall blossom 
 at last. 
 
202 
 
 POPULAK SONGS. 
 
 UNDER BRIAR, ROCK, OR MOUNTAIN. 
 
 From the Opera of "The Bobber's Bride." 
 Written by E. Eitzball, Esq. Composed by F. Eice. 
 Music at W. Hawes's. 
 
 Under briar, rock, or mountain, 
 'Neath the oak, or by the fountain, 
 There at frowning care we laugh, 
 While the rosy wine we quaff : 
 Free as deer, that herd together, 
 Scorning every change of weather, 
 Echo loves our mirth to share : 
 Hillio, hillio, 
 While gay and free, 
 In woodland glee. 
 Right merrily we laugh at care : 
 
 Silv'ry when the moon is beaming, 
 While the glowworm's light is gleaming, 
 Near the watchfire's blaze we rest, 
 What soft slumber calms each breast ; 
 Should the foot of foe unfeeling, 
 Darkly on our haunt be stealing. 
 Echo warns us to beware 5 
 
 Hillio, hillio, 
 
 Then up we start, 
 
 Each manly heart, 
 And fearlessly still laugh at care. 
 
POPULAR SOIfGS. 
 
 203 
 
 DETNK TO HER. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 Air — ** HeigU bo I my Jacky," 
 
 Deink to her who long 
 
 Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
 The girl who gave to song 
 
 What gold could never buy. 
 Oh ! woman's heart was made 
 
 For minstrels' hands alone ; 
 By other fingers play'd, 
 
 It yields not half the tone. 
 Then here's to her who long 
 
 Hath wak'd the poet's sigh. 
 The girl who gave to song 
 
 What gold could never buy. 
 
 At Beauty's door of glass, 
 
 Where Wealth and Wit once stood, 
 They ask'd her which might pass ?" 
 
 She answered " he who could." 
 With golden key, Wealth thought 
 
 To pass — but 'twould not do : 
 While Wit a diamond brought, 
 
 Which cut his bright way through! 
 Then here's to her who long 
 
 Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
 The girl who gave to song 
 
 What gold could never buy ! 
 
204 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 The love that seeks a home 
 
 Where wealth or grandeur shiftcs, 
 Is like the gloomy gnome, 
 
 That dwells in dark gold mines. 
 But oh ! the poet's love 
 
 Can boast a brighter sphere : 
 Its native home's above, 
 
 Though woman keeps it here ! 
 Then drink to her who long 
 
 Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
 The girl who gave to song 
 
 What gold could never buy ! 
 
 THE SAILOR'S JOUBNAL. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 'TwAS post meridian, half-past four, 
 
 By signal I from Nancy parted ; 
 At six she linger' d on the shore, 
 
 With uplift hands and broken-hearted. 
 At seven, while taughtening the forestay, 
 
 I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy j 
 At eight we all got under weigh, 
 
 And bade a long adieu to Nancy ! 
 
 Night came, and now eight bells had rung, 
 
 With careless sailors, ever cheery, 
 On the mid watch so jovial sung, 
 
 With tempers labour cannot weary, 
 I, little to their mirth inclined. 
 
 While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy, 
 And my warm sighs increased the wind, 
 
 Look'd on the moon, and thought of Nancy. 
 
POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 205 
 
 And now arrived that jovial night 
 
 When every true-bred tar carouses ; 
 When o*er the grog, all hands delight 
 
 To toast their sweethearts and their spouses. 
 Round went the can, the jest, the glee, 
 
 While tender wishes fiU'd each fancy ; 
 And when, in turn, it came to me, 
 
 I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy ! 
 
 Next morn a storm came on at four, 
 
 At six the elements in motion, 
 Plunged me and three poor sailors more 
 
 Headlong within the foaming ocean. 
 Poor wretches ! they soon found their graves j 
 
 For me— it may*be only fancy — 
 But love seem'd to forbid the waves 
 
 To snatch me from the arms of Nancy ! 
 
 Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd, 
 
 Scarce the winds and wares had ceased to 
 rattle, 
 
 When a bold enemy appear'd. 
 
 And, dauntless, we prepared for battle. 
 
 And now, when some loved friend or wife 
 Like lightening rushed on every fancy. 
 
 To Providence I trusted life. 
 
 Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy I 
 
 At last — 'twas in the month of May — 
 
 The crew, it being lovely weather, 
 At three A.M. discover' d day 
 
 And England's chalky cHffs together. 
 At even up Channel now we bore, 
 
 While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy, 
 At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore. 
 
 Ard to my throbbing heart press*d Nancy! 
 
206 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 HEAR ME, NOEMA. 
 
 Duet, trniten by Charless Jefferys, to the Air, " Mirao 
 
 Norma," in Bellini's Opera of Norma. 
 
 Arranged by S. Nelson. Musie at JeSery and Go's. 
 
 Adalgisa. Hear me, Norma, in pity hear me, 
 
 I would fain dispel thy dark des- 
 pair; 
 
 At thy feet behold thy children kneel- 
 ing* 
 
 Can a mother's heart reject their 
 prayer ? 
 
 Norma. Wlien the heart is cold that should 
 have cherish*d 
 Ev*ry hope of joy it falsely gave ; 
 Would'st thou have me live? Ah no ! 
 thou would'st not, 
 My only haven, alas! is but the 
 grave. 
 
 Adalgisa. Hear me. Norma ; hear me, Norma ; 
 
 I implore thee, I implore thee. 
 
 Norma. Ah ! in vain you thus implore me 
 Time cannot my joys restore me. 
 
POPULAR soNas. 207 
 Both. Oh I he shall feel who caused an- 
 guish, 
 
 How deep as been ^^-^silent sorrow, 
 ^ my ' 
 
 And [then] repent he ^^^j^ languish 
 
 At feet, ere dawns the morrow, 
 my 
 
 Blessed hope, peace restore, 
 And joy shall beam once more. 
 
 Norma. Still in our hearts one bright hope is 
 beating ; 
 
 Friendship shall blossom, though love's 
 
 star be fleeting. 
 Be thou but faithful, and I will still 
 
 cherish, 
 
 Hope that shall fail not till life itself 
 perish. 
 
 Adalgisa. Oh, what joy to hear thee 
 Thus cherish hope again. 
 
 Korma. Thou alone hast taught me, 
 Despair is worse than pain. 
 
 Both. Hope, sweet hope is mine ; 
 
 Oh ! thro' clouds of sadness, 
 
 The sun of joy appears. 
 How bright the gladness 
 
 That shineth through our tears; 
 Yes, joy is mine, and joy is thine. 
 
208 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD IF HE FLT 
 TO THE BOWERS. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air— "Kitty Tyrrel." 
 
 Oh ! blame not the bard if he fly to the bow'rs, 
 Where pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at fame ; 
 He was born for much more, and in happier 
 hours 
 
 His soul might have burn'd with a holier flame. 
 The string that now languishes loose on the lyre, 
 Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's 
 dart ; 
 
 And the lip which now breathes but the song of 
 desire, 
 
 Might have pour*d the full tide of the patriot's 
 heart ! 
 
 But, alas! for his country — her pride is gone by, 
 And that spirit is broken, which never would 
 bend ; 
 
 O'er the ruin of her children in secret must sigh, 
 For 'tis treason to love her, and death to de- 
 fend. 
 
 Unpriz'd are her sons, till they've learn' d to be- 
 tray; 
 
 TJndistinguish'd they live, if they shame not 
 their sires ; 
 
 And the torch that would light them through 
 dignity's way, 
 Must be caught from the pile where the coun- 
 try expires ! 
 
POPTJLAR SONGS. 
 
 209 
 
 Then blame not the bard, if, in pleasure's soft 
 dream, 
 
 He should try to forget what he never can 
 heal; 
 
 Oh ! give but a hope — ^le't a vista but gleam 
 Through the gloom of his country, and mark 
 
 how he'll feel ! 
 That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay 
 
 down 
 
 Every passion it nurs'd, every bliss it adored, 
 While the myrtle, now idly entwin'd with his 
 crown. 
 
 Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover 
 his sword. 
 
 But, though glory be gone, and though hope fade 
 away, 
 
 Thy name, loved Erin ! shall live in his gongs ! 
 Not ev'n in the hour when is heart is most gay. 
 Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy 
 wrongs ! 
 
 The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains. 
 The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the 
 deep, 
 
 Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy 
 chains, 
 
 Shall pause at the song of their captive and 
 weep! 
 
 315 
 
210 
 
 - POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 PATEICK HAS LEFT ME. 
 
 Written and Composed by G. Linley, 
 
 Music at T. Prowse's, 
 
 OcH hone ! now I'm alone, 
 
 Sad is my heart, Patrick is gone | 
 
 Tar, far, o'er the wide sea, 
 
 The billows are bearing my true love from me. 
 
 Ah me ! words cannot speak 
 The grief that's consuming my once blooming 
 cheek ; 
 
 Ne'er more joy I can know. 
 
 No hand soothes my tears as they bitterly flow. ' 
 
 Life seems dark as my dreams ; 
 Hope o'er my path no longer gleams ; 
 Night breezes heed not my moan, 
 For Patrick has left me, Patrick is gone ! 
 
 Och hone! friends I have none, 
 Death hides them all, 'neath the cold stone ; 
 Save him, on the rude main, 
 Who knew not my sorrow, nor hears me com- 
 plain. 
 
 Patrick ! why wast thou poor, 
 
 And tempted to roam to a foreign shore ? 
 
 My heart seeks not to share 
 
 The world's fleeting treasure, if love be not there. 
 
POPULAB SOKGS. 
 
 211 
 
 Ah me! none shall e'er see, 
 
 How, day by day, I weep for thee ; 
 
 Heaven only, hear my sad moan, 
 
 For Patrick has left me, Patrick is gone I 
 
 FAREWELL, MY TRIM-BUILT WHERRY. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 Then farewell, my trim -built wherry, 
 Oars, and coat, and badge, farewell ; 
 
 Never more at Chelsea ferry 
 Shall our Thomas take a spell. 
 
 For to hope and peace a stranger, 
 
 In the battle's heat I'll go, 
 Where expos'd to ev'ry danger. 
 
 Some friendly ball will lay mow. 
 
 Then, mayhap, when homeward steering, 
 With the news my messmates come, 
 
 Even you, my story hearing, 
 
 With a sigh, may cry, Poor Torn! 
 
213 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 HOW DEAB TO ME THE HOUR WHEN 
 BAY-LIGHT DIES. 
 
 "Written by. T. Moore. 
 
 Air — "The twisting of the rope," 
 
 How dear to me the hour when day-light dies, 
 And sun-beams melt along the silent sea j 
 
 For then sweet dreams of other days arise, 
 And mem'ry breathes her vesper sigh to thee. 
 
 And as I watch the line of light that plays 
 Along the smooth wave tow*rd the burning west, 
 
 I long to tread that golden path of rays, 
 
 And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of 
 rest. 
 
 THE LOADSTARS. 
 
 GLEE AND CHOEUS. 
 Music at D'Almaine's. 
 
 O HAPPY fair, 
 Your eyes are loadstars, and your tongue's sweet 
 air, 
 
 More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear. 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds ap- 
 pear. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 213 
 
 THE ANCHORSMITHS. 
 
 Music at Wjbrow's. 
 
 Like JEtna*s dread volcano, see the ample forge, 
 Like heaps upon large heaps of jetty fuel gorge ; 
 While salamander like, the pond'rous anchor 
 lies, 
 
 Glutted with vivid fire, through all its pores that 
 flies. 
 
 The dingy anchorsmiths, to renovate their 
 strength, 
 
 Stretch' d out in death-like sleep, lie snoring at 
 
 their length. 
 Waiting the master's signal, when the tackle's 
 
 force 
 
 Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire 
 divorce. 
 
 While, as old Yulcan's Cyclops did the anvil 
 bang. 
 
 In deaf ning concert shall their pond'rous ham- 
 mers clang. 
 
 And into symmetry the mass incongruous beat, 
 To save from adverse winds and waves the gal- 
 lant British fleet. 
 
 Now, as more vivid and intense each splinter 
 flies, 
 
 The temper of the fire the skilful master tries j 
 And as the dingy hue assumes a brilljant red, 
 The heated anchor feeds the fire on which it fed. 
 
 The huge sledge-hammers round in order they 
 arrange. 
 
 And waking anchorsmiths await the look'd-for- 
 change-r- 
 
214 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Longing witli ardent force the ardent mass to 
 emite. 
 
 When issuing from the fire array* d in dazzling 
 white. 
 
 And, as old Yulcan's Cyclops did the anTil bang, 
 To make in concert rude their pond'rous ham- 
 Djers clang, 
 
 The rude mis-shapen lump to symmetry they 
 beat, 
 
 To save from adverse winds and waves the gal- 
 lant British fleet. 
 
 The preparations thicken; with forks the fire 
 they goad — 
 
 And now twelve anchorsmiths the heaving bel- 
 lows load, 
 
 While arm*d from every danger, and in grim ar- 
 ray, 
 
 Anxious as howling demons waiting for their prey, 
 
 The forge the anchor yields from out its fiery maw,' 
 While on the anvil prone, the cavern shouts 
 "Hurrah!" 
 
 And now the scorched beholders want the power 
 to gaze, 
 
 Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its power- 
 ful rays. 
 
 While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil 
 bang. 
 
 To forge Jove's thunderbolts, their pond'rous 
 
 hammers clang : 
 And till its fire's extinct, the monstrous mass 
 
 they beat. 
 
 To save from adverse winds and waves the gal- 
 lant British fleet. 
 
rorULAE SONGS. 
 
 215 
 
 THE DIEaE. 
 
 Written by T, Moore. 
 
 Air — " The dear black maid.'* 
 
 How oft has the Benshee cried, 
 How oft has death untied, 
 Bright links that glory wove. 
 Sweet bonds entwin'd by love : 
 
 Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth ! 
 
 Hest to each faithful eye that weepeth I 
 Long may the fair and brave 
 Sigh o*er the hero*s grave. 
 
 We're fall*n upon gloomy days, 
 
 Star after star decays, 
 
 Ev'ry bright name that shed 
 Light o'er the land, is fled. 
 Dark falls the tear of him who moumeth 
 Lost joy or hope, that ne'er returneth : 
 
 But brightly flows the tear 
 
 Wept o'er the hero's bier. 
 
 Oh I quench'd are our beacon lights. 
 Thou, of the hundred fights. 
 Thou, on whose burning tongue 
 Truth, peace, and freedom, hung ! 
 Both mute-— but, long as valour shincth, 
 Or mercy's soul at war repineth. 
 So long shall Erin's pride 
 Tell how they liv'd and died. 
 
216 
 
 POPULAR S0NG3. 
 
 LOVE'S SERENADE. 
 
 Sung in the Comic Drama, " Who's the composer ?** 
 Written by J. M. Morton, Esq.— Composed by T. G. Heed. 
 Music at Chappell & Co's. 
 
 Oh lady dear, 
 Thy lover's near, 
 
 Waiting for a smile from thee. 
 The moon's fair light 
 Is far less bright 
 
 Than is thy beauty, love, to me. 
 The fairest flower 
 Within thy bower 
 
 When compared to thee must fade, 
 Then lady dear, 
 Thy lover hear. 
 
 While he sings Love's serenade. 
 
 Dearest awake 
 Ere on the lake, 
 
 Beams the early blush of dawn, 
 Ere the first ray 
 Of coming day, 
 
 Bids thy loVer hence begone. 
 Then do not hide, 
 My own dear bride, 
 
 Let not my prayer in vain be made. 
 But, lady dear. 
 Thy lover hear. 
 
 While thus he singa Love's serenade. 
 
POPtJLAE SONGS. 
 
 217 
 
 THE MANIAC. 
 
 'Descriptive Scena, 
 Composed by Henry Eussell, 
 Music at Cramer's. 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the night-watch ! he guards my lonely 
 cell. 
 
 Yes ! His the night-watch ! his glimmering lamp 
 I see. 
 
 He comes this way— 
 
 Softly he comes — 
 Hush ! hush ! 
 No, by heaven ! no, by heaven ! I am not mad ! 
 
 Oh ! release me — 
 No, by heaven ! no, by heaven ! I am not mad ! 
 
 I lov'd her sincerely, 
 
 I lov*d her two dearly, 
 I lov'd her in sorrow, in joy, and in pain ; 
 
 But my heart is forsaken, 
 
 Yet ever will waken 
 The mem'ry of bliss that will ne'er come again. 
 
 Oh ! this poor heart is broken. 
 I see her dancing in the hall — 
 
 She heeds me not — 
 No, by heaven ! no, by heaven ! I am not mad ! 
 
 Oh ! release me — 
 No, by heaven ! no, by heaven ! I am not mad ! 
 
218 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 He quit8 the grate — he turns the key ; 
 
 He quits the grate — I knelt in vain j 
 His glimmering lamp still, still I see; 
 
 And all, and all is gloom again. 
 
 Cold, bitter cold— no life, no light! 
 
 Life, all the comforts once I had 5 
 But here I'm chain' d this freezing night : — 
 
 No, by heaven ! no, by heaven ! I am not mad ! 
 Oh ! release me — 
 No, by heaven I no, by heaven ! I am not mad ! 
 
 I see her dancing in the hall — 
 
 She heeds me not ; 
 For, look you, while I speak, — 
 
 Mark, how yon demon's eye-balls glare ! 
 He sees me now ; with dreadful shriek 
 
 He whirls, he whirls me in the air I 
 Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth 
 Deep in my heart, so crush'd and sad 1 
 Ay, laugh, ye fiends j — 
 Yes, by heaven ! yes, by heaven ! they've driv'n 
 me mad ! 
 Oh ! release me — 
 Yes, by heaven ! yes, by heaven ! they've driv'n 
 me mad ! 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 219 
 
 THE SONG OF FIONNUALA. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — "Arrah, ray dear Eveleen/* 
 
 Silent, oli Moyle! be the roar of thy water, 
 
 Break not, ye breezes, your claim of repose ! 
 While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daugh- 
 ter 
 
 Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
 
 When shall the swan, her death-note singing, 
 Sleep with wings in darkness furPd ? 
 
 When shall heav'n, its sweet bell ringing, 
 Call my spirit from this stormy world ? 
 
 Sadly, oh Moyle! to thy winter-wave weeping, 
 Fate bids me languish long ages away : 
 
 Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, 
 Still doth the pure light its dawning delay I 
 
 When will that day-star, mildly springing, 
 Warm our isle with peace and love ? 
 
 When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 
 Call my spirit to the fields above ? 
 
223 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE PLOUaHSHARE OE OLD ENGLAND* 
 
 Written by Eliza Cook. Composed by S. Nelsou. 
 Music at T, E. Purday's. 
 
 The sailor boasts his stately ship, the bulwark of 
 our isle ; 
 
 The soldier loves his sword, and siogs of tented 
 
 plains the while ; 
 But we will hang our ploughshare up, within our 
 
 father's halls, 
 And guard it as the deity of plenteous festivals. 
 
 We'll pluck the brilliant poppies, and the far- 
 famed barley corn, 
 
 To wreathe with bursting wheat-ears, that out- 
 shine the saffron morn ; 
 
 We'll crown it with a glowing heart, and pledge 
 our fertile land, 
 
 The ploughshare of Old England, and the sturdy 
 peasant band. 
 
 The work it does is good and blest, and may be 
 proudly told ; 
 
 We see it in the teeming barns, and fields of wav- 
 ing gold. 
 
 Its metal is unsullied, no blood-stain lingers 
 there ; 
 
 God speed it well, and let it thrive, unshackled, 
 everywhere. 
 
POPULAR SONaS. 221 
 
 The bark may rest upon the wave, the spar may 
 gather dust, 
 
 But never may the prow that cuts the furrow he 
 and rust. 
 
 Fill up, fill up, with glowing heart, and pledge 
 
 our fertile land, 
 The ploughshare of Old England, and the sturdy 
 
 peasant band. 
 
 I LOYE THEE FOR THY HEART. 
 Written by J. W. Lake. Composed by J, Braham. 
 Music at Metzler and Co's. 
 
 When thy raven locks were flying. 
 
 O'er thy fair and polish'd brow ; 
 When thine eye of light was glowing, 
 
 O'er thy cheek, where roses blow ; 
 Oh, then I fondly lov'd thee, 
 
 Thy angel-worth apart ; 
 But now that I have prov'd thee, 
 
 I love thee for thy heart. 
 
 When young roses wreath'd around thee, 
 When thou gav'st thy bridal vow, 
 
 When thy sister-graces crown' d thee, 
 Then I lov'd thee not as now ; 
 
 Though time thy charms may sever, 
 , Thy worth will ne'er depart 5 
 
 Oh! thou art mine forever, — 
 I love thee for thy heart. 
 
223 
 
 FOPULAE SGKG3. 
 
 HARRY BLUFF. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 When a hoy, Harry Bluff left his friends and his 
 home, 
 
 And his dear native land, on the ocean to roam ; 
 Like a sapling he sprung, he was fair to the view, 
 And was true British oak, boys, when older he 
 grew. 
 
 Though his body was weak, and his hands they 
 were soft. 
 
 When the signal was given, he the first went aloft ; 
 And the veterans all cried, he'll one day lead the 
 van ; 
 
 For, though rated a boy, he*d the soul of a man, 
 And the heart of a true British sailor. 
 
 When in manhood promoted, and burning for 
 fame, 
 
 Still in peace and in war Harry Bluff was the 
 same; 
 
 So true to his love, and in battle so brave, 
 The myrtle and laurel entwine o*er his grave. 
 For his country he fell, when by victory crown'd, — 
 The flag shot away, fell in tatters around ; 
 The foe thought he'd struck— but he sung, avast ! 
 And the colours of England he nailed to the 
 mast ; 
 
 Then he died like a true, &c. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 223 
 
 BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENBEAK- 
 ma YOUNG CHARMS. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air — " My lodginjj is on the cold ground.** 
 
 Believe me, if all those endearing young charm?, 
 
 Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
 Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my 
 arms. 
 
 Like fairy gifts fading away ! 
 Thou wouldst still be ador'd as this moment thou 
 art. 
 
 Let thy loveliness fade as it will ; 
 And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 
 Would entwine itself verdantly still. 
 
 It is not while beauty and youth are thine own 
 
 And thy cheeks iinprofan'd by a tear. 
 That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known. 
 
 To which time will but make thee more dear ; 
 Oh ! the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, 
 
 But as truly loves on to the close ; 
 As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he set?, 
 
 The same look which she turn'd when he rose ! 
 
224 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 MY HEART'S ON THE RHINE. 
 
 From the German, by G. J. O. Allmann. 
 
 Composed by Speyer. Music at the Musicsellers. 
 
 My heart's on the Rhine, on whose bright flowing 
 stream, 
 
 My boyhood's young day pass'd like fancy's sweet 
 dream ; 
 
 Friends, kindred, and love, thou art all unto me, 
 Great father of rivers, I find them in thee ! 
 Then let my song be, while we crown it with 
 wine, 
 
 Roam where'er I will, my hearths on the Rhine, . 
 on the Rhine. 
 
 I hail thee, I love thee, broad golden-green 
 
 stream ; 
 
 How fair do thy castles and village spires seem ! 
 Thou flow'st through a land where the maidens 
 are fair ; 
 
 True hearted and brave are the men who dwell 
 there ; 
 
 And through life's rough journey should strug- 
 gles be mine, 
 
 There is joy in the thought, my heart's on tlie 
 Rhine. 
 
 My heart's on the Rhine, whose bright, &c. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 225 
 
 LET EEIN EEMEMBER THE DAYS OF 
 OLD. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 
 Air—" The Eed Fox.'* 
 
 Let Erin remember the days of old, 
 
 Ere faithless sons betray' d her ; 
 When Malachi wore the collar of gold, 
 
 Which he won from her proud invader ; 
 When her king with standard of green unfurl'd, 
 
 Led the Red Branch knights to danger, 
 Ere the emerald gem of the western world 
 
 Was set in the crown of a stranger : 
 
 OnLough-Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays 
 
 When the clear cold eve's declining, 
 He sees the round towers of other days 
 
 In the wave beneath him shining ! 
 Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 
 
 Catch a glimpse of the days that are over : 
 Thus sighing, look through the waves of timoj 
 
 Eor the long-faded glories they cover. 
 
 GLEE. 
 
 To be jovial and gay, to be merry and wise, 
 To pass time away is a boon that I prize ; 
 With friendship and glee to fill up the span, 
 Is a life that suits me, and I will if I can. 
 315 p 
 
POPl/LAB SONaS. 
 
 THE BAECAEOLLE. 
 
 In tho Opera of" La Barcarolle." 
 
 From the French of M. Scribe. 
 
 Composed by Auber. 
 
 Oh thou, whose blushing beauty 
 My sprit doeth enchain, 
 Whose peerless image ever 
 Sheds light o'er Life's dull plain. 
 Of all who throng around thee 
 To breathe love's votive sigh, 
 None worship thee so truly 
 As I, as I, as I. 
 
 Oh, when like summer's morning, 
 Whose sunny hue has sped, 
 Thy beauty's charm shall wither. 
 Those graces shall have fled, 
 These false ones shall betray thee 
 To other shrines will fly, 
 But truth is not more constant 
 Than I, than I, than I. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 2iL7 
 
 LOCH-NA-GAEE. 
 
 Composed by Sir H. E. Bishop. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses 5 
 
 In you let the minions of luxury rove ; 
 Bestore me the rocks where the snow-flake re- 
 poses. 
 
 If still they are sacred to freedom and love. 
 Yet, Caledonia dear are thy mountains, 
 • Bound their white summits though elements 
 war ; 
 
 Tho* cataracts foam, *stead of smooth flowing 
 fountains, 
 
 I sigh for the valley of dark Loch-na-garr. 
 
 Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wan- 
 der' d ; 
 
 My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid : 
 On chieftains departed my memory ponder'd. 
 As daily I stray 'd through the pine- cover' d 
 glade. 
 
 I sought not my home till the day's dying glory 
 Grave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; 
 
 Tor fancy was cheered by traditional story, 
 Disclosed by the natives of dark L-och-na-garr. 
 
 Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices 
 Bise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ? 
 
 Surely the soul of the hero rejoices. 
 
 And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland 
 dale : 
 
228 
 
 rOPULAE SOKGS. 
 
 Kound Loch-na-garr, while the stormy mist 
 gathers, 
 
 Winter presides in his cold icy car ; 
 Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers — 
 They dwell 'mid the tempests of dark Loch- 
 na-garr. 
 
 I'M AFLOAT. 
 
 Music at the Musicsellers. 
 
 I'm afloat, I'm afloat, o'er the billows I roam, 
 I'tc a bride in my bark, the wide sea is my home, 
 The flag of the Rover is flying right free, 
 I'm afloat, and the Pirate is king of the sea. 
 [ at monarchies laugh, no laws do I fear, 
 I have steel at my girdle, my compass is near ; 
 But slavery's yoke ne'er this neck shall degrade, 
 W hile the ship bears a gun, or this arm wields a 
 blade. 
 
 Give her sails to the breeze, lads, her rudder my 
 care. 
 
 The white surge she'll cleave, as the eagle the air ; 
 Hoist the black banner high, leave the land on 
 the lee, 
 
 I'm afloat, and the Pirate is king of the sea. 
 
 The storm clouds now gather, and fierce light- 
 nings flash. 
 
 Like a sea-gull she shines, though his waves 
 
 rudely dashj 
 Ha! ha ! at their malice she laughs a disdain. 
 Still majestic she rides, fairy-queen of the main. 
 
rOPULAE SOKGS. 
 
 229 
 
 The loud pealing thunder may shake every span 
 In concord we'll live, though the elements jar ; 
 While, beneath us the sea, and above us the sky, 
 Our cry shall be conquer, or valiantly die. 
 Hurrah ! gallant rovers, drown sorrow in wine, 
 All your wants be my care, all your pleasures ba 
 mine, 
 
 Death or victory speaks, as our banner flies free, 
 I'm afloat, and the Pirate is king of the sea. 
 
 THE TEEE AND THE STEEAMLET. 
 Written by A. F. "Westmacotfc. 
 
 Composed by P. Jewell. 
 
 Music at Shepherd and Go's. 
 
 By yonder old willow a stream used to run. 
 Reflecting the beams that were lent by the sun ; 
 Hut late when I sought it, alas ! it was dry, 
 And I marked its old course, 'neath the tree with 
 a sigh. 
 
 For I knew that the sun that had brighten'd its 
 way. 
 
 And gladden'd the friendly old tree day by day, 
 Had dried up the current, and left him to mourn 
 Till winter, though coldly, should bid it return. 
 
 Too many have found, as life's stream they have 
 cross'd, 
 
 That the shallowest waters will sparkle the most! 
 While those which have ne'er caught a beam of 
 the sun. 
 
 Though dark, are the deepest and truest that run. 
 
230 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 How oft will the summer of fortune conceal 
 The hands that would clasp thee, the hearts that 
 can feel, 
 
 But adversity's winter, tho* chill, can bring back 
 The waters that summer had turn'd from their 
 track. 
 
 EXCELSIOR. 
 
 Written by Longfellow. 
 
 Sung by the Hutchinson Family. 
 
 The shades of eve were falling fast, 
 
 As through an Alpine village pass'd 
 
 A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
 
 A banner with this strange device — Excelsioe. 
 
 His brow was sad, his eye beneath 
 
 Flash'd like a faulchion from its sheath ; 
 
 And hke a silver clarion rung. 
 
 The accents of that unknown tongue — Excelsior. 
 
 In happy hours he saw the light 
 
 Of household fires beam warm and bright ; 
 
 Above the spectral glaciers shone. 
 
 And from his lips escaped a groan — Excelsior. 
 
 " Try not the pass !'* the old man said, 
 
 " Dark lowers the tempest over head. 
 
 The roaring flood is deep and wide 
 
 And loud the clarion voice replied — Excelsior. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 231 
 
 Oh, stay !** the maiden said, " and rest 
 Thy weary head upoji my breast !" 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye. 
 But still he answered with a sigh — ExcELSiOE. 
 
 " Beware the pine tree's withered branch, 
 Beware the toppling avalanche !" 
 This was the peasant's last " G-ood Night," 
 A voice replied far up the height— Excelsioe. 
 
 At break of day as heavenward, 
 
 The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
 
 Uttered the oft repeated prayer, 
 
 A voice cried thro' the startled air — ExCELSloa. 
 
 A traveller by the faithful hound, 
 
 Half buried in the snow was found. 
 
 Still grasping in his hand of ice, 
 
 That banner with the strange device — Excelsior, 
 
 There ! in the twilight cold and grey, 
 
 Lifeless, but beautiful he lay ; 
 
 And from the sky serene and far 
 
 A voice fell like a falling star— Excelsior. 
 
233 
 
 MY BONNY KATE. 
 
 Written by E. J. Gill. 
 
 Composed by T. Young. 
 Music at Metzler and Go's. 
 
 My dearest Kate, I've watch'd for thee 
 
 In morning's golden light, 
 But ne'er have found a flower, to me. 
 
 To me that seem'd so fair and bright. 
 The breeze was murmuring sweet around, 
 
 The birds sang soft and clear ; 
 But, oh ! no joy was in them found 
 
 'Till thou wert wand'ring near. 
 Then dearest Kate ! my bonny Kate I 
 
 Oh ! meet me in the morn, 
 For all the charms which beauty gives, 
 
 Thy own sweet looks adorn. 
 
 My dearest Kate ! I've watch'd for thee 
 
 When ev'ning's fading beams 
 Look'd ling'ring o'er each flow'r and tree. 
 
 Or rob'd the silver streams. 
 But thy blue eyes such pure delight 
 
 Flung o'er the vale around, 
 I half lorgot that gloom of night 
 
 In truth could e'er be found. 
 Then dearest Kate ! my bonny Kate ! 
 
 Oh ! meet me night or morn, 
 For all the charms which beauty gives, 
 
 Thy own sweet loooks adorn. 
 
POPULAR SOKGS. 
 
 233 
 
 A MAN'S A MAN FOR A THAT. 
 
 Music at Paterson and Roj'3. 
 
 Is there for honest poverty, 
 
 That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
 The coward slave, we pass him by, 
 
 And dare be poor for a' that. 
 For a* that, and a* that ; 
 
 Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
 The rank is but the guinea-stamp, 
 
 The man's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 What though on hamely fare we dine. 
 
 Wear hoddin gray, and a* that, 
 G-ie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
 
 A man's a man for a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
 The honest man, though e'r so poor. 
 
 Is king o' men for a' that. 
 
 You see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts and stares, and a* that, 
 Though hundreds worship at his word, 
 
 He's but a coof for a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 His riband, star, and a' that ; 
 The man of independent mind 
 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
234 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 A king can make a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that. 
 An honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Gude faith, he mauna fa' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their dignities, and a' that, 
 The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth. 
 
 Are bigger ranks than a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray, that come it may. 
 
 And come it will for a' that. 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 
 May bear the gree, and a' that. 
 For el' that, and a' that. 
 
 It's coming yet, for a' that, 
 That man to man, the warld o'er. 
 
 Shall brothers be for a' that. 
 
 ON MUSIC. 
 
 Written by T, Moore. 
 Air — ** The banks of Banna." 
 
 When through life unblest we rove, 
 
 Losing all that made life dear. 
 Should some notes we us'd to love. 
 
 In days of boyhood, meet our ear ; 
 Oh ! how welcome breathes the strain, 
 
 Wak'ning thoughts that long have slept, 
 Kindling former smiles again, 
 
 In faded eyes that long have wept. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 235 
 
 Jj'ik'e the gale that sighs along 
 
 Beds of oriental flowers, 
 In the grateful breath of song, 
 
 That once was heard in happier hours : 
 Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on, 
 
 Though the flowers have sunk in death ; 
 So, when pleasure's dreani is gone, 
 
 Its memory lives in music's breath ! 
 
 Music ! — oh ! how faint, how weak 
 
 Language fades before thy spell ! 
 Why should feeling ever speak. 
 
 When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? 
 Friendship's balmy words may feign, 
 
 Love's are ev'n more false than they ; 
 Oh ! 'tis only music's strain 
 
 Can sweetly soothe, and not betray ! 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 When the sweet spring-time did fall, 
 Was the miller's lovely daughter. 
 
 The fairest of them all. 
 For his bride a soldier sought her, 
 
 And a winning tongue had he j 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 None so gay as she. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 When brown autumn spreads its store, 
 Then I saw the miller's daughter, 
 
 But she smiled no more ; 
 
23G 
 
 POPITLAE SONGS. 
 
 For the summer grief had brought her, 
 And the soldier false was he 5 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 None so sad as she. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 When the winter snow fell fast, 
 Still was seen the miller's daughter ; 
 
 Chilling blew the blast. 
 But the miller's lovely daughter. 
 
 Both from cold and care was free ; 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 There a corpse lay she. 
 
 ENGLAND'S GOLDEN DAYS. 
 
 Written by J. E. Carpenter. Composed by N". J. Sporle. 
 Music at T. E. Purday'g. 
 
 I siNa, but 'tis an English song, for Oh ! I love 
 
 to praise 
 
 Each custom that is handed down from England's 
 
 golden days ; 
 Let other bards praise foreign climes, 'tis not the 
 
 theme for me, 
 Old England with her happy homes my minstrel 
 
 lay shall be. 
 
 I do not deem that minstrel theme can better 
 form its lays, 
 
 Than singing to a merry strain of England's gold- 
 en days. 
 
POPULAR soNas. 237 
 
 T love an English spring-time, when the early 
 
 flow'rs appear ; 
 The soft blue-bell, and all that tell the op'ning of 
 
 the year; 
 
 "VYhen rosy girls, with chestnut curls, peep from 
 
 each cottage door, 
 And Nature in her green array is lovely as of yore. 
 
 I do not deem that, &c. 
 
 For scenes of beauty, who the palm to foreign 
 
 climes would yield, 
 That views in glorious summer-time an English 
 
 harvest field? 
 Her murm'ring rills, her fertile hills, her rivers 
 
 clear and free ! 
 Oh, there is not a fairer scene an Englishman can 
 
 seel 
 
 I do not deem that, &c. 
 
 But sturdy winter comes at last, and good old 
 
 Christmas cheer 
 In hut and hall proclaims to all the season of the 
 
 year ; 
 
 The peasant with his home-brew'd ale, the squire 
 
 with good old wine. 
 In universal holiday and social mirth combine. 
 
 I do not deem that, &c. 
 
 Then who that loves Old England says her golden 
 
 days are o'er? 
 Behold her commerce, is she not as prosp'rous as 
 
 before ? 
 
 She has statesmen wise, and heroes brave, to fill 
 
 the passing scene, 
 And as in England's by-gone days, A tetje-boek 
 
 Beitish Queen. 
 
 I do not deem that, &c. 
 
238 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 IT IS NOT THE TEAE, AT THIS MOMENT 
 SHED. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air—" The Sixpence.'* 
 
 It is not the tear at this moment shed, 
 
 When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, 
 That can tell how belov'd was the soul that's fled, 
 
 Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him : 
 'Tis the tear through many a long day wept, 
 
 Through a life by his loss all shaded, 
 'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept. 
 
 When all other griefs are faded I 
 
 Oh, thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light, 
 While it shines through our hearts, will im- 
 prove them ; 
 
 For worth shall look fairer, and truth more 
 bright, 
 
 When we think how he liv'd but to love them ! 
 And, as buried saints the grave perfume, 
 
 Where, fadeless, they've long been lying, 
 So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom, 
 
 From the image he left there in dying; 
 
I>OrTJLA.R SONGS. 
 
 jOCK O'HAZELDEAN. 
 
 Written by Sir Walter Scott, Bart. 
 Music at Lee and Coxhead'Si 
 
 "Why are ye weeping by the tide, 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide ? 
 I'll wed you to my youngest son, 
 
 And ye shall be his bride. 
 And ye shall be his bride, lady, 
 
 Sae comely to be seen.'' 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
 ** Now let this wilful grief be done, 
 
 And dry thy cheek so pale ; 
 Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
 
 And lord of Langley dale ; 
 His step is first in peaceful ha'. 
 
 His sword in battle keen ;" 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
 " A chain of gold ye shall not lack, 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair, 
 Nor mettled hounds, nor manag'd hawk, 
 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 
 And you the foremost o' them a*. 
 
 Shall ride our forest queen 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
240 
 
 POrULAR SONGS. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd at morning tide, 
 
 The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
 The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 
 
 And dame and knight are there. 
 They sought her both by bow'r and ha' j 
 
 The lady was nae seen ; 
 She's o'er the border and awa' 
 
 Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
 THE ORiaiN OF THE HARP. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air—" Gang faue.*» 
 
 'TiS believ'd that this harp which I now wake for 
 thee, 
 
 Was a Syren of old, who sung under the sea. 
 And who often at eve through the bright billow 
 rov'd, 
 
 To meet on the green shore a youth whom she 
 lov'd. 
 
 But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to 
 weep. 
 
 And in tears, all the night, her gold ringlets to 
 steep, 
 
 Till heav'n look'd with pity on true-love so 
 warm. 
 
 And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's 
 form ! 
 
FOrULAR soNas. 241 
 
 Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheeks emird 
 the same — 
 
 While her sea-beauties gracefully curl'd round 
 the frame ; 
 
 And her hair, shedding tear-drops from all its 
 
 bright rings, 
 Fell over her white arms, to make the gold 
 strings ! 
 
 Hence it came that this soft Harp so long hath 
 been known 
 
 To miugle love's langnage with sorrow's sad 
 tone ; 
 
 Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay 
 To be love, when I'm near thee, and grief, when 
 away ! 
 
 THE BLIND WARRTOE AND CHILD. 
 Written by J. TV. Lake.— Composed by Jno. Hopkinson, 
 Music at Hopkinson's. 
 
 I SAW beneath an ancient tree. 
 
 An aged man and grey, 
 A child was seated on his knee, 
 
 As blithe as blooming May ; 
 Its tiny fingers fondly twin'd 
 
 That withered hand with joy : 
 The old man was a warrior blind, 
 
 The child an orphan boy. 
 
 I saw beneath, &c. 
 
 m Q 
 
242 
 
 POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 His daughter, once his sole delight, 
 
 Was in the church-yard laid, 
 A flower of beauty doom'd to blight,— 
 
 The fairest soonest fade ! 
 Oh ! bitter fell that father's tears. 
 
 His heart was dead to joy, 
 May heav'n watch o'er his wintry years. 
 
 And bless that orphan boy. 
 
 I saw beneath, &c 
 
 «MOURIR POUR LA PATRIE!" 
 
 The celebrated Girondist Song and Chorus. 
 
 From the French of A. Dumas. 
 
 By the cannon's fearful rattle. 
 
 On her children France doth cry, 
 The soldier cries to battle ! 
 
 'Tis our mother, for her we'll die ! 
 For our country's sake to bleed 
 'Twere a glorious fate indeed. 
 
 Though in distant fight we perish, 
 
 Unforgotten we shall be, 
 Who with latest breath did cherish 
 France and her liberty. 
 
 For our country's sake to bleed 
 •Twere a glorious fate indeed. 
 
POl-ULAR SONGS. 
 
 243 
 
 THEOUGH GEIEF AND TIIROUaH 
 DANGER. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — "I once had a true love.*' 
 
 Theough grief and through danger thy smile 
 
 hath cheer' d my way, 
 Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that 
 
 round me lay : 
 The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure 
 
 love burn'd, 
 
 Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was 
 turn'd; 
 
 Oh ! slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt 
 free, 
 
 Andbless'd ev'n the sorrows that made me more 
 dear to thee. 
 
 Thy rival was honoured, while thou wert wrong'd 
 
 and scorn' d ; 
 Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows 
 
 adorn' d ; 
 
 She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in 
 caves ; 
 
 Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas ! 
 were slaves ; 
 
 Yet, cold in the earth, at thy feet I would rather be. 
 Than wed what I lov'd not, or turn one thought 
 from thee. 
 
244 POPULAR SONG?. 
 
 They slander thee sorelj who say thy vows are 
 frail — 
 
 Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek hadlook'd 
 less pale ! 
 
 They say too, so long thou hast worn those 
 
 lingering chains, 
 That deep in thy heart they have printed their 
 
 servile stains — 
 Oh ! do not believe them — no chain could that 
 
 soul subdue ; 
 Whero shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth 
 
 too! 
 
 OH! SUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 The Serenade in "Don Pasqualo.** 
 
 Music at all rublishers. 
 
 Oh ! Summer Night, 
 How hush'd and calm 
 
 Thy shadows fall, o'er stream, and flow'r, anc 
 The fragrant air, 
 Is rife with balm, 
 
 That fills the air with ecstacy ; 
 
 The flow'rs are closing. 
 The birds reposing. 
 
 No sound to mar our love I hear ; 
 
 Then come, my love, 
 To this sweet grove, 
 
 It is thine own who watches near. 
 
 Oh, haste ! I pine to meet thee, 
 Ladye mine ! 
 
 And with Love's vows to greet thee, 
 Ladye mine ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 245 
 
 Oh ! Summer Night, 
 The voice of love 
 
 In such an hour as this is sweeter far, 
 When yon bhie sky- 
 That smiles above, 
 
 Is glittering with Eve's pale star. 
 
 When dews are weeping, 
 And fairies leaping 
 
 In sport amid the moon-beams clear j 
 So fly, my love, 
 To this sweet grove. 
 
 It is thine own who watches near. 
 
 Oh, haste I I pine to meet thee, 
 Ladye mine ! 
 
 And with love's voice to greet thee, 
 Ladye mine I 
 
 WITH A JOLLY FULL BOTTLE. 
 
 A EAVOUEITE GLEE. 
 
 With a jolly full bottle let each man be arm'd. 
 We must be good subjects when our hearts are 
 
 thus warm'd ; 
 Here's a health to old England, the queen of the 
 
 church, 
 
 May all plotting contrivers be left in the lurch. 
 May England's Victoria bravely fight our just 
 cause, 
 
 Establish long peace, our religion and laws. 
 
2iG 
 
 POPULAR SOKGS. 
 
 LOYE'S YOUNG DEEAM. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air— ** The old woman.'* 
 
 On ! the days are gone, when beauty bright 
 
 My heart's chain wove ; 
 When my dream of Ufe from morn till night, 
 
 Was, love still love ! 
 
 New hope may bloom, 
 
 And days may come, 
 Of milder, calmer beam. 
 But there's nothing half so sweet in life 
 
 As love's young dream ! 
 Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life 
 
 As love's young dream ! 
 
 Though the bard to a purer fame may soar, 
 
 When wild youth's past ; 
 Though he win the wise, who frown'd before, 
 
 To smile at last ; 
 
 He'll never meet 
 
 A joy so sweet, 
 In all his noon of fame. 
 As when first he sung to woman's ear 
 
 His soul-felt flame, 
 And, at every close, she blush'd to heap 
 
 The one lov'd name ! 
 
POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 247 
 
 Oh! that hallow*d form is ne'er forgot, 
 
 Which first 3ove trac'd ; 
 Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 
 On memory's waste! 
 'Twas odour fled 
 As soon as shed, 
 'Twas morning's winged dream! 
 *Twa8 a ligfht that ne'er can shine again 
 
 On life's dull stream. 
 Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again 
 On life's dull stream. 
 
 THE HAND OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Written by Goodwin Barm by. — Composed by J. Blewitt. 
 
 Music at Metzler and Co's. 
 
 GriVE me the hand that is warm, kind, andready» 
 Give me the clasp that is warm, true, and steady ; 
 Give me the hand, that will never deceive me, 
 Give me the grasp, that I may believe thee j 
 Soft is the palm of the delicate woman, 
 Hard is the hand of the rough, sturdy yeoman, 
 Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not, never, 
 Give me the grasp that is friendly for ever. 
 
 Give me the hand that is true as a brother, 
 Give me the hand that has harm'd not anotlier, 
 Give me the hand that has never forsworn it. 
 Give me its grasp, that I may adore it. 
 Lovely the palm of the fair blue-eyed maiden. 
 Horny the hand of the workman o'er-laden, 
 Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not, never, 
 •'>ive me the grasp that is friendly for ever. 
 
248 
 
 rOPULArv SOKGS. 
 
 SCOTS ^HA HAE Wr WALLACE 
 BLED. 
 
 Music at Jeffrey's. 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wliam Bruce has often led, 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 
 Or to victory ! 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour — 
 See the front of battle lour, 
 See approach proud Edward's powers 
 
 Chains and slavery ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Traitor turn and flee ! 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law, 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Ereemen stand, or freemen fa', 
 
 Caledonians, on wi' me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains, 
 By your sons in servile chains, 
 We will drain our dearest veins — 
 
 But they shall be free 1 
 Lay the proud usurpers low, 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ; 
 Liberty's in every blow ! 
 
 Forward — do or die ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 219 
 
 THE PEINCE'S DAY. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 
 Air — " St. Patrick's day." 
 
 Though dark are our sorrows, to day we'll forget 
 them, 
 
 And smile through our tears like a sun-beam 
 in show'rs ; 
 
 There never were hearts, if our rulers would let 
 them, 
 
 More form'd to be tranquil and blest than 
 ours ! 
 
 But just when the chain 
 Has ceas'd to pain. 
 And hope has enwreath'd it round with flow'rs, 
 There comes a new link 
 Our spirits to sink ! 
 Oh ! the joy of such hearts, like the light of the 
 poles. 
 
 Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay : 
 But though 'twere the last little spark in our 
 souls, 
 
 We must light it up now, on our Prince's day. 
 
 Contempt on the minion who calls him disloyal ! 
 Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you 
 are true j 
 
 And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, 
 Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. 
 
250 rOPULAE S0NG3. 
 
 While cowards, who blight 
 Your fame, your right, 
 Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array ; 
 The standard of green 
 In front would be seen — 
 Oh! my life on your faith I were you summon'd 
 this minute, 
 You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, 
 And show what the arm of old Erin has in it, 
 When roused by the foe on the Prince's day. 
 
 He loves the green isle, and his love is recorded 
 In hearts which have suffer'd too much to for- 
 get ; 
 
 And hope shall be crown 'd, and attachment 
 rewarded, 
 And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet! 
 The gem may be broke 
 By many a stroke, 
 But nothing can cloud its native ray ; 
 Each fragment will cast 
 A light to the last ; 
 And thus Erin, my country! though broken 
 thou art. 
 
 There's a lustre within thee that ne'er will 
 decay ; 
 
 A spirit that beams through each suffering part, 
 And now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's 
 day. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 251 
 
 THE CHIEFTllN'S DAUGHTER. 
 Written by G. P. Morris. — Composed by H. Kussell. 
 
 Upon the barren sand 
 
 A single captive stood, 
 Around him came with bow and brand, 
 
 The Eed Men of the wood ; 
 Like him of old his doom he hears, 
 
 Rock-bound on ocean's rim, 
 The Chieftain's daughter knelt in tears. 
 
 And breathed a prayer for him. 
 
 Above his head, in air, 
 
 The savage war-club swung. 
 The frantic girl in wild despair 
 
 Her arms around him flung. 
 Then shook the warriors of the shade, 
 
 Like leaves on aspen limb, 
 Subdued by that heroic maid 
 
 Who breathed a prayer for him. 
 
 ** Unbind him," gasp'd the chief, 
 
 " It is your king's decree 1" 
 He kiss'd away her tears of grief. 
 
 And set the captive free. 
 'Tis ever thus when in life's storm, 
 
 Hope's star to man grows dim, 
 An angel kneels in woman's form, 
 
 And breathes a prayer for him. 
 
POPULAE S0KG3. 
 
 HER CHEEK WAS PALE, YET 
 BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 "Written by J. W. Lake. — Composed by E. Limpua, 
 Music at Hopkinson's. 
 
 Her cheek was pale, yet beautiful, 
 
 Her bosom knew no guile. 
 But many a grief she sought to lull 
 
 Beneath that placid smile ; 
 Eor she had lov'd, ah ! lov'd too wcll^ 
 
 And trusted all to one, 
 Till broken was the bridal spell, 
 
 And each fond hope undone. 
 
 Her cheek, &c. 
 
 From day to day she pin'd away, 
 
 Like some neglected flow'r, 
 Transplanted from the sunny ray 
 
 To bear the cheerless show'r ; 
 "No plaint, no tear her grief exprest. 
 
 But with an angel's art 
 She hush'd the anguish of her breasf, 
 
 Till broke that blighted heart. 
 
 Her cheek, &c. 
 
rOrULAE SOXGS. 
 
 BEFOEE THE BATTLE. 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — "The Fairy Queen. 
 
 By the hope within us springing, 
 Herald of to-morrow's strife, 
 
 And by that sun, whose Hght is bringing 
 Chains or freedom, death or Hfe — 
 Oh ! remember Hfe can be 
 No charm for him who Hves not free. 
 
 Sinks the hero to his grave. 
 
 Like the day-star in the wave, 
 Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears ! 
 
 Blessed is he o'er whose decline 
 
 The smiles of home may soothing shine, 
 And light him down the steep of years. 
 
 But oh ! how grand they sink to rest, 
 
 Who close their eyes in vict'ry's breast. 
 
 O'er his watch-fire's fading embers, 
 Now the foeman's cheek turns white, 
 
 While his heart that field remembers, 
 Where we dimm'd his glory's light ! 
 Never let him bind again 
 A chain like that we broke from then. 
 Hark ! the horn of combat calls — 
 Oh ! before the evening falls. 
 
 May we pledge that horn in triumph round. 
 Many a heart that now beats high, 
 In slumber cold at night shall lie, 
 
 Nor waken ev'n at victory's sound : — 
 But oh ! how blest that hero's sleep. 
 O'er whom a wondering world shall weep I 
 
254 
 
 rOPULAR SONGS. 
 
 FILL EV'ET GLASS. 
 
 Music at Chappel's. 
 
 Fill ev'ry glass, for wine inspires us, 
 And fires us with courage, love and joy ; 
 Women and wine should life employ. 
 
 Is their ought else on earth desirous ? 
 
 Fill ev'ry glass, for wine inspires us, 
 And fires us with courage, love and joy. 
 
 LOYE m HEE EYES SITS PLAYING. 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Reeves in ** Acis and Galatea." ' 
 Written by Gay. — Composed by Handel. 
 . Music at D'Almaine's. 
 EECITATIVE. 
 
 Lo here my love, turn, Galatea, hither turn thy 
 eyes, 
 
 See at thy feet the longing Acis lies. 
 
 AIE. 
 
 Love in her eyes sits playing i 
 And sheds delicious death ; 
 
 Love in her lips is straying. 
 And warbling in her breath. 
 
rOPFLAR SONGS, 
 
 255 
 
 Love on her breast sits panting, 
 And swells with soft desire ; 
 
 No grace, no charm is wanting 
 To set the heart on fire. 
 
 YES, I HAYE LOY'D THEE. 
 
 Written and Composed by George J. O. AUmann. 
 Music at Leader and Cox's. 
 
 Yes ! I have lov'd thee ; but it was as one 
 
 Who views an object ne*er to be attained, 
 Who worships one to whom he may not dare 
 
 To tell the love by which he is enchained : 
 As one who sees afar some vision fair. 
 
 Whose radiance beams for others, not for him. 
 Yet gazing still, as if beneath Hope's spell, 
 
 Though Life and Joy before his sight grow 
 dim. 
 
 To see thee was to love thee — though stern Fate 
 
 Has so decreed, that thou canst ne'er be mine : 
 Yet thro' the gloom that shadows o'er my days, 
 
 J still can pray for happiness to thine. 
 These tears have told the secret of my soul, 
 
 And such to all but us it still must be, 
 I ask alone that thou may'st soon forget 
 
 There yet breathes one who dared to worship 
 thee. 
 
256 
 
 POrULAR BOlsQS, 
 
 AFTEK THE BATTLE. 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — "Thy fair bosom. 
 
 Night clos'd around the conqueror's way, 
 
 And lightning show'd the distant hill, 
 Where those that lost that dreadful day 
 
 Stood few and faint, but fearless still ! 
 The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal, 
 
 For ever dimm'd, for ever crost! 
 Oh ! who shall say what heroes feel, 
 
 When all but life and honour's lost I 
 
 The last sad hour of freedom's dream, 
 
 And valour's task mov'd slowly by, 
 While mute they watch'd, till morning's beai 
 
 Should rise, and give them light to die! 
 There is a world, where souls are free, 
 
 Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ; 
 If death that world's bright opening be, 
 
 Oh ! who would live a slave in this ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 257 
 
 THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. 
 
 Composed by Heury Eussell. 
 
 Dark is the night ! how dark ! no light ! no fire ! 
 Cold on the hearth the last faint sparks expire ; 
 Shivering, she watches by the cradle side, 
 For him who pledg'd her love last year a bride. 
 Hark! * tis his footstep ! no! 'tis past! 'tis gone! 
 Tic ! tic ! how wearily the time rolls on. 
 Why should he leave me thus ? he once was kind. 
 And I believ'd 'twould last. Oh ! how mad, how 
 blind ! 
 
 Rest thee, my babe, rest on, 'tis hunger's cry ! 
 Sleep, for there's no food ! the fount is dry 1 
 Famine and cold their wearing work have done, 
 My heart must break ! and thou, my child, must 
 die! 
 
 Hush ! the clock strikes one ! 
 
 Hush ! 'tis the dice-box ! yes, he's there, hc*s 
 there ! 
 
 For this he leaves me to despair ; 
 Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his child ! 
 for what ? 
 
 The wanton's smile, the villain, and the sot 1 
 Yet I'll not curse him, no ! 'tis all in vain, 
 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again ; 
 And I could starve, and bless him ; but for you, 
 My child. Oh fiend I oh fiend! 
 
 Hush I the clock strikes two ! 
 815 B 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Hark how the sign-board creaks ! the blast howla 
 
 Moan, moan, ye winds, thro' the cloudy sky. 
 Ha ! 'tis his knock, he comes, he comes once 
 more, 
 
 No ! His but the lattice flaps, my hope, my hope 
 is o'er ; 
 
 Can he desert us thus ? he knows I stay, he knows 
 I stay. 
 
 Night after night, in loneliness, in loneliness to 
 pray 
 
 For his return, and yet he sees no tear ! 
 No, no, it cannot be, oh ! he will be here. 
 Nestle thee more closely, dear one, to my heart : 
 Thou art cold, thou art freezing, but we will no 
 part. 
 
 Husband, I die! Father! it is not he ! 
 O God, protect my child ! 
 
 Hush ! the clock strikes three ! 
 
 They're gone ! they're gone! the glimmering spark 
 hath fled. 
 
 Wife and child are numbered with the dead 
 On the cold hearth, out-stretch'd in solemn rest, 
 The babe lies frozen on its mother's breast. 
 The G-ambler came at last, but all was o'er, 
 Dead silence reign'd around. 
 
 The clock struck four! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 259 
 
 OH! 'TIS SWEET TO THmK. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air— "Thady, you gander.*' 
 
 Oh ! 'tis sweet to think, that where'er we rove, 
 We are sure to find something bhssful and 
 dear; 
 
 And that when we're far from the lips we love, 
 We have but to make love to the lips we are 
 near ! 
 
 The heart, like a tendril accustomed to cling, 
 Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone ; 
 
 But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing 
 "It can twine with itself, and make closely its 
 own. 
 
 Then oh ! what pleasure where'er we rove, 
 To be doom'd to find something still that is 
 dear. 
 
 And to know when far from the lips we love, 
 We have but to make love to the lips we are 
 near. 
 
 'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise. 
 To make light of the rest, if the rose be not 
 there ; 
 
 And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, 
 'Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. 
 
2C0 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike ; 
 They're both of them bright, but they're change- 
 able too ; 
 
 And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, 
 It will tincture love's plume with a different hue. 
 Then, oh ! what pleasure, where'er we rove. 
 To be doom'd to find something, still, that is 
 dear. 
 
 And to know, when far from the lips we love, 
 We have but to make love to the lips we are 
 near. 
 
 THOU YISION PUEE. 
 
 Written by Edward J. Gill, to the Air *'Pourtaat 
 d' Amour," from the Opera of " La Favorite," 
 
 Sung by Signor Nappe. 
 
 Composed by Donizetti.— Arranged by S. Nelson. 
 
 Music at S. Nelson's, 
 
 TnoTT vision pure, upon my memory beaming, 
 Fill'd with sweet thoughts from each bright 
 happy day ; 
 
 Ah ! round my heart your sunshine now is gleam- 
 ing* 
 
 And takes me back to bliss now pass'd away ; 
 tToy never wove so fond a web of pleasure, 
 As those sweet hours that fancy lov'd to treasure. 
 
POPULAR SOKOS. 
 
 261 
 
 When in the gloom that midnight spreads around 
 me, 
 
 Fondly I turn to' think how bright wert thou ; 
 And as the stars with silver lighfc surround me, 
 
 I feel, how far more radiant was thy brow, 
 I would not lose thy beauty, that is shining 
 On ev'ry joy my mem'ry now entwining. 
 
 AN ENGLISHMAN'S HOPE. 
 Written by G. L. Banks.— Composed by K. F. Lowell. 
 Music at T. E. Purday's. 
 
 There's a hope deeply lodged in an Englishman's 
 breast. 
 
 Firm and strong as the Lebanon tree. 
 Til at stands in the forest, its monarch confess'd, 
 
 True type of the grand and the free. 
 *Tis the hope that his country her glory may shed, 
 
 O'er the page of historic renown, 
 And the patriot deeds of her unconquer'd dead, 
 
 To the future be long handed down. 
 
 'Tis this nerves the heart of our brave British tar, 
 When to vict'ry he rides o'er the wave j 
 
 He sees the bright laurel-leaf waving afar. 
 That will pillow his head in the grave. 
 
 The soldier that goes to the red battle-field 
 To encounter and vanquish the foe, 
 
 Heads the praise of the future engrav'd on his 
 shield. 
 
 That will Live when he's mouldering low. 
 
202 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE. 
 
 By Gall. 
 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 
 Scenes that former thoughts renew j 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 
 Now a sad and last adieu ! 
 Bonnie Doon, sae sweet at gloamin*, 
 
 Fare thee weel before I gang ! 
 Bonnie Doon, where, early roaming. 
 
 First I wove the rustic sang I 
 
 Bowers, adieu ! where love, decoy in of, 
 
 First enthralled this heart o' mine. 
 There the softest sweets enjoying, 
 
 Sweets that mem'ry ne'er shall tine ! 
 Friends, so near my bosom ever, 
 
 Ye have rendered moments dear ; 
 But, alas ! when forced to sever. 
 
 Then the stroke, O, how severe ! 
 
 Friends, that parting tear reserve it, 
 
 Though 'tis doubly dear to me! 
 Could I think I did deserve it. 
 
 How much happier would I be ! 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 
 Scenes that former thoughts renew ; 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 
 Now a sad and last adieu. 
 
POPUIAE SONGS. 
 
 2G3 
 
 XESBIA HATH A BEAMINa EYE. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air—" Nora Creina." 
 
 Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 
 
 But no one knows for whom it beameth ; 
 Bight and left its arrows fly, 
 
 But what they aim at no one dreameth ! 
 Sweeter 'tis to gaze up6n 
 
 My Nora's lid that seldom rises : 
 Few her looks, but ev'ry one, 
 
 Like unexpected light, surprises ! 
 
 Oh, my Nora Creina dear ! 
 My gentle, bashful Nora Creina ! 
 Beauty lies 
 In many eyes, 
 But love in yours, my Nora Creina ! 
 
 Lesbia wears a robe of gold, 
 
 But all so close the nymph hath lac'd it, 
 Not a charm of beauty's mould 
 
 Presumes to stay where nature plac'd it ! 
 Oh ! my Nora's gown for me, 
 
 That floats as wild as mountain breezes, 
 Leaving every beauty free 
 
 To sink or swell, as heaven pleases ! 
 
 Yes, my Nora Creina, dear I 
 My simple, graceful Nora Creina ! 
 Nature's dress 
 Is loveliness. 
 The dress you wear, my Nora Creina ! 
 
264 
 
 POPULAE SONaS. 
 
 Lf^sbia hath a wit refin'd, 
 
 But when its points are gleaming round us, 
 Who can tell if they're design'd 
 
 To dazzle merely, or to wound us ? 
 Pillow'd on my Nora's heart, 
 
 In safer slumber love reposes ; 
 Bed of peace ! whose roughest part 
 
 Is but the crumpling of the roses ! 
 
 Oh, my Nora Creina, dear ! 
 My mild, my artless Nora Creina ! 
 Wit, though bright, 
 Hath not the light 
 That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina ! 
 
 THE EEL-KING-. 
 
 Translated from Goethe.— Composed by F. Schubert. 
 
 Who rides so late, this night so wild ? 
 It is a father with his child ; 
 The boy he has well in his arm. 
 He holds him safely — keeps him warm. 
 
 " My son, why hidest thy face with fear ?" 
 
 Oh father, seest not the Erl-king near ? 
 
 The Erl-king 'tis with crown and shroud." 
 *' My son, it is but a misty cloud." 
 
 ** Oh come with me, thou lovely boy, 
 " I'll play with thee in sports of joy, 
 " My mother hath robes of gold for thee, 
 "And beauteous flowers thou shalt see.*' 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 2G5 
 
 " My father ! my father ! didst thou not hear 
 " The Erl-king proffer me gifts so dear ?" 
 " Be still, my child, nor look behind, 
 " 'Tis but the whispering of the wind t" 
 
 " Wilt thou, fair boy, away with me ? 
 
 " My lovely daughters wait for thee, 
 
 " To join their dances gay and light, 
 
 " And rock, and sing thee to sleep each night." 
 
 "My father! my father! and can'st not trace 
 "The Erl-king's daughters in yon dark place?'* 
 " My son, nought see I in our way, 
 "But the shining willow, old and gray." 
 
 " I love thee, and if thou'lt not come with me, 
 " I'll bear thee, by force, from thy father's knee." 
 " My father, my father, the false Erl-king 
 " Has seized me, and o'er me his arms doth fling.''' 
 
 The father rides on in terror wild, 
 He holds to his heart his gasping child ; 
 He gains his gate with terror dread, 
 Alas — in his arms his child lay deab. 
 
260 
 
 POPULAB. SONGS. 
 
 THE FALLEN OAK. 
 Written by J. E. Carpenter.— Composed by Blewitt. 
 Music at T. E. Purday'a 
 
 The forest oak hath fallen, and now, 
 
 The strongest, tallest tree, 
 Must quit the mossy glade, and bow 
 
 To meet its destiny : 
 Its leaves are scattered on the wind, 
 
 Its boughs are wrench'd and bare, — 
 The heavy axe hath left behind, 
 
 Sad marks of havoc there. 
 
 The spreading oak shall ever be 
 England's proudest, noblest tree ! 
 
 The spot is vacant where it grew — • 
 
 That vacancy but brings 
 The sweet remembrances anew 
 
 Of old familiar things ; — 
 Of friends who sported in its shade, 
 
 In childhood's sunny hours, 
 Or 'neath its spreading branches strayed 
 
 To cull the forest flowers. 
 
 But yet that oak shall rise again, 
 
 To live upon the sea, • 
 And float upon the boundless main, 
 
 Unconquer'd bold and free ! 
 Fit emblem of our island's worth. 
 
 The terror of each foe, 
 That spreadeth freedom round the earth. 
 
 Where'er the billows flow ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 267 
 
 THE CHOUaH AND CROW. 
 Written by Johanna Baillie, 
 Composed by Henry R. Bishop. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 The cliough and crow to roost are gone, 
 
 The owl sits on the tree, 
 The hush'd wind wails with feeble moan, 
 
 Like infant charity. 
 The wild fire dances on the fen, 
 
 The red star sheds its ray j 
 TJp-rouse ye, then, my merry men. 
 
 It is our opening day. 
 
 Both child and nurse are fast asleep, 
 
 And closed is every flower. 
 And winking tapers faintly peep, 
 
 High from my lady's bower ; 
 Bewildered hinds with shortening ken, 
 
 Shrink on their murky way. 
 TJp-rouse ye, then, my merry men. 
 
 It is our opening day. 
 
 Nor board nor garner own we now, 
 
 Nor roof nor latched door, 
 Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow. 
 
 To bless a good man's store. 
 Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, 
 
 And night has grown our day ; 
 TJp-rouse ye, then, my merry men. 
 
 And use it as you may. 
 
2G3 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 TUBAL CAIN. 
 Written by C.Mackay. 
 Composed and sung by H. Eussell. 
 Music at C. Jeffrey's. 
 
 Old Tubal Cain was a man of mighfc, in the day 
 when earth was young ; 
 
 By the fierce red Hght of his furnace bright the 
 strokes of his hammer rung ; 
 
 And he lifted high his brawny hand on the iron 
 glowing clear, 
 
 Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet rout, as he 
 fashion'd the sword and spear. 
 
 And he sang " Hurrah for my handiwork ! Hur- 
 rah for the spear and the sword ! 
 
 Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, 
 for he shall be King and Lord I" 
 
 To Tubal Cain came many a one, as he wrought 
 
 by his roaring fire, 
 And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade, as 
 
 the crown of his own desire : 
 And he made them weapons sharp and strong 
 
 till they shouted loud for glee, 
 And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, and spoils 
 
 of the forest free. 
 And they sang "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, who 
 
 hath given us strength anew ! 
 Hurrah for the smith ! hurrah for the fire ! and 
 
 hurrah for the metal true 1" 
 
POPULAE SONaS. 
 
 269 
 
 iBut a sudden change came o'er his head ere the 
 • setting of the sun ; 
 
 J And Tubal Cain was filled with pain for the evil 
 1 he had done ! 
 
 I He saw that men, with rage and hate, made war 
 L: upon their kind, 
 
 [I And the land was red with blood they shed, in 
 their lust for carnage blind ; 
 And he said " Alas ! that ever I made, or that 
 
 skill of mine should plan, 
 The spear and the sword for men whose joy is to 
 1 slay their fellow-man r* 
 
 »' 
 
 And for many a day old Tubal Cain sat brooding, 
 
 o'er his woe ; 
 And his hand forbore to smite the ore, and his 
 
 furnace smoulder' d low j 
 And he rose at last with a cheerful face, and a 
 
 bright courageous eye, 
 And bared his strong right arm for work, while 
 
 the quick flames mounted high : 
 And he sang " Hurrah for my handiwork and 
 
 the red sparks lit the air — 
 "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made 
 
 and he fashion'd the first ploughshare. 
 
 And men taught wisdom from the past, in friend- 
 ship joined their hands, 
 
 Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, 
 and plough' d the willing lands ; 
 
 And sang " Hurrah for Tubal Cain, our staunch 
 good friend is he ; 
 
 And for the ploughshare and the plough, to him 
 our praise shall be. 
 
270 
 
 POPFLAR SONGS. 
 
 -Bat wliile oppression lifts its head, or a tyrant 
 
 would be lord, 
 Though we may thank him for the plough, we'll 
 
 not forget the sword." 
 
 ATI! WHY SO CRUEL, FAIEEST MAID? 
 
 Poetry by Dr. R. Mallet Coley .—Composed by G. I. O. 
 Allmann, 
 
 Sang by Signor Nappi.— Published by T. Prowae. 
 
 Af ! why so cruel, fairest maid ? 
 
 But listen to my mournful prayer, 
 Why, why should true love be repaid 
 
 With vows as vain as empty air ? 
 Could' st thou but read this sorrowing heart 
 
 The tale of sadness there engraved, ' 
 Would make thee some kind hope impart, 
 
 And I should many a pang be saved. ' 
 
 Ah ! why so cruel, fairest maid ? 
 
 Though brightly shines the orb of day, 
 
 Though nature smiles o'er hill and dale, 
 For me there is no cheering ray, 
 
 My soul is dark, my griefs prevail j 
 Yet could I win one smile from thee, 
 
 One favouring glance from those dark eyes, 
 That day, though wintriest, would be 
 
 Far brighter than these summer skies. 
 
 Ah ! why eo cruel, fairest maid p 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 271 
 
 SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air — *'Open the door." 
 
 She is far from the land where her young hero 
 sleeps, 
 
 And lovers are round her sighing, 
 But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
 For her heart in his grave is lying ! 
 
 She sings the wild song of her dear native plains. 
 Every note which he lov'd awaking — 
 
 Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, 
 How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! 
 
 He had lived for his love, for his country he died, 
 They were all that to life had entwin'd him — 
 
 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried. 
 Nor long will his love stay behind him ! 
 
 Qh ! make her a grave, where the sun-beams rest. 
 
 When they promise a glorious morrow ; 
 They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the 
 west. 
 
 From her own lov'd island of sorrow I 
 
272 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 I HAVE NEED OF ALL YOUR KINDNESS. 
 
 Written by Charles Jeffreys. 
 Composed by S. Glover. 
 Music at Jeffrey's, 
 
 I HAVE need of all your kindness, 
 
 For my heart is sad to-day — 
 There's a cloud upon my spirits 
 
 You alone can chase away : — 
 Let me hear but one low whisper, 
 
 Let that whisper be but kind, 
 Then shall mine, like children's sorrow, 
 
 Pass and leave no trace behind : 
 We have happy been together 
 
 While the sunshine lit our way. 
 Now I've need of all your kindness, 
 
 For my heart ia sad to-day. 
 
 Let the world look coolly on us. 
 
 While our hearts with kindness glow, 
 
 Each will be unto the other 
 As a shield against the foe ; — 
 
 We have treasured in our bright days 
 
 Feelings dearer to us now, 
 Let remembrance of their pleasures 
 
 Chase the shadows from your brow : 
 We have happy been together, 
 
 What if clouds obscure the ray I 
 There may be a sunny future. 
 
 Though my heart be sad to-day. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 273 
 
 FAEEWELL TO ENGLAND. 
 
 Written by J. H. Jewell. 
 Composed by G. S. Corley. 
 Music at J. Lawson's. 
 
 Away far o'er the dark blue wave, 
 
 My bark shall swiftly glide ; 
 And onward speeding o'er the main, 
 
 How gallantly she'll ride : 
 And bearing forth from England's shore 
 
 My course I'll quickly bend, 
 To seek a home in foreign climes, 
 
 Where I my days may end. 
 
 The friends once lov'd have allprovM falsp, 
 
 'Tis folly to complain ; 
 And home, dear home, has lost its charms, 
 
 Then why should I remain. 
 But yet, to leave my native shore. 
 
 Seems like some magic spell, 
 Home, country, now a long adieu, 
 
 Old England — fare thee well. 
 
 315 B 
 
274 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 BE WATCHFUL! AND BEWAEE ! 
 
 Written by Charles Jeffreys. 
 Coraposed by C. W. Glover. 
 Music at Jeffrey's. 
 
 Seek not to know the future, 
 
 Be happy while you may, 
 Nor cloud with dark fore-knowledge 
 
 The sunshine of to-day. 
 I see that you are hopeful, 
 
 I read it in your eyes, 
 And I can learn no more from 
 
 The stars that gem the skies ; 
 Trust not the outward seeming 
 
 Of all who speak you fair : 
 "What has been. Maiden, may be, 
 
 Be watchful! and beware ! 
 
 I will not cheat you, Maiden, 
 
 My Gipsy skill you seek, 
 This only of the future 
 
 The Gripsy Girl can speak : — 
 When flippant worldlings flatter, 
 
 Let then your doubts begin, 
 Take, Maiden, for your counsel 
 
 The " still small voice witliin j" 
 If weak the heart of woman, 
 
 Her stronghold too is there ; 
 Guard then the fortress, Conciencc! 
 
 Be watchful I and beware! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 275 
 
 BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY 
 SHORE. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air — "The brown Irish girl." 
 
 By that lake, whose gloomy shore 
 Sky-lark never warbles o'er, 
 Where the cliff hangs high and steep, 
 Young St. Keven stole to sleep. 
 " Here, at least," he calmly said, 
 " Woman ne'er shall find my bed" — 
 Ah ! the good saint little knew 
 What that wily sex can do. 
 
 'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he ilew, 
 Eyes of most unholy blue ! 
 She had lov'd him well and long, 
 Wish'd him hers nor thought it wrong, 
 Wheresoe'er the saint would fly, 
 Still he heard her light foot niojh ; 
 East or west, where'er he turn'd, 
 Still her eyes before him burn'd. 
 
 On the bold cliff's bosom cast, 
 Tranquil now he sleeps at last. 
 Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'ep 
 Woman's smile can haunt him here : 
 But nor earth, nor heaven is free 
 From her power, if fond she be : 
 Even now, while calm he sleeps, 
 Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. 
 
276 
 
 POPULAR 
 
 Fearless she had track' d his feet 
 To this rocky, wild retreat ; 
 And when morning met his view, 
 Her mild glances met it too. 
 Ah ! you saints have cruel hearts I 
 Sternly from his bed he starts, 
 And with rude, repulsive shock, 
 Hurls her from the beetling rock. 
 
 Glendalough ! thy gloomy wave 
 Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave ; 
 Soon the saint (yet, ah ! too late) 
 Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. 
 When he said, " Heav'n rest her soul I** 
 Round the lake light music stole j 
 And her ghost was seen to glide 
 Smiling o'er the fatal tide ! 
 
 THE HOLLY BRANCH. 
 
 Wrilt.^n by J. E. Carpenter.— Composed by John Whil 
 ker. 
 
 Music at T. E. Purday's. 
 
 HURTIAH for merry Christmas, 
 
 Though his days be chill and drear, 
 I greet his coming gaily. 
 
 For his good old English cheer j 
 Though his icy hand hath driven 
 
 The leaves from many a tree. 
 When the sturdy oak is riven— 
 
 The holly-branch for me. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 277 
 
 The holly-branch it clusters 
 
 Its berries bright and red, 
 When the flow'rs of the forest, 
 
 Fair, fragile things, are dead ; 
 But I mourn not simple flowers, 
 
 However bright they be, 
 Since they fade with summer hours — 
 
 The holly-branch for me. 
 
 The holly- branch it lingers 
 
 Unmoved by wintry blast, 
 When all its gay companions 
 
 Like summer birds have past ; 
 Then let us hope our friendships 
 
 As durable may be. 
 Hurrah for merry Christmas, 
 
 The holly-branch for me. 
 
 NEYEE DESPAIE. 
 
 Written by J. W. Lake Esq. Composed by J Brabam. 
 Music at Metzler and Go's. 
 
 ISTeyer despair ! let the feeble in spirit 
 
 Bow like the willow that stoops to the blast ; 
 
 Droop not in peril, 'tis manhood's true merit 
 Nobly to struggle and hope to the last ; 
 
 When by the sunshine of fortune forsaken— 
 Never despair, boys, never despair ! 
 
278 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Never despair ! though adversity rages, 
 
 Fiercely and fell as the surge on the shore, 
 Firm as the rock in the ocean for ages, 
 
 Stem the rude torrent till danger is o'er. 
 Fall with its whirlwind, our joys may all sever, 
 
 True to ourselves, we have nothing to fear ; 
 Be this our hope and our anchor for ever — 
 
 Never despair, boys, never despair I 
 
 THE SOYEEEIGNS OF ENGL AND. 
 
 Written by the Kev. Peter Hall, M. A. 
 
 Composed by T. Cook. 
 
 FiKST, William the Norman, then William, his 
 son, 
 
 Henry, Stephen, and Henry, then Richard and 
 John ; 
 
 Next, Henry the third, Edwards one, two, and 
 
 three. 
 
 And a^ain, after Richard, three Henries we see : 
 Two Edwards, third Richard, if rightly I guess, 
 Two Henries, Sixth Edward, Queen Mary, Queen 
 Bess, 
 
 Then Jamie, the Scotchman, then Charles, whom 
 they slew. 
 
 Yet receiv'd, after Cromwell, another Charles too, 
 Next Jamie the second ascended the throne, 
 Then William and Mary together came on ; 
 Till Anne, Georges four, and fourth William, all 
 past, 
 
 Now reigns Queen Yictoria, may she long be the 
 last. 
 
POrULAR SONGS. 
 
 279 
 
 AFTER THE BALL. 
 Written by T. H. Bayly. 
 
 Come, let us talk the evening over, 
 I'm sure I'm glad we're under cover ; 
 The wind so high, the night so dark, 
 I wish my guests well through the park ; 
 But vastly snug ourselves we'll render, 
 We'll put our feet upon the fender, 
 And o'er a cosey cup of tea, 
 We'll chat, for none can hear or see, 
 About the ball and company. 
 
 All said my ball was to their liking, 
 The tout ensemble grand and striking ; 
 The paper roses sweetly plac'd. 
 The colour'd lamps arrang'd with taste j 
 And though I own it was provoking, 
 To see the lamps persist in smoking ; 
 Yet many people said to me. 
 They liked the smoke exceedingly, 
 
 It did not annoy the company. 
 
 At supper-time 'twas unexampled, 
 How people o'er their neighbours trampled, 
 Afraid of being left behind, 
 (I half suspect they had not dined,) 
 I bade Lord John take Lady Susan, 
 And lead the way. At least a dozen 
 Already had, unasked, made free ; 
 I really thought there would not be 
 Food enough for the company. 
 
280 
 
 POPULAR SOTs^GS. 
 
 Then one by one the good things vanish'd, 
 The table was again replenish 'd, 
 And still they cut and come again, 
 And nought but drum-sticks now remain. 
 I thought the men would drink for ever ; 
 I made the fiddlers thrice endeavour 
 To lure the tyrants back to me, 
 For 'twas a dreary sight to see 
 
 The female part of the company. 
 
 But now, my dear, I see you dozing ; 
 I scarce can keep my eyes from closing ; 
 We've kept it up, as people say, 
 Till Phoebus usber'd in the day. 
 Oh, dear! oh, dear ! I think with sorrow 
 The state the house will be in to-morrow ; 
 No comfort here for you or me ; 
 Oh, my dear, I dread to see 
 
 The ghost of the ball and company. 
 
 I SAW THY rOEM IN YOUTHFUIi 
 PRIME. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — •* Domhuall." 
 
 I SAW thy form in youthful prime, 
 
 Nor thought that pale decay 
 Would steal before the steps of time. 
 
 And waste its bloom away, Mary ! 
 Yet still thy features wore that light 
 
 Which fleets not with the breath ; 
 And life ne'er look'd more purely bright 
 
 Than in thy smile of death, Maey, 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 281 
 
 As streams that run o'er golden mines, 
 
 With modest murmur glide, 
 Nor seem to know the wealth that sliines 
 
 Within their gentle tide, Mary ! 
 So veil'd beneath a simple guise, 
 
 Thy radiant genius shone. 
 And that which charm'd all other eyes, 
 
 Seem'd worthless in thy own, Maey ! 
 
 If souls could always dwell above, 
 
 Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere ; 
 Or, could we keep the souls we love, 
 
 We ne'er had lost thee here, Maey ! 
 Though many a gifted mind we meet. 
 
 Though fairest forms we see. 
 To live with them is far less sweet 
 
 Than to remember thee, Majry. 
 
 KNiaHT OF THE SILKEN SCAEF. 
 
 Written by J. E. Carpenter. Composed by Blewett. 
 Music at J. Williams's. 
 
 " Away, away from these gilded halls, 
 
 Sir Knight," said a lady fair ; 
 " Away, away, 'tis the battle calls, 
 
 For the battle-field prepare. 
 This silken scarf that I wear to-night, 
 
 Thy talisman shall be ;" 
 Then she placed it round his breast-plate bright, 
 
 For a gallant knight was he. 
 
282 
 
 POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 The young tnight fought for his native land, 
 
 And first in the fight was seen ; 
 A fatal blow from a foeman's hand 
 
 Laid him prostrate on the green. 
 His arm with the silken scarf they bound ; 
 
 " St. George, for the brave and free !" 
 He cried, as his banner wav'd around, 
 
 Though a wounded knight was he. 
 
 Then fierce the angry contest grew, 
 
 He mounted his steed again ; 
 He fought, and the hated foemen flew, 
 
 O'er heaps of their comrades slain. 
 With laurel they bound the victor's brow, 
 
 Who had set their country free ; 
 His ladye love is his sweet bride now. 
 
 And a happy knight is he. 
 
 NAY, TELL ME NOT, DEAE. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — " Dennis don't be threatening/* 
 
 Nat, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns 
 
 One charm of feeling, one fond regret ; 
 Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns 
 Are all I've sunk in its bright waves yet. 
 Ne'er hath a beam 
 Been lost in the stream 
 That ever was shed from thy form or soul ; 
 The balm of thy sighs, 
 The spell of thine eyes. 
 Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl! 
 
POPULAR S0NG3. 
 
 283 
 
 Then fancy not, dearest ! that wine can steal 
 One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 
 
 Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 
 The bowl but brightens my love for thee ! 
 
 They tell us that Love, in his fairy bower, 
 
 Had two blush-roses, of birth divine ; 
 He sprinkled the one with the rainbow's shower, 
 But bath'd the other with mantling wine. 
 Soon did the buds, 
 That drank of the floods, 
 Distill'd by the rainbow, decline and fade ; 
 While those which the tide 
 Of ruby had dy'd, 
 All blush into beauty like thee, sweet maid I 
 Then fancy not, dearest ! that wine can steal 
 
 One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 
 Like founts, that awaken the pilgrim's zeal. 
 The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 
 
 THE BEST OF ALL GOOD COMPANY. 
 
 Music at Lavenu'a. 
 Sing ! — who sings 
 
 To her who weareth a hundred rings ? 
 Ah ! who is this lady fine ? 
 The vine, boys, the vine ! 
 The mother of mighty wine. 
 A roamer is she, 
 O'er wall and tree. 
 And sometimes very good company ! 
 
284 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Drink ! — who drinks 
 To her who blusheth and never thinks ? 
 Ah ! who is this maid of thine ? 
 The grape, boys, the grape ! 
 Oh, never let her escape 
 Until she be turn'd to wine! 
 For better is she 
 Than vine can be, 
 And very, very good company! 
 
 Dream! — who dreams 
 
 Of the god who governs a thousand streams P 
 Ah ! who is this spirit fine ? 
 *Tis wine, boys, wine ! 
 Old Bacchus, a friend of mine. 
 Oh, better is he 
 Than grape or tree, 
 And best of all good company ! 
 
 AYEisraiisrGi- and bright fell the 
 
 SWIFT SWORD OF ERIN. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — ** Crooghan a Yenee." 
 
 AvENGiNO- and bright fell the swift sword of 
 Erin, 
 
 On him who the sons of Usna betray'd • 
 For ev'ry fond eye which waken'd a tear in, 
 A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'e^ 
 her blade. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 2S5 
 
 By the red cloud that hung over Connor's dark 
 dwelling, 
 
 "When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in 
 gore ; 
 
 By the billows of war which, so often, higli 
 swelling, 
 
 Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore ! — 
 
 We swear to revenge them! — no joy shall be 
 tasted. 
 
 The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 
 Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall be 
 wasted. 
 
 Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's 
 head ! 
 
 Yes, monarch ! though sweet are our home recol- 
 lections. 
 
 Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness 
 fall 5 
 
 Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, and 
 affections. 
 Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all ! 
 
 ROUND. 
 
 Love fain did try to sever Friendship's chain, 
 But as he broke the links they join'd again ; 
 Now Friendship with Love united still remain. 
 
286 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWRET. 
 
 "Written by T. Moore. 
 Air— *' The yellow horse.'* 
 HE. 
 
 "What the bee is to the iSowret, 
 When he looks for honey dew, 
 
 Through the leaves that close embow*r it, 
 That, my love, I'll be to you. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 What the bank, v^rith verdure glowing, 
 
 Is to waves that wander near, 
 Whisp'ring kisses, while they're going, 
 
 That I'll be to you, my dear! 
 
 DUETTO. 
 
 What the bank, with verdure glowing, 
 
 Is to waves that wander near, 
 Whisp'ring kisses, while they're going. 
 
 That I'll be to you, my dear. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 But, they say, the bee's a rover. 
 
 That he'll fly, when sweets are gone ; 
 
 And, when once the kiss is over. 
 Faithless brooks will wander on ! 
 
rOPULAB SONGS. 
 
 287 
 
 HE. 
 
 Nay, if flow'rs will lose their looks, 
 If sunny banks will wear away, 
 
 Tis but right that bees and brooks 
 
 Should sip and kiss them while they may. 
 
 O, THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 When mighty roast beef was an Englishman's 
 food, 
 
 It ennobled our veins, and enriched our blood ; 
 Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were 
 good. 
 
 O, the roast beef of old England ! 
 And O, the old English roast beef ! 
 
 But since we have learnt from all-fashioning 
 
 France 
 
 To eat their ragouts, as well as to dance, 
 We're fed up with nothing — but vain complai- 
 sance; 
 
 O, the roast beef, &c. 
 
 Our fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong, 
 And kept open house, with good cheer all day 
 long, 
 
 Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this 
 6ong, 
 
 O, the roast bcci, &c. 
 
283 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 But now we are dwindled to — what shall I name ? 
 A sneaking poor race, half-begotten — and tame, 
 Who sully those honours that once shone in fame ! 
 
 O, the roast beef, &c. 
 
 When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne, 
 Ere coffee, or tea, or such slip-slops were 
 known, 
 
 The world was in terror if e'er she did frown j 
 O, the roast beef, &c. 
 
 In those days, if fleets did presume on the main, 
 They seldom or never return'd back again ; 
 As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain j 
 O, the roast beef, &c. 
 
 Oh, then they had stomachs to eat and to fight, 
 And when wrongs were a-cooking, to do them- 
 selves right ; 
 But now we're a pack of — I could — but good 
 niglit ! 
 
 O, the roast beef, &c. 
 
 OLD ENGLAND'S MEN OF WAR. 
 Written by J. B. Walker. Composed by J. Eobinson, 
 Music at T. E. Purday's. 
 
 Tell me, ye brave, o'er the boundless wave, 
 Where, where sails the ship so gi and. 
 
 Or famed so far, as the man of war, 
 With the flag of Britain's land ? 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 289 
 
 Dauntless she rides, o'er the fiercest tides, 
 
 Heedless of storm or foe ; 
 Her crew 'mid the first, ne'er quail'd at the worst, 
 
 And the last all her power well know. 
 
 Her masts so high, seem to pierce the sky ; 
 
 Her proud pennant lashes the clouds ; 
 Her broad white sails catch the fleeting gales, 
 
 As they sport through her sturdy shrouds. 
 Her bold broadsides, as she nobly rides. 
 
 Tell the tale of her strength full true ; 
 But her flag unfurl' d, and the trembling world 
 
 Soon own her its conqu'ror too. 
 
 From pole to pole, free as oceans roll, 
 
 She roams, none her course dare stay, 
 To free the slave, and to shield the brave 
 
 From the ruthless tyrant's sway. 
 Hurrah for the land, that with ships thus 
 mann'd, 
 
 Rules firmly o'er ocean far ; 
 Hurrah for the fame, and the glorious name, 
 
 Of old England's men of war. 
 
 'TIS THE LAST EOSE OF SUMMER. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 Air — " Groves of Blarney.'* 
 
 *Tis the last rose of summer, 
 
 Left blooming alone ; 
 All her lovely companions 
 
 Are faded and gone ; 
 815 T 
 
290 
 
 POPtJLAE SONaS. 
 
 ITo flow'r of her kindred, 
 
 No rose-bud is nigh, 
 To reflect back her blushes. 
 
 Or give sigh for sigh ! 
 
 I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! 
 
 To pine on the stem ; 
 Since the lovely are sleeping, 
 
 Gro, sleep thou with them ; 
 Thus kindly I scatter 
 
 Thy leaves o'er thy bed, 
 Where thy mates of the garden 
 
 Lie scentless and dead. 
 
 So soon may I follow, 
 
 When friendships decay, 
 And from Love's shining circle 
 
 The gems drop away ! 
 When true hearts lie wither' d. 
 
 And fond ones are flown, 
 Oh ! who would inhabit 
 
 This bleak world alone! 
 
 THE PILGEIM OF LOVE. 
 
 Music at D'Alraaine and Co*&. 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Eeevea, 
 EECITATIVE. 
 
 Ortnthia, my beloved ! I call in vain ; 
 Orynthia ! Orynthia ! echo hears, and calls again ; 
 A mimic voice repeats the name around. 
 And with Orynthia all the rocks resound. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 291 
 
 AIR. 
 
 A hermit who dwells in the solitudes cross'd me, 
 Aa wayworn and faint up the mountain I 
 press' d ; 
 
 The aged man paus'd on his staff to accost me, 
 And proffer'd his cell as my mansion of rest. 
 Ah ! nay, courteous father, onward I rove, 
 No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love. 
 For the pilgrim of love, for the pilgrim of love. 
 No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love. 
 
 Yet tarry, my son, till the burning noon passes, 
 
 Let boughs of the lemon-tree shelter thy head ; 
 The juice of ripe muscatel flows in my glasses. 
 
 And rushes fresh pull'd for siesta are spread. 
 Ah ! nay, courteous father, onward I rove. 
 No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love. 
 
 For the pilgrim of love, for the pilgrim of love. 
 
 No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love. 
 
 THE PAUPER'S DRIYE. 
 
 Written by T. Noel. Composed by H. Kussell. 
 
 There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round 
 trot; 
 
 To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot ; 
 The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs, 
 And hark to the dirge that the sad driver sings ; — . 
 " Rattle his bones over the stones : 
 lie's only a pauper that nobody owns !" 
 
292 POPULAR SONCrS. 
 
 Oh, where are the mourners? alas! there are 
 none : 
 
 He has left not a gap in the world now he's 
 gone; 
 
 Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man; — 
 To the grave with his carcase as fast as you can ; 
 
 '* Rattle his bones over the stones ; 
 
 He's only a pauper that nobody owns !'* 
 
 What a jolting and creaking, and splashing and 
 din! 
 
 The whip, how it cracks ! and the wheels, how 
 they spin! 
 
 How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is 
 hurl'd ! 
 
 The pauper at length makes a noise in the world ! 
 " Rattle his bones over the stones ; 
 He's only a pauper that nobody owns !" 
 
 Poor pauper defunct! he has made some ap- 
 proach 
 
 To gentility, now that he's stretch'd in a coach ; 
 He's taking a drive in his carriage at last ; 
 But he will not be long if he goes on so fast ! 
 Rattle his bones over the stones; 
 He's only a pauper that nobody owns l" 
 
 You bumpkin ! who stares at your brother con- 
 vey'd. 
 
 Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid. 
 And be joyful to think, when by death your laid 
 low, 
 
 You've a chance to the grave like a gemman to go. 
 *' Rattle his bones over the stones ; 
 He's only a pauper that nobody owns !" 
 
POPULAR SONQS. 
 
 293 
 
 But a truce to this strain, — for my soul, it is sad, 
 To think that a heart, in humanity clad, 
 Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end, 
 And depart from the light without leaving a friend. 
 
 Bear softly his bones over the stones ! 
 
 Though a pauper, he's one tvhom his Maker 
 yet owns / 
 
 aOB SAVE OUE CHURCH AND QUEEN- 
 
 Music at Eiist and Stabl's. 
 
 "Thou can'st not Cardinal devise a name, 
 *• So slight unworthy and ridiculous 
 *' To charge me to an answer — as the Pope ! 
 ** Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England 
 ♦* Add this much more, that no Italian Pried 
 Shall tythe or toil in our dominions. 
 * * » « 
 
 *' So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart 
 •* To him and his usurped authority," 
 
 King John^ 
 
 The fine old Lion-bard who sent 
 
 His voice from Avon's shore, 
 Wakes, from the lair of Death, to thrill 
 
 The nation with his roar 1 
 He thunders — by a regal word — 
 
 A truth — more strong than hope — 
 That Britain's soul shall ne'er be chain'd 
 
 With fetters forg'd by Pope. 
 
 What— for his pride, — the olden king 
 Kang round his echoing throne, 
 
 Our Queen — with holy love — shall bring, 
 And make the word her own ! 
 
201 POPXJLAE SOKGS. 
 
 Victoria wears no chain from Rome, 
 
 Her realm shall never bow ! 
 Her church hath purer lamps that burrc 
 On all our altars now ! 
 
 Her Minister — with gentle voice — 
 
 But yet with good and proud, 
 Proclaims this comfort to the land. 
 
 Quick ! solemn ! and aloud ! 
 That dear Britannia's hand shall ne'er 
 
 In grasp of Pope be seen ; 
 While England prays this holy prayer, 
 
 " God save oue Chuech and Queen !" 
 
 OlSFE BUMPER AT PARTING. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — ** Moll Koe in the morning/* 
 
 One bumper at parting — though many- 
 Have circled the board since we met, 
 
 The fullest, the saddest of any, 
 Remains to be crown'd by us yet. 
 
 The sweetness that pleasure has in it, 
 Is always so slow to come forth, 
 
 That seldom, alas ! 'till the minute 
 It dies, do we know half its worth ! 
 
 But come, may our life's happy measure 
 Be all of such moments made up ; 
 
 They're borne on the bosom of pleasure, 
 They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 
 
POrULAS SONGS. 
 
 295 
 
 As onward we journey, how pleasant 
 
 To pause and inhabit awhile, 
 Those few sunny spots, like the present, 
 
 That 'mid the dull wilderness smile ! 
 But Time, like a pitiless master. 
 
 Cries " onward !" and spurs the gay hours — 
 Ah ! never does Time travel faster, 
 
 Than when his way lies among flow*rs. 
 But come, may our life's happy measure 
 
 Be all of such moments made up ; 
 They're born on the bosom of pleasure, 
 
 They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 
 
 How brilliant the sun look'd in sinking ! 
 
 The waters beneath him how bright ! 
 Oh ! trust me, the farewell of drinking 
 
 Should be like the farewell of light. 
 You saw how he finish'd, by darting 
 
 His beam o'er a deep billow's brim- 
 So fill up, let's shine at our parting, 
 
 In full liquid glory, like him. 
 And oh ! may our life's happy measure 
 
 Of moments like this be made up ; 
 'Twas born on the bosom of pleasure, 
 
 It dies 'mid the tears of the cup ! 
 
 OH! ERIN MY COUNTRY. 
 
 Music at Jeffery's. 
 
 Oh I Erin, my country, tho' strangers may roam, 
 The hills and the valleys I once called my home, — 
 Thy lakes and thy mountains no longer I see, 
 Yet warmly as ever my heart beats for thee. 
 
296 
 
 Oh! Coush la Machree ! my heart beats for 
 thee ; 
 
 Erin ! Erin! my heart beats for thee. 
 
 Oh ! years have passed o'er me since last time wo 
 met, 
 
 Yet liv'd I a thousand, I could not forget 
 The true hearts that lov'd me, the bright eyes 
 that shone, 
 
 Like stars in the heaven of days that are gone. 
 Oh ! Coush la Machree / my heart beats for 
 thee ; 
 
 Erin! Erin! my heart beats for thee. 
 
 Dear home of my youth ! I may see thee no more, 
 But memory treasures the bright days of yore. 
 And my heart's latest wish, the last sigh of my 
 breast. 
 
 Shall be given to thee, dearest land of the West. 
 Oh! Coush la Machree! my heart be^ts for 
 thee ; 
 
 Erin! Erin! loN^di Coush la Machree 
 
 THE GENTLE HOUR. 
 
 Composed by Beethoven. — Arranged by Andyewa, 
 IMusic at JofFery's. 
 
 The last faint ray hath left the flow'r, 
 
 The bird hath wing'd his homeward flight j 
 Tlie day hath lost its wonted pow'r, 
 'Yet dear to me its less'ning light. 
 
rorULAR SOI^GS. 
 
 297 
 
 What kindly feelings now have birth, 
 
 What gentle thoughts my fond heart swell, 
 
 While mem'ry wanders o'er the earth, 
 To scenes remember'd well. 
 
 My fancy peoples many a home 
 
 With loving friends, by me belov'd ; 
 O'er all, there's but one starry dome, 
 
 Though from each other far remov'd : — 
 It may be that the hearts 1 prize. 
 
 Feel now the self-same soothing pow'r : — 
 O welcome then, sweet ev'ning skies, 
 
 And twilight's gentle hour. 
 
 THE MI]S; STEEL BOY. 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — " The Moreen." 
 
 The minstrel boy to the war is gone, 
 
 In the ranks of death you'll find him ; 
 His father's sword he has girded on, 
 
 And his wild harp slung behind him. 
 *' Land of Song !" said the warrior-bard, 
 
 *' Though all the world betrays thee, 
 OxE sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, 
 
 One faithful harp shall praise thee." 
 
 The minstrel fell! but the foeman's cliain 
 Could not bring his proud soul under ; 
 
 The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again, 
 For he tore its chords asunder j 
 
293 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 And said, " No chains shall sully thee, 
 Thou soul of love and bravery! 
 
 Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 
 They shall never sound in slavery." 
 
 THE **MAESEILLASE." 
 
 OR FRENCH NATIONAL HYMN. 
 From the Frencb, by A. 
 
 Sons of France, awate to Freedom ! 
 
 The glorious hour's arrived ; 
 Behold Oppression's standard, 
 
 Of its blood-red flag deprived. 
 Hark! from yonder plain resounding, 
 
 The cruel soldiers' cries 
 They come ! your children and your wives 
 
 To slay before your eyes ! 
 To arms, brave citizens ! To ranks ! France deals 
 the blow, 
 
 March on I March on ! the tyrants' blood at every 
 stroke shall flow. 
 
 Tremble ! ye perfidious tyrants, 
 
 Tremble ! for the die is cast. 
 And your guilty treacherous actions 
 
 Shall meet their doom at last. 
 All is ready for resistance, 
 
 And if fall our heroes brave, 
 France a thousand more will rally 
 
 Eound their glory-covered graven 
 
 To arms ! (io. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 299 
 
 Ye page and Ye FAYEE LADYE. 
 
 Composed by J. C. Seuthin. 
 
 Music at Gregg's, and at Campbell's. 
 
 Once a fair ladye's page fell in love. 
 
 And he car'dnot his love to conceal, 
 He'd so handsome a face, and possess'd so much 
 grace, 
 
 That he thought 'tvras no harm to reveal 
 All the love that he felt, and he sig>fed and he 
 knelt 
 
 As he kissed the fair hand she extended ; 
 And he swore by the mass, let what would come 
 to pass, 
 
 On her all his world's joy depended. 
 
 Now this very fair ladye was moved, 
 
 And she heav'd a small sigh to relieve her ; 
 And, she blushingly said, while the page hung 
 his head, 
 
 That she thought her eyes couldn't deceive her. 
 For she'd mark'd his dark eyes at first with 
 surprise, 
 
 Fixed upon her in bold admiration, 
 But she could not engage herself to a page, 
 'Twould be talked of all over the nation. 
 
 The page gave her fair hand a squeeze, 
 
 And, said he, " From all doubts I'll relieve you ; 
 
 "I'm a lord in disguise," (how she openedher eyes), 
 For my love, my love, made me deceive you. 
 
300 
 
 POPULAE SONaS. 
 
 A gay young cavalier, with some thousands a 
 year, 
 
 From a family nobly descended ; 
 Oh ! who would reject ? very few, I expect, 
 So you may guess how the matter was ended. 
 
 MYNHEER YAN DUNCK. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine aud Go's, 
 
 Mynheer van Dunck, 
 Tho' he never got drunk, 
 
 Sipp'd brandy and water gaily ; 
 And he quench' d his thirst 
 With two quarts of the first, 
 To a pint of the latter, daily. 
 Singing, Oh that a Dutchman's draught could be 
 As deep as the rolling Zuyder Zee. 
 
 Water well mingled with spirits, good store. 
 
 No Hollander dreams of scorning ; 
 Eut of water alone he'll drink no more 
 Than the rose supplies. 
 When the dew-drop flies, 
 As it blooms on a summer's morning 
 A Dutchman's draught should potent b(?, 
 As deep as the rolling Zuyder Zee. 
 
P0PU3LAE SOiS^GS. 
 
 301 
 
 THE SONa OF O'EUAEK, PEINCE OF 
 BREFFNI. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air — ** The pretty girl milking her cow.** 
 
 The valley lay smiling before me, 
 
 Where lately I left her behind ; 
 Yet I trembled and something hung o'er me, 
 
 That sadden'd the joy of my mind. 
 I look'd for the lamp \vhich she told me 
 
 Should shine when her pilgrim return'd ; 
 But though darkness began to infold me, 
 
 No lamp from the battlements burn'd. 
 
 I flew to the chamber — ^'twas lonely 
 
 As if the lov'd tenant lay dead ! — 
 Ah, would it were death, and death only ! 
 
 But no — the young false one had fled. 
 And there hung the lute that could softeii 
 
 My very worst pains into bliss. 
 While the hand that had wak'd it so often, 
 
 Now throbb'd to my proud rival's kiss. 
 
 There was a time, falsest of women ! 
 
 When Beeffni's good sword would have 
 sought 
 
 That man, through a million of foemen, 
 Who dar'd but to doubt thee in thought. 
 
 While now — oh ! degenerate daughter 
 Of Erin, how fall'n is thy fame ! 
 
 And, through ages of bondage and slaughter, 
 Thy country shall bleed for thy shame. 
 
802 
 
 POPULAR SCKGS. 
 
 Already the curse is upon her, 
 
 And strangers her valleys profane ; 
 They come to divide — to dishonour. 
 
 And tyrants they long will remain ! 
 But, onward! — the green banner rearing, 
 
 G-o, flesh ev*ry sword to the hilt j 
 On our side is Yirtue and Eein, 
 
 On their' s is the Saxon and Gtuilt. 
 
 MAIDEN, I WILL NE'ER DECEIVE 
 THEE. 
 
 Bung by Mr. Sims Eeeves. — Composed by G. H. EodweU, 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 Maiden, I will ne'er deceive thee, 
 Never wrong thee, never grieve thee 5 
 Take this hand, and we will go 
 Where the early violets blow ; 
 In the still and shady grove. 
 Where I dare to tell of love. 
 Maiden smile, or, ere we part, 
 Chainless, give me back my heart. 
 
 Maiden, &c. 
 
 Happy was I ere T knew thee ; 
 Wherefore should thy charms pursue me, 
 Like the rainbow's fitful beam, 
 Like the image in the stream ? 
 When I think thy bosom won, 
 Cloud that brow, and hope is gone ! 
 Maiden, smile, or, ere we part, 
 Chainless, give me back my heart. 
 
rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 £03 
 
 THE FLAG- OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Music at T. William's. 
 
 The flaunting flag of liberty, 
 (Of Grallia's sons the boast) 
 Oh, never may a Briton see 
 
 TJpon the British coast ! 
 The only flag that Freedom rears, 
 
 Her emblem on the seas, 
 Is the flag that's braved a thousand years 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
 To aid the trampled rights of man 
 
 And break oppression's chain> 
 The foremost in the battle's van, 
 
 It never floats in vain. 
 The mariner, where'er he steers, 
 
 In every clime he sees 
 The flag that's braved a thousand years 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
 If all unite as once we did. 
 
 To keep her flag unfurl' d, 
 Old England still may fearless bid 
 
 Defiance to the world ! 
 But fast will flow the nation's tears, 
 
 If lawless hands should seize, 
 The flag that's braved a thousand yeart 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
304 
 
 POrULAR SONGS. 
 
 KATHLEEN MAYOUENEEN. 
 
 Composed by F. N". Crouch. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 Kathleen Mavourneeh, the grey dawn is break- 
 ing, 
 
 The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill, 
 The lark from her light wing the bright dew ia 
 shaking — 
 
 Kathleen Mavourneen — what ! slumb'ring 
 still ? 
 
 Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever ! 
 
 Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we must part !- 
 It may be for years, and it may be for ever. 
 
 Oh, why art thou silent — thou voice of my 
 heart ? 
 
 Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers ! 
 The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden 
 light; 
 
 Ah, where is the spell that once hung on thy 
 numbers — 
 Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night ! 
 Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling, 
 To think that from Erin and thee I must part ! 
 It may be for years, and it may be for ever. 
 Then why art thou silent — thou voice of my 
 heart P 
 
POPTJLAE SONGS. 
 
 305 
 
 THE YOUNG MAY MOON. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air—" Th« dandy O.'* 
 
 The young May moon is beaming, love, 
 The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, 
 
 How sweet to rove 
 
 Through Morna's grove, 
 While the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! 
 Then awake ! the heav'ns look bright, my dear ! 
 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear ! 
 
 And the best of all ways, 
 
 To lengthen our days. 
 Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear ! 
 
 Now all the world is sleeping, love, 
 
 But the sage, his star- watch keeping, love. 
 
 And I, whose star, 
 
 More glorious far, 
 Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. 
 Then awake, till rise of sun, my dear ! 
 The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear ; 
 
 Or, in watching the flight 
 
 Of bodies of light, 
 i He might happen to take thee for one, my dear ! 
 
 315 
 
 V 
 
306 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 WHILE THE BLOOM IS ON THE EYE. 
 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Reeves, ♦ 
 Composed by Sir H. Bishop. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 My pretty Jane, my pretty J ane, 
 
 Ah ! never look so shy ; 
 But meet me, meet me in the evening, 
 
 While the bloom is on the rye. 
 The spring is waning fast, my love, 
 
 The corn is in the ear ; 
 The summer nights are coming, love. 
 The moon shines bright and clear. 
 Then pretty Jane, my dearest Jane, 
 
 Ah ! never look so shy ; 
 But meet me, meet me in the evening, 
 While the bloom is on the rye. 
 
 Oh ! name the day, the wedding day, 
 
 And I will buy the ring ; 
 When lads and maids in favours gay. 
 
 And village bells, the village bells shall ring. 
 The spring is waning, &c. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 307 
 
 JOLLY NOSE. 
 
 Written by W. H. Ainsworth. 
 Composed by G, H, Eodwell. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co/s. 
 
 Jolly nose ! the bright rubies that garnish thy 
 tip, 
 
 Are dug from the mines of Canary ; 
 And, to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip 
 
 With hogsheads of claret and sherry. 
 Jolly nose ! who sees thee across a broad glass, 
 
 Beholds thee in all thy perfection ; 
 And to the pale snout of a temperate ass. 
 
 Entertains the profoundest objection. 
 
 J oily nose, &c. 
 
 For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use, 
 And the choicest of wines is my colour ; 
 
 And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues, 
 The fuller I fill it, the fuller. 
 
 Jolly nose ! there are fools who say drink hurts 
 the sight, 
 
 Such dullards know nothing about it — 
 *Tis better with wine to extinguish the light, 
 Than live always in darkness without it. 
 Jolly nose, &c. 
 
308 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 OH! HAD WE SOME BRiaHT LITTLE 
 ISLE OF OUR OWN, 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air-—" Sheela Na Guira." 
 
 Oh had we some bright little isle of our own, 
 In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone ; 
 Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming 
 bow'rs, 
 
 And the bee banquets on through a whole year of 
 flow'rs ; 
 
 Where the sun loves to pause 
 
 With so fond a delay, 
 That the night only draws 
 A thin veil o*er the day ; 
 Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we - 
 live, 
 
 Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. 
 
 There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the 
 clime, 
 
 We should love as they lov'd in the first golden 
 time ; 
 
 The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
 Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer 
 there! 
 
 With affection as free 
 
 From decline as the bowers ; 
 And with hope, like the bee. 
 Living always on flow'rs ; 
 Our lives should resemble a long day of light, 
 And our death come on holy and calm as the 
 night. 
 
POPITLAE SONGS. 
 
 309 
 
 ANNIE GEAY. 
 
 "Written by Charles Jefferys. 
 
 Composed by Edward J. Loder. 
 
 Music at Jefferys and Co's, 
 
 The heroine of the following pathetic ballad resided 
 many years ago in a village a few miles from Farnham, in 
 Surrey : she was beloved by every body acquainted with 
 the sweetness of her disposition, and all were fascinated 
 by the natural grace of the ** Village Beauty :" at the age 
 cf eighteen she was about to be united in wedlock to an 
 estimable young man, the son of a wealthy hop-grower ; 
 it was arranged that on the morning of the marriage the 
 young couple should meet at the village church; on his 
 way thither, having several miles to go, he mounted a 
 favourite hunter, and was never afterwards seen alive : so 
 that the cause of the melancholy accident was not ascer- 
 tained ; among the country people the dreadful events 
 were long remembered by the name of *• Thb Black 
 Beidal." 
 
 Op all our village beauties 
 
 The first was Annie Gray ; 
 With her the years of childhood 
 
 Pass'd like a summer's day : — 
 When o'er her brow the orange wreath 
 
 Was braided with her hair — 
 Within the holy fane she stood, 
 
 And seem'd an angel there : 
 O heartful were the blessings 
 
 On that eventful day ; 
 Young and old their prayers united 
 
 In their love for Annie Grray. 
 
310 
 
 rOPUlA.E SONGS. 
 
 But ah ! the bridegroom came not, 
 
 They sought him far and wide, — 
 By mill-stream and thro' forest, 
 
 And by the steep hill-side : — 
 His panting steed was trembling there, 
 
 But riderless was he; 
 The loving heart lay cold beneath 
 
 The old — old trysting tree : 
 O heartfelt were the sorrows 
 
 Of that eventful day, 
 Young and old their griefs united 
 
 For the love-lorn Annie G-ray. 
 
 She spoke not, and she wept not, 
 
 But wasting day by day, 
 We knew her gentle spirit 
 
 Ere long would pass away. 
 One haven only could be found 
 
 For her poor stricken breast ; 
 And we had not the hope, or wish 
 
 To keep her from her rest : — 
 Yet heartfelt was the anguish 
 
 Of that eventful day ; 
 Young and old their tears commingled 
 
 O'er the tomb of Annie G-ray. 
 
 HAIL, SMILINa MORN. 
 
 Music at Hawes's. 
 
 Hail smiling morn, that tips the hills with gold. 
 Whose rosy fingers ope the gates of day j 
 
 Who the gay face of nature doth unfold, 
 
 At whose bright presence darkness flies away. 
 
ropuLAB soi^as. 
 
 311 
 
 FAREWELL! BUT WHENEYEB YOU 
 WELCOME THE HOUE. 
 
 . Written by T. Moore. 
 
 Air — Moll Roone." 
 
 Eaeewell ! but whenever you welcome the hour 
 Which awakens the night-song of mirth in your 
 bow'r, 
 
 Tlien think of the friend who once welcom'd it 
 too, 
 
 And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
 His griefs may return, not a hope may remain, 
 Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of 
 pain, 
 
 But he ne'er will forget the short vision tliat 
 threw 
 
 Its enchantments around him, while lingering 
 with you. 
 
 And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 
 To the highest top sparkle each heart and each 
 cup, 
 
 Wliere'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
 My soul, happy friends I shall be with you that 
 night; 
 
 Shall join in your revels, your sports and your 
 wiles, 
 
 And return to me, beaming o'er with your 
 smiles ! — 
 
 Too blest, if it tells me, that, 'mid the gay cheer, 
 Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were 
 here!" 
 
312 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Let Fate do Her worst, there are relics of joy, 
 Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot 
 destroy ; 
 
 And which come, in the night-time of sorrow 
 and care, 
 
 To bring back the features that joy us'd to wear. 
 Long, long, be my heart with such memories 
 fill'd! 
 
 Like the vase in which roses have once been 
 distill'd— 
 
 You may break, you may ruin the vase if you 
 will; 
 
 But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 
 
 FLOW, O MY TEAES ! 
 
 Flow, O my tears, and cease not ! 
 Alas, these young spring-tides increase not I 
 Oh, when begin you to swell so high 
 That I may drown me in you! 
 
 WHEN THE WIND BLOWS. 
 Composed by Sir H, Eliahop. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Ca.'a, 
 
 When the wind blows 
 
 When the mill goes, 
 Our hearts are light and merry ; 
 
 When the wind drops. 
 
 When the mill stops. 
 We drink and sing hey down derry. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE SAILOE'S GEAYE. 
 
 Written by the Kev. IT. Lyte.— Composed by Mrs. Shelton, 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 There is, in the lone, lone sea, 
 
 A spot unmark'd but holy; 
 For there the gallant and the free, 
 
 In his ocean bed lies lowly. 
 Down, down, beneath the deep 
 
 That oft in triumph bore him. 
 He sleeps a sound and peaceful sleep, 
 
 With the salt waves dashing o'er him. 
 
 He sleeps, he sleeps serene and safe 
 
 From tempest and from billow. 
 Where storms that high above him chafe, 
 
 Scarce rock his peaceful pillow. 
 The sea and him in death 
 
 They did not dare to sever ; 
 It was his home when he had breath, 
 
 'Tis now his home for ever ! 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, thou mighty dead ! 
 
 A glorious tomb they've found thee. 
 The broad blue sky above thee spread, 
 
 The boundless ocean around thee. 
 No vulgar foot treads here, 
 
 No hand profane shall move thee ; 
 But gallant hearts shall proudly steer, 
 
 And warriors shout above thee ! 
 
814 
 
 rOPULAE SOKGS. 
 
 OH! DOUBT ME NOT. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air—" Yellow Wat and the fox.** 
 
 Oh ! doubt me not — the season 
 
 Is o'er, when folly made me rove, 
 And now the vestal Reason 
 
 Shall watch the fire awak'd by Lovo. 
 Although this heart was early blown, 
 
 And fairest hands disturb' d the tree, 
 They only shook some blossoms down, 
 
 Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 
 Then doubt me not — the season 
 
 Is o'er, when folly made me rove. 
 And now the vestal Reason 
 
 Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love. 
 
 And though my lute no longer 
 
 May sing of passion's ardent spell, 
 Oh ! trust me, all the stronger 
 
 I feel the bliss I do not tell. 
 The bee through many a garden roves, 
 
 And sings the lay of courtship o'er, 
 But, when he finds the flower he loves, 
 
 He settles there and hums no more. 
 Then doubt me not — the season 
 
 Is o'er, when folly kept me free, 
 And now the vestal Reason 
 
 Shall guard the flame awak'd by thee. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 315 
 
 AWAKE! AWAKE! 
 Written by Barry Cornwall.— Composed by John Thomas. 
 Music at Hopkinson's, 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Reeves. 
 
 Awake ! the starry midnight hour 
 
 Hangs charm' d, and paused in its flight 5 
 
 In its own sweetness sleeps the flower, 
 And the doves He hush'd in deep delight. 
 
 Awake! awake! 
 Look fort}], my love, for Love's sweet sake! 
 
 Awake ! soft dews will soon arise 
 
 From daisied mead, and thorny brake ; 
 
 Then, sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes, 
 And like the tender morning break ! 
 
 Awake! Awake! 
 Dawn forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake ! 
 
 Awake ! within the musk-rose bower 
 I watch, pale flower of love, for thee : 
 
 Oh, come, and show the starry hour 
 
 What wealth of love thou hadst from me. 
 • Awake! awake! 
 
 Awake ! ne'er heed, though list*ning night 
 
 Steal music from thy silver voice ; 
 Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright, 
 
 And bid the world and me, rejoice. 
 Awake! awake! 
 
 She comes, at last, for Love's sweet sake. 
 
.816 
 
 rOPUIAE SONGS. 
 
 BELL AMIE. 
 
 Written by Q. J. O. Allmann, Esq, 
 
 Composed by J. C. Beuthin, 
 
 Music at Cbappell'a. 
 
 Wilt thou roam, love, with, me, o'er the calm 
 summer ocean ? 
 All is hushed, save the music of night heard 
 afar, 
 
 'Tis the hour when the heart sighs for Love's 
 pure devotion, 
 And whispers its tale by the light of Jjove's 
 star. 
 
 Bell amie I 
 
 Shrin'd upon my heart's altar art thou, 
 And thy beauty, like light, o'er it stole ; 
 
 To its semblance my spirit shall bow 
 As its worship — its idol—its soul. 
 
 Bell amie ! 
 
 Wilt thou wander with me, fairest star of Earth's 
 Daughters ? 
 And my barque shall glide on through a path- 
 way of light. 
 
 For thy love- beam will fall o'er the soft flowing 
 waters. 
 
 And be borne to the skies on the zephyrs of 
 night. 
 
 Bell amie ! 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 317 
 
 Beauty's smile, or its sigh, or its tear, 
 I These — these are the food of the heart ; 
 I And my soul overflows when thou'rt near, 
 % But is tearless when thou dost depart. 
 
 1 Bell amie ! 
 
 i YOU EEMEMBER ELLEN. 
 
 I Written by T. Moore. 
 
 I Air — " Were I a clerk." 
 
 : You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, 
 ; How meekly she bless'd her humble lot, 
 I When the strange William had made her his 
 bride, 
 
 And love was the light of their lowly cot. 
 Together they toiPd through winds and rains, 
 
 'Till William at length in sadness said, 
 " We must seek our fortune on other plains," — 
 
 Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. 
 
 They roam'd a long and a weary way. 
 
 Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease. 
 When now, at close of one stormy day, 
 
 They see a proud castle among the trees. 
 " To-night," said the youth, we'll shelter here ; 
 
 The wind blows cold, the hour is late !" 
 So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air. 
 
 And the porter bow'd, as they pass'd the gate. 
 
 Now, welcome. Lady !" exclaim'd the youth, — 
 " This castle is thine, and these dark woods all !" 
 She believ'd him wild, but his words were truth, 
 Eor Ellen is Lady of Eosna hall I 
 
318 
 
 rOPFLAR SONGS. 
 
 And dearly the Lord of Eosria loves 
 
 What William the stranger woo'd and wed ; 
 
 And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, 
 Is pure as it shone in the lowly shed. 
 
 THE OLD HOUSE AT HOME. 
 Composed by E. J. Loder. 
 
 The old house at home, where my forefathers 
 dwelt, 
 
 Where a child at the feet of my mother I knelt, 
 When she taught me the prayer, when she read 
 
 me the page, 
 Which in infancy lisped, is the solace of age ; 
 My heart, 'mid all changes, wherever I roam, 
 Ne'er loses its love for the old house at home. 
 
 'Twas not for its splendour that dwelling was 
 dear, 
 
 'Twas not that the gay or the noble were there ; 
 O'er the porch the wild rose and the woodbine 
 entwin'd, 
 
 And the sweet-scented jessamine waved in the 
 wind ; 
 
 Yet dearer to me than proud turret or dome, 
 Were the halls of my fathers — the old house at 
 home ! 
 
 But now the old house is no dwelling for me. 
 The home of the stranger henceforth it must be, 
 And well may I view it or rove as a guest, 
 O'er the ever-green field which my father pos- 
 sessed ; 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 319 
 
 Yet still, in my slumbers, sweet visions will come 
 Of the days that are gone, and the old house at 
 home! 
 
 NORAH, THE PRIDE OF KILDARE. 
 
 Composed by Parry. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 As beauteous as Flora, is lovely young Norah, 
 
 The pride of my heart, and the rose ofKildare j 
 I ne'er can deceive her, for sadly 'twould grieve 
 her 
 
 To know that I sigh'd for another less fair. 
 
 Her eyes with love beaming, her lips with truth 
 teeming, 
 
 What mortal can injure a blossom so rare ! 
 Oh, Norah, dear Norah, the pride of Kildare ! 
 Oh, Norah, dear Norah, the pride of Kildare ! 
 
 Where'er I may be, love, PU ne'er forget thee, 
 love, 
 
 Tho' beauty may smile and try to ensnare ; 
 Oh, nothing shall ever, my heart from thee sever, 
 Dear Norah, sweet Norah, the pride of Kildare ! 
 
 A CATCH. 
 
 Oh, now away we rattle, 
 Jolly dogs and stylish cattle, 
 Crack whip, and dash away '. 
 
320 
 
 POPULAR SONGS, 
 
 I'D MOUKN THE HOPES THAT LEAYE 
 ME. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — ** The rose tree.'* 
 
 I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 
 
 If thy smiles had left me too ; 
 I*d weep when friends deceive me, 
 
 Hadst thou been like them untrue. 
 But while I've thee before me, 
 
 With heart so warm, and eyes so bright, 
 No clouds can linger o'er me, 
 
 That smile turns them all to light. 
 
 *Tis not in fate to harm me. 
 
 While fate leaves thy love to me ; 
 'Tis not in joy to charm me. 
 
 Unless joy be shar'd with thee. 
 One minute's dream about thee 
 
 Were worth a long and endless year 
 Of waking bliss without thee. 
 
 My own love, my only dear ! 
 
 And, though the hope be gone, love, 
 
 That long sparkled o'er our way, 
 Oh ! we shall journey on, love, 
 
 More safely without its ray. 
 Far better light shall win me. 
 
 Along the path I've yet to roam j 
 The mind, that burns within me, 
 
 And pure smiles from thee at home. 
 
ropTJLiR SON as. 
 
 321 
 
 Tims, when the lamp that lighted 
 
 The traveller, at first goes out, 
 He feels awhile benighted, 
 
 And looks round in fear and doubt. 
 But soon, the prospect clearing, 
 
 By cloudless star-light on he treads. 
 And thinks no lamp so cheering 
 
 As that light which heaven sheds ! 
 
 THE FORTUNATE LAND. 
 Translated from Goethe. — Composed by Beethoven. 
 Sung by Mdlle. Jetty Treffz. — Music at JuUien's. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land where the lemon tri e 
 blows, 
 
 And *mid dark leaves, the golden orange glows ; 
 Where soft zephyrs from blue heavens breathe. 
 And myrtles with the stately laurel wreathe ! 
 Know*st thou it well ? Away with me ! 
 *Ti8 there my Dear One, would I go with thee ! 
 
 Know'st thou the Hall, whose columns reach the 
 sky, 
 
 Where gleams the sun and blinds the dazzled eye. 
 
 Where marble statues whisper unto me 
 
 " My gentle child, what sorrow aileth thee ?" 
 
 Know*st thou it well ? Oh, that to see, 
 
 My kind Protector, would I go with thee! 
 
 Know'st thou the Mountain, and its fearful bridge, 
 Where track the mules, along its dizzy ridge ; 
 Within whose caverns roar the dragon brood, 
 And down whose cliff- side dashes the wild flood ; 
 Know'st thou it well ? Away with me ! 
 •lis there, oh, Father ; I would go with ilwl 
 315 X 
 
323 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE WHALE. 
 Written by J, E. Carpenter.— Composed by I?". J. Sporle, 
 
 Music at Duff and Go's. 
 
 Oh ! the whale is free of the boundless sea, 
 
 He lives for a thousand years ; 
 He sinks to rest in the billow's breast, ' 
 
 Nor the roughest tempest fears : 
 The howling blast as it hurries past. 
 
 Is music to lull him to sleep, 
 And he scatters the spray in his boisterous play, 
 
 As he dashes, the king of the deep. 
 Oh ! the rare old whale, 'mid storm and gale. 
 
 In his ocean home shall be, 
 A giant in might, where might is right. 
 
 And king of the boundless sea ! 
 
 A wondrous tale could the rare old whale 
 
 Of the mighty deep disclose, 
 Of skeleton forms of by-gone storms. 
 
 And of treasures that no one knows ; 
 He has seen the crew, when the tempest blew, 
 
 Drop down from the slippery deck. 
 Shaking the tide from his glassy side, 
 
 And sporting with ocean and wreck. 
 Then the rare old whale, 'mid storm and gale 
 
 In his ocean home shall be, 
 A giant in might, where might is right, 
 
 And king of the boundless sea. 
 
POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 323 
 
 Then the whale shall be still dear to me 
 
 When the midnight lamp burns dim, 
 For the student's book, and his favourite nook, 
 
 Are illumed by the aid of him ; 
 From none of hia tribe could we e'er imbibe 
 
 So useful, 80 bless'd a thing ; 
 Then we'll, on land, go hand in hand 
 
 To hail him the ocean king. 
 Oh ! the rare old whale, 'mid the storm and gale, 
 
 In his home will ever be, 
 A giant in might, where might is right. 
 
 And king of the boundless sea ! 
 
 COME O'EE THE SEA. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 Air — "Cuishlih ma chree.** 
 
 Come o'er the sea, 
 Maiden ! with me, 
 Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ! 
 Seasons may roll. 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
 Let fate frown on, so we love and part not ; 
 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art 
 not! 
 
 Then come o'er the sea. 
 
 Maiden ! with me. 
 Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 
 
 Seasons may roll. 
 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
 
324 
 
 rOPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Is not the sea 
 
 Made for the free, 
 Land, for courts and chains alone ? 
 
 Here we are slaves ; 
 
 But on the waves, 
 Love and Liberty's all our own ! 
 No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
 All earth forgot, and all heaven around us ! 
 
 Then come o'er the sea, 
 
 Maiden ! with me, 
 Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 
 
 Seasons may roll, 
 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
 
 STEAM, STEAM, STEAM. 
 
 Written by J. Page. 
 
 The quickest way to make a tour was trav'lling 
 
 by a mail-coach. 
 But now, egad ! since steam's in vogue, there's 
 
 nothing like a rail-coach ; 
 From Liverpool to Manchaster you used to go in 
 
 slow time, 
 
 But since the new improvements you seem to go 
 in no time. 
 
 Steam, steam, steam ; railroads now are 
 all the go, with steam, steam, steam. 
 
 'Twill be a plan throughout the world, without a 
 
 doubt of failing. 
 And make the dullest town on ,<arth become a 
 
 place of railing ; 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 325 
 
 You'll go to tea a hundred miles, and thanks to 
 
 Mister Gurney, 
 And while the water's getting hot,, you'll find 
 
 you've made the journey. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
 My Lady Flirt will leave her box at Milan and 
 Yerona, 
 
 And dandy lords will have the stalls at Naples 
 
 and at Rome, ah ! 
 And when the op'ra's ended there, oh 1 do not 
 
 think the fun done, 
 For sure, by steam they'll be in time to ballet it 
 
 in London. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
 To Gretna should you take a flight, and an heiress 
 
 fair by chance poa^jh. 
 The father raves, and stamps, and swears, and 
 
 orders out his steam coach ; 
 In hot pursuit he follows fast, while each is on 
 
 his mettle. 
 
 And the race will then depend upon the boiling 
 of your kettle. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
 And should you wish for change of clime, and 
 
 cross the broad Atlantic, 
 A steam-boat soon will take you there, with speed 
 
 that drives you frantic ; 
 Before you say " Jack Eobinson," (indeed these 
 
 are not fancies,) 
 You'll find yourself, I calculate, safe in the land 
 
 of Yankees. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
226 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 The Beulah Spa, and Richmond too, you shortly 
 
 will be scorning, 
 But a pic-nic to the Sandwich Isles will pass away 
 
 a morning, 
 
 And as the evening closes in, if fresh enjoyment 
 seeking, 
 
 Why, only make the kettle boil, and take your 
 tea at Pekin. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
 Your poult' rer will in Turkey live, from Greece 
 
 you'll get your candles ; 
 At Washington your laundress dwells, where she 
 
 both plaits and mangles j 
 Your confectioner, in Iceland, will in ice ne'er be 
 
 defaulter, 
 
 And the brewer of your good strong beer will 
 surely live at Malta. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
 Now who can tell where '11 be the end of all this 
 
 steam and smother? 
 Let's hope Old England still will give the tone to 
 
 ev'ry other 
 
 With enterprise she ever tries, ne'er to be last or 
 outdone. 
 
 So, whether it is by rail or steam, here's the good 
 old trade of London. 
 
 Steam, steam, &c. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 327 
 
 SMILINa FACES. 
 
 Music at Eansford's, 
 
 I XOVE to gaze on smiling faces, 
 
 Beaming merry mirth and glee, 
 Of all creation's charms or graces, 
 
 None are half so fair to me. 
 Life is full .of joy and sorrow; 
 
 But while sorrow's form we see, 
 Joy from some a heart may borrow — 
 
 Oh ! a smiling face for me. 
 
 When I gaze on smiling faces. 
 
 Though my spirits may be sad, 
 Their very sight all grief erases, 
 
 And I smile to see them glad. 
 Some say smilers are oft deceiving, 
 
 While I own some such may be ; 
 There are many worth believing — 
 
 Oh ! a smiling face for me. 
 
 THE BRIGHT DAYS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Composed by E. J. Loder. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co's. 
 
 As one who on a foreign strand 
 Hath long been doomed to roam, 
 
 Looks o'er the sea to that dear land, 
 Erewhile his childhood's home. 
 
^28 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 So I recur to by-gone hours, 
 
 When love and pleasure threw 
 Their sunshine over human flow'rs, 
 
 And ting'd them with hope's hue. 
 Young Beauty's eye my glance has met, 
 
 Her spells are o'er me cast ! 
 Yet love and pride can ne'er forget 
 
 The bright days of the Past, 
 
 The well-poised lance, the martial tramp, 
 
 Of crested chivalry. 
 The pride and pomp of cbiirt and camp 
 
 Have still their charms for me. 
 The gentle light of early love, 
 
 Beams on my path no more, 
 The heart that nestled with the dove, 
 
 Must with the eagle soar. 
 
 For beauty's eye may glance, &c. 
 
 TELL ME MARY, HOW TO WOO THEE. 
 
 Composed by Hodgson, 
 Music at D'Almaine aud Go's, 
 
 Tell me, Mary, how to woo thee ! 
 
 Teach my bosom to reveal, 
 And its sorrows sweet unto thee, 
 
 And the love my heart can feel. 
 
 Tell me, Mary, &c. 
 
 No ! when joy first brighten'd o'er us, 
 
 'Twas not joy illum'd her ray, 
 And when sorrow lies before us, 
 
 'Twill not chase her smiles away, 
 
 'Twill not chase, &c. 
 
POPITLAE SONGS. 
 
 329 
 
 Like the tree no winds can sever, 
 From the ivy round it cast ; 
 
 Thus the heart that lov'd thee ever, 
 Loves thee, M^ry, to the last. 
 
 Loves thee, Mary. &c. 
 
 HAS SORROW THY YOUNG- DAYS 
 SHADED. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air—" Sly Patrick." 
 
 Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 
 
 As clouds o'er the morning fleet ? 
 Too fast have those young days faded. 
 
 That even in sorrow were sweet ? 
 Does time with his cold wings wither 
 
 Each feeling that once was dear ? — 
 Come, child of misfortune ! come hither, 
 
 I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 
 
 Has love to that soul so tender 
 
 Been like our Lagenian mine, 
 Where sparkles of golden splendour 
 
 All over the surface shine? 
 But if in pursuit we go deeper, 
 
 Allur'd by the gleam that shone, 
 Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper. 
 
 Like Love, the bright ore is gone. 
 
 Has hopCi like the bird in the story, 
 That flitted from tree to tree 
 
 With the talisman's glittering glo--y— 
 Has hope been that bird to thee ? 
 
880 
 
 POPULAR SONG 
 
 On branch after branch ab'ghting, 
 The gem did she still display, 
 
 And when nearest and most inviting, 
 Then waft the fair gem away ? 
 
 If thus the sweet hours have fleeted, 
 
 When sorrow herself look'd bright j 
 If thus the fond hope has cheated, 
 
 That led thee along so light ; 
 If thus the unkind world wither 
 
 Each feeling that once was dear ; 
 Come, child of misfortune ! come hither, 
 
 I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 
 
 A MEERY aiPSY GIRL AaAIlST. . 
 
 Written by Charles Jefferjs.— Composed by C. W. Glover. 
 Music at JefTerys and Co. 
 
 A MEERY Gipsy G-irl again, 
 
 I'm free to rove at will 
 The woodlands wild, the meadow sweet, 
 
 The valley and the hill : — 
 How poor the proudest roof ye boast, 
 
 To that high-arched dome, 
 Whose boundless circle makes me think 
 
 The whole wide world my home : 
 Here none can bar the free fresh air, 
 
 Nor mete out Heaven's light, 
 Nor make the glorious day appear 
 
 Too near akin to night : 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 331 
 
 Amid the beauties of the mead 
 
 My summer days are spent, 
 And joyfully the stars look down 
 
 Upon my gipsy tent. 
 
 I wander freely as the fawn 
 
 Which hath not learnt to fear 
 The death-cry of the hunter's voice, 
 
 Resounding far and near ; 
 And bounding through the woods I feel 
 
 As if I, too, could soar. 
 Bird-like upon the wings of joy, 
 
 And sing for evermore ! 
 Come out, ye pent-up toilers, come, 
 
 From city dark and drear, 
 And see what gladness Nature has 
 
 In all her beauties here : 
 And when ye seek your homes ye'U say 
 
 Your time has been well spent, 
 And wish that all the world could be 
 
 One happy gipsy tent. 
 
 HOME, SWEET HOME. 
 
 Composed by Sir H. Bishop. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
 Be it never so humble, there's no place like home ; 
 A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there, 
 Which go through the world, you will not meet 
 elsewhere. 
 
332 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Home, home, sweet home ! 
 There is no place like home, 
 There is no place like home. 
 
 An exile from home, pleasure dazzles in vain, 
 Ah ! give me my lowly thatched cottage again ; 
 The birds singing sweetly, that came to my call,— 
 Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer 
 than all. 
 
 Home, home, &c. 
 
 WHEN FIRST I MET THEE, 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 Air — " O, Patrick, fly from me." 
 
 When first I met thee, warm and young, 
 
 There shone such truth about thee. 
 And on thy lip such promise hung, 
 
 I did not dare to doubt thee. 
 I saw thee change, yet still relied, 
 
 Still clung with hope the fonder, 
 And thought, though false to all beside, 
 From me thou could'st not wander. 
 But go, deceiver ! go, 
 
 The heart whose hopes could make it 
 Trust one so false, so low. 
 
 Deserves that thou should'st break it! 
 
 When every tongue thy follies nam'd, 
 
 I fled th* unwelcome story ; 
 Or found, in even the faults they blam'd. 
 
 Some gleams of future glory. 
 
POPTTIAB SOKGS. 
 
 233 
 
 fl still was true, when nearer friends 
 
 Conspir'd to wrong, to slight thee; 
 The heart that now thy falsehood rends, 
 Would then have bled to right thee. 
 But go, deceiver ! go, — 
 
 Some day, perhaps thou'lt waken 
 From pleasure's dream, to know 
 The grief of hearts forsaken. 
 
 Even now, though youth its bloom has shed, 
 
 No lights of age adorn thee ; 
 The few, who lov'd thee once, have fled, 
 
 And they who flatter scorn thee. 
 Thy midnight cup is pledg'd to slaves, 
 
 No genial ties enwreath it, 
 The smiling there, like light on graves. 
 Has rank, cold hearts beneath it ! 
 
 Go — go — though worlds were thine, 
 
 I would not now surrender 
 One taintless tear of mine. 
 For all thy guilty splendour ! 
 
 And days may come, thou false one ! yet. 
 
 When even those ties shall sever ; 
 When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 
 
 On her thou'st lost for ever ; 
 On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 
 
 With smiles ?iad still received thee. 
 And gladly died to prove thee all 
 Her fancy first believ'd thee. 
 Gro — go — 'tis vain to curse, 
 
 'Tis weakness to upbraid thee ; 
 Hate cannot wish thee worse 
 
 Than guilt and shame have made thee 
 
334 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 I'LL NOT BEGUILE THEE FROM THY 
 HOME. 
 
 Sung by Mr. Siras Reeves. 
 
 Written by C. Selby. — Composed by A. Lee. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Go's. 
 
 I'll not beguile thee from thy home, 
 
 For me thou shalt not friends resign | 
 Or exil'd from thy kindred roam, 
 In other climes to grieve and pine. 
 No, no, no, no, no, 
 Too dearly do I love thee. 
 
 Tho' in losing thee I bid farewell 
 
 To ev'ry hope and ev'ry joy ; 
 Think not I wish thee here to dwell, 
 If 'twould thy happiness destroy. 
 No, no, no, no, no. 
 Too dearly do I love thee. 
 
 IN THIS OLD CHAIR MY FATHER SAT 
 
 Sung by Mr. Sims Reeves. 
 Written by Fitzball. — Composed by Balfe. 
 Music at Chappell's. 
 
 In this old chair my father sat, 
 
 In this my mother smil'd! 
 I hear their blessings on me wait, 
 
 And feel myself a child. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 335 
 
 I feel the kiss of their fond love — 
 
 Joy, joy too bright to last ! 
 Oh, why will cruel Time remove, 
 
 Or mem'ry paint the past ? 
 
 And here, alas ! when they were gone, 
 
 In beauty's own array, 
 A pitying angel on me shone, 
 
 To chase each grief away ; 
 But, oh I it was delusive love, 
 
 Too sweet, too pure to last ; 
 Ah ! if such dream Time must remove, 
 
 Mem'ry, why paint the past ? 
 
 NO, NOT MOEE WELCOME THAN 
 FAIRY NUMBERS. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 
 Air — ** Luggelaw.** 
 
 No, not more welcome than faii-y numbers 
 
 Of music fall on the sleeper's ear. 
 When, half-awaking from fearful slumbers, 
 
 He thinks the full choir of heav'n is near, — 
 Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 
 
 This heart long had sleeping lain. 
 Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken 
 
 To such benign, blessed sounds again. 
 
 Sweet voice of comfort ! 'twas like the stealing 
 Of summer wind thro* some wreathed shell j 
 
 Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 
 Of all my soul echoed to its spell ! 
 
33G 
 
 POPTJLAE SONGS. 
 
 'Twas whisper'd balm — 'twas sunshine spoken! 
 
 I'd live years of grief and pain, 
 To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 
 
 By such benign, blessed sounds again ! 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL MAID OF MY SOUL. 
 
 Composed by G. H. Eodwell, 
 Music at D. Almaineand Go's. 
 
 I SEEK her on every shore, 
 
 I seek her, alas ! still in vain, 
 In the cabm where oft we have met, 
 
 On the waves of the white-crested main ; 
 I have sought her alone through the world j 
 
 My anguish I ne'er can control — 
 She is gone, she is lost, she is dead, 
 
 The beautiful maid of my soul. 
 
 I have sought, in her desolate bower. 
 
 The lute which she lov'd so to play ; 
 And the vase, too, she treasur'd is there, 
 
 But the flowers have faded away. 
 So tombless, so wither'd my heart, 
 My anguish I ne'er can control ; 
 
 I shall only behold her in heav'n, 
 The beautiful maid of my soul. 
 
POPULAB SONGS. 
 
 337 
 
 ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. 
 
 (Partant pour la Syrie.) 
 
 Composed by the Duchess de St. Leu. 
 
 [The ori ginal of this little Bomance forms one of a man- 
 uscript collection of French songs, found on the field of 
 SVaterloo, so much stained with clay and blood, as suffi- 
 ciently to indicate what had been the fate of its late pos- 
 sessor. 
 
 It was Dunois, the young and the brave, 
 
 Was bound for Palestine ; 
 But first he made his orisons 
 
 Before St. Mary's shrine ; 
 
 And grant, immortal Queen of Heav'n," 
 
 Was still the soldier's prayV, 
 " That I may prove the bravest knight, 
 
 And love the fairest fair." 
 
 His oath of honour on the shrine, 
 
 He graved with his sword, 
 And follow'd to the Holy Land 
 
 The banner of his lord ; 
 Where, faithful to his noble vow, 
 
 His war-cry fill'd the air ; 
 "Be honour'd aye the bravest knight, 
 
 Belov'd the fairest fair." 
 315 Z 
 
338 
 
 POPULAR SONaS. 
 
 They owed the conquest to his arm, 
 
 And then his liege lord said, 
 "The heart that has for honour beat, 
 
 By bliss shall be repaid ; 
 My daughter Isabel and thou 
 
 Shall be a wedded pair, 
 For thou art bravest of the brave, 
 
 She fairest of the fair.'* 
 
 And then they bound the holy knot, 
 
 Before Saint Mary's shrine, 
 That makes a paradise on earth. 
 
 If hands and hearts combine ; 
 And every lord and lady bright 
 
 That were in chapel there, 
 Cried, " Honour d be the bravest knight, 
 
 Belov'd the fairest fair !" 
 
 WHILE ITISTOEY'S MUSE THE MEMO- 
 EIAL WAS KEEPINa. 
 
 Written by T. Moore, 
 
 Air— "Paddy Whack." 
 
 While History's Muse the memorial was keeping 
 
 Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, 
 Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping, 
 
 For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. 
 But, oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, 
 When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame. 
 She saw History write. 
 With a pencil of light, 
 That illumin'd all the volume, her Welling- 
 ton's name I 
 
POrULAE SONGS. 
 
 339 
 
 *»Hail, Star of my Isle!" said the Spirit, all 
 sparkling 
 
 With beams, such as break from her now dewy 
 skies ; — 
 
 Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 
 I've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. 
 For though Heroes IVe numbered, unblest was 
 their lot, 
 
 And unhallow*d they sleep in the cross- ways of 
 Fame; 
 
 But, oh! there is not 
 One dishonouring blot 
 On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's 
 name ! 
 
 ** And still the last crown of thy toil is remaining. 
 The grandest, the purest, e*en thou hast yet 
 known ; 
 
 Though proud was thy task, other nations un- 
 chaining, 
 
 Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy 
 own. 
 
 At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou 
 hast stood. 
 
 Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy 
 fame — 
 And bright o'er the flood 
 Of her tears and her blood, 
 Let the rainbow of hope be her Wellington's 
 name 1" 
 
810 
 
 rOPrLAR SONGS. 
 
 I HAD A DREAM, A HAPPY DREAM. 
 
 Music at JefFerys and Go's. 
 
 I HAD a dream, a happy dream, 
 
 I thought that I was free ; 
 That in my own bright land again 
 
 A home there was for me : 
 Savannah's tide dash'd bravely on, 
 
 I saw wave roll o'er wave ; 
 But in my full delight I woke, 
 
 And I was still a Slave, 
 
 I never knew a mother's love, 
 
 Yet happy were my days ; 
 For by my own dear father's side 
 
 I sang my simple lays ; 
 He died, and heartless strangers came, 
 
 Ere closed o'er him the grave ; 
 They tore me, weeping, from his side, 
 
 And claimed me as their Slave. 
 
 And this was in a Christian land. 
 
 Where men oft kneel and pray ; 
 The vaunted home of liberty, 
 
 Where lash and chain hold sway : 
 O give me back my Georgian cot. 
 
 It is not wealth I crave ; 
 O let me live in freedom's light. 
 
 Or die if still a Slave. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE ANCHOR'S WEiaHD. 
 
 Composed and sung by Mr. Braham. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s, 
 
 The tear fell gently from her eye, 
 When last we parted on the shore : 
 
 My bosom heav*d with many a sigh, 
 To think I ne'er might see her more. 
 " Dear youth," she cried, " and canst thou haste 
 away? 
 
 My heart will break — a little moment stay. 
 Alas 1 I cannot — I cannot part from thee." 
 " The anchor's weigh'd j farewell, farewell, remem- 
 ber me." 
 
 •* Weep, not, my love," I trembling said! 
 
 " Doubt not a constant heart like mine. 
 I ne'er can meet another maid, 
 Whose charms can fix my heart like thine." 
 " Q-o, then," she cried, " but let thy constant mind 
 Oft think of her thou leav'st in tears behind, 
 A maid — this last embrace my pledge shall be." 
 " The anchor's weigh'd j farewell, farewell, remem- 
 ber me.'* 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 OH! WHERE'S THE SLATE. 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air—" Sios agus sios liom.'' 
 
 On I Where's the slave so lowly, 
 Condemn'dto chains unholy, 
 
 Who, could he burst 
 
 His bonds at first, 
 Would pine beneath them slowly ? 
 What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, 
 W ould wait till time decay'd it, 
 
 When thus its wing 
 
 At once may spring 
 To the throne of him who made it ? 
 
 Farewell, Erin ! farewell all, 
 
 Who live to weep our fall ! 
 
 Less dear the laurel growing, 
 Alive, untouched, and blowing, 
 
 Than that, whose braid 
 
 Is pluck' d to shade 
 The brows with victory glowing ! 
 We tread the land that bore us. 
 Our green flag glitters o'er us, 
 
 The friends we've tried 
 
 Are by our side, 
 And the foe we hate before us ! 
 
 Farewell, Erin ! farewell all, 
 
 Who live to weep our fall I 
 
POPULAK SONGS. 
 
 313 
 
 BLANCHE AND LISETTE, 
 
 Composed by Q. H. Rodwell. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 Yotr ask me why I look so pale, and wonder why 
 I pine, 
 
 You think I should be happy, for you know that 
 
 wealth is mine. 
 But, ah ! Lisette, a coronet may glisten o'er the 
 
 brow, 
 
 Yet doubt and care be lurking there, despite of 
 pomp and show. 
 
 I see you merry as a lark, it is not so with me ; 
 But 1 might be as joyous too, if I were half as 
 free. 
 
 You wear your bridal garb to-day, you give both 
 
 hand and heart — 
 While I for riches wanted not, with liberty must 
 
 part. 
 
 I would I were a gipsy girl, to wander at my will, 
 Or but a village serving maid, I might be happy 
 still ; 
 
 Or anything but what I am : if I could have my 
 way, 
 
 I'd rather toil as shepherdess or dairy -maid all day. 
 
314 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Ah, Lady Blanche, forgive me, but you'd tell 
 
 another tale, 
 If only for a little while your wishes might prevail : 
 Oh, learn to be contented ; — if the world be full 
 
 of care, 
 
 The duchess and the dairy-maid, be sure, has 
 equal share." 
 
 COME, KEST IN THIS BOSOM. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — ** Lough Sheeling.** 
 
 Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer ! 
 Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home 
 
 is still here ; 
 Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast„' 
 And the heart and the hand all thy own to the 
 
 last ! 
 
 Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same 
 Through joy and through torments, through 
 
 glory and shame ? 
 T know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, 
 I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art 1 
 
 Thou hast call'd me thy angel, in moments of 
 bliss, — 
 
 Still thy angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, — 
 Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to 
 pursue, 
 
 And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there 
 too! 
 
POPULA.E SONGS. 
 
 THEY MOURN ME DEAD IN MY 
 FATHER'S HALL. 
 
 Composed by G. H. Eodwell. 
 Music at D'Alraaiiie and Co/s. 
 RECITATIVE. 
 
 They mourn me dead in my father's hall, 
 The black banner waves o'er the tow'r, 
 While bitterly weeps my forsaken love, 
 In her long neglected bow'r. 
 
 AIE. 
 
 Ah, maiden, cease those pearly tears. 
 And give thy lute its tone, 
 For a penitent knight return, to thine arms, 
 And the joys of the days that are gone. 
 
 For a penitent knight, &c. 
 
 The harp shall sound in my father's hall. 
 The gay minstrel merrily sing, 
 And village bells, greeting my glad return. 
 Our sweet bridal peal shall ring. 
 
 And village bells, &c. 
 
346 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE COTTAGE ORNE. 
 Composed by W. H. Montgomery. 
 Music at Jefferys and Go's. 
 
 I'm tired of town, of balls, concerts, and routs, 
 
 I*m glad that the season is o'er ; 
 Post-haste let us drive to the green fields again, 
 
 Or take wing to the quiet sea shore. 
 The opera's closed, and the Grrisi is gone, 
 
 And night shall no more be my day ; 
 Adieu to the splendour of palace and hall, 
 And welcome my Cottage Ornd. 
 
 What with visits from cousins, 
 And weddings by dozens, 
 And crowdings on " drawing-room" days ^ 
 With singing and dancing, 
 With prancing and glancing, 
 My heart's in a flutter, my head's in. a maze. 
 I've not had the leisure to think about pleasure, 
 I left the green fields in the sweet month of 
 May! 
 
 And from May to September, I can but remember, 
 I long'd ev'ry day for my Cottage Orn^. 
 
 I'm tired of town, of balls, concerts, and routs. 
 
 And night shall no more be my day ; 
 Post-haste let us drive to the green fields again, 
 
 And welcome my Cottage Ornd. 
 The Lords are departed, the Commons are up, 
 
 The clubs may now close ev'ry door. 
 For Mars and Bellona (like sweet Desdemona) 
 
 Have fled the proud City to fly to the Moor. 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 317 
 
 Tlie bees have done humming, 
 The winter is coming, 
 The carriage is waiting to bear us away ; 
 Forsake the old mail-road, 
 And haste to the railroad, 
 And fly, like the wind, to our Cottage Onid. 
 I'm tired of town, of balls, concerts, and routs. 
 
 And night shall no more be my day ! 
 Post-haste let us drive to the green fields again, 
 And welcome my Cottage Ornd. 
 
 »TIS GONE, AND FOR EYEH. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — " Savournah Deelish," 
 
 'Tis gone, and forever, the light we saw breaking, 
 Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the 
 dead, 
 
 When man, from the slumber of ages awaking, 
 Look'd upward and bless'd the pure ray, ere it 
 fled! 
 
 'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burn- 
 ing* 
 
 But deepen the long night of bondage and 
 mourning. 
 
 That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, 
 And darkest of all, hapless Erin ! o'er thee. 
 
348 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 For high was thy hope, when those glories were 
 darting 
 
 Around thee, through all the gross clouds of 
 the world ; 
 
 When Truth, from her fetters indignantly start- 
 ing, 
 
 At once, like a sun-hurst, her banner unfurl'd. 
 Oil, never shall earth see a moment so splendid ! 
 Then, then, had one hymn of deliverance blended 
 The tongues of all nations, how sweet had 
 ascended 
 
 The first note of Liberty, Erin '."from thee. 
 
 But shame on those tyrants, who envied the 
 blessing ! 
 
 And shame on its light race, unworthy its good, 
 Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies caress- 
 ing 
 
 The young hope of freedom, baptiz'd it in 
 blood! 
 
 Then vanished for ever that fair, sunny vision. 
 Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's 
 derision, 
 
 Shall long be remember' d, pure, bright, and 
 elysian, 
 
 As first it arose, my lost Erin! on thee. 
 
rOPULAB SONGS. 
 
 3d 9 
 
 THE SOLDIER WHO DIED FOR HIS 
 
 xma. 
 
 Composed by G. H. Kodwell. 
 Music at D'Almaiae and Go's. 
 
 Deab maid of my soul, should I perish 
 
 Where battle's rude discord speaks loudly, 
 The name of thy fond lover cherish, 
 
 And let thy young bosom beat proudly. 
 My own banner over me wave, 
 
 My broken shield over me fling. 
 And carve on the oak o'er my grave, 
 
 " The soldier who died for his king." 
 
 Yet, maid, when my life-blood is streaming, 
 One tear to my last moment given. 
 
 Like a star in thy blue eyes beaming, 
 To me, 'twere a foretaste of heaven. 
 My own banner, &c. 
 
 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. 
 
 Coraposed by Miss Smith. — Music at D'Almaine atid Co' a, 
 
 A PLACE in thy memory, dearest, 
 
 Is all that I claim ; 
 To pause and look back when thou hearest 
 
 The sound of my name. 
 
350 
 
 POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 Another may woo thee nearer; 
 
 Another may win and wear ; 
 I care not, though he be dearer, 
 
 So I am remember' d there. 
 
 Remember me not as a lover, 
 
 Whose hope has been cross'd ; 
 Whose bosom can never recover 
 
 The light it hath lost. 
 As the young bride remembers the mother 
 
 She loves, though she never may see j 
 As a sister remembers a brother, 
 
 Oh, dearest, remember me. 
 
 Could I be thy true lover, dearest, 
 
 Couldst thou smile on me, 
 I would be the fondest and nearest 
 
 That ever lov'd thee. 
 But a cloud on my pathway is glooming, 
 
 That never must burst upon thine ; 
 And Heaven, that made thee all blooming, 
 
 Ne'er made thee to wither on mine. 
 
 Remember me, then, oh ! remember 
 
 My calm, light love, 
 Though bleak as the blasts of November, 
 
 My life may prove ; 
 That life will, though lonely, be sweet, 
 
 If its brightest enjoyment should bo 
 A smile and kind word when we meet, 
 
 And a place in thy memory. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 351 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BELLS. 
 
 Written by W, H. Godfrey. 
 Coinpose(3 by G. Mather. 
 Music at T. Prowse's. 
 
 Beautiful, beautiful, fairy-like bells, 
 How sweetly they float o'er the wild flow*ry dells ; 
 There's a voice in each note of your eloquent chime, 
 "Which recal to the lone heart some happier time. 
 Beautiful, beautiful, through the still vale. 
 Borne on the wings of the soft balmy gale, 
 Like music from fairy -land hovering round, 
 Soft echoes repeating the magical sound. 
 
 Beautiful, beautiful, fairy-like bells, 
 How sweetly ye float down the wild flow' ry dells, 
 In murmuring cadences dying away, 
 Chiming farewell to the fast fleeting day. 
 
 Beautiful, &c. 
 
 Beautiful, beautiful, telling of rest, 
 Breathing of peace to the wanderer's breast, 
 Waking the past with a tender regret, 
 Till we weep on the clay that we fain would forget. 
 
 Beautiful, &c. 
 
 Beautiful, beautiful, lyre-like bells. 
 
 How many a sad tale your melody tells ; 
 
 Yet to earth's weary pilgrims ye whisper of bliss, 
 
 Of a world that is fairer and brighter than this. 
 
 Beautiful, &c. 
 
352 
 
 POPULAE S0NG3. 
 
 I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — " Miss Molly." 
 
 I SAW from the beach, when the morning was 
 shining, 
 
 A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ; 
 I came when the sun o'er that beach was declin- 
 ing,— 
 
 The bark was still there, but the waters were 
 gone ! 
 
 Ah ! such is the fate of our life's early promise. 
 So passing the spring-tide of joy we have 
 known : 
 
 Each wave that we danc'd on at morning ebbs 
 from us. 
 
 And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone ! 
 
 Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning 
 
 The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; 
 Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of 
 Morning, 
 
 Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's 
 best light. 
 
 Oh, who would not welcome that moment's re- 
 turning, 
 
 When passion first wak'd a new life through 
 his frame ; 
 
 And his soul, like the wood that grows precious 
 in burning, 
 
 Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame ! 
 
POPULAE SONGS. 
 
 on, NO ! WE NEYER MENTION HER. 
 
 Written by T. II. Bayly. 
 Composed by Sir H. E. Bishop. 
 Music at D' Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 Oh, no ! we never mention lier^ her name is never 
 heard ; 
 
 My lips are now forbid to speak that once fami- 
 liar word. 
 
 From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my 
 regret : 
 
 And when they win a smile fro m me, they thir.k 
 that I forget. 
 
 They bid me seek in change of scene the charms 
 
 that others see ; 
 But were I in a foreign land, they'd find no change 
 
 in me. 
 
 Tis true that I behold no more the valley where 
 we met ; 
 
 I do not see the hawthorn tree — but how can I 
 forget ? 
 
 For, oh ! there are so many things recall tlie past 
 to me — 
 
 The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of 
 the sea, 
 
 The rosy tint that decks the sky, before the sun 
 is set ; 
 
 At , ev'ry leaf I look upon forbids me to forget. 
 315 Z 
 
354 POPTTLAK SO¥GB. 
 
 They tell me she is happy now, the gayest of iho 
 
 They hii^*that she forgets me, but I heed not 
 what they say; , r v 
 
 Lite me, perhaps, she struggles with each teehng 
 of regret ; 
 
 But if she loves as I have lov'd she never can 
 forget. 
 
 LOYE WAKES AND WEEPS. 
 Composed by Parry.— Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 Love wakes and weeps, while Beauty sleeps. 
 Oh ! for music's softest numbers, 
 
 To prompt a theme for Beauty* s dream, 
 Soft as the pillow of her slumbers. 
 
 Through groves of palm sigh gales of balm, 
 Fire-flies in the air are wheeling ; 
 
 While through the gloom comes soft perfume, 
 The distant beds of flowers revealing. 
 
 Awake and live ! no dream can give 
 A shadow'd bliss the real excelling ; 
 
 No longer sleep,— from lattice peep, 
 And list the tale that Love is telling, 
 
POPTJLAR SONGS. 355 
 
 TM A POOR SHEPHERD MAID. 
 Composed by A. Lee.— Music at B'Almaine and Co.*s. 
 
 I'm a poor shepherd maid, 
 
 Faint with hunger and fright j 
 From my home I have straj'd 
 
 Through the dark stormy night. 
 Give me shelter, I pray, 
 
 My petition don't scorn j 
 I am hungry and cold. 
 
 Broken-hearted, forlorn, 
 
 Ah, lady, your servant I'll be ; 
 Ah, lady, have pity on me. 
 
 I will toil night and day ; 
 
 To be grateful I'll try j 
 Do not send me away, 
 
 Unprotected to die. 
 
 Give me shelter, &c. 
 
 MY BONNY BLACK BESS. 
 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 " Dick Turpin ! bold Dick, hie away !" was the 
 cry 
 
 Of my pals (who were startled, you'll guess) — 
 For j;he pistols were levell'd the bullets whizz' d 
 
 by, 
 
 As I leap'd on the back of Black Bess, 
 
358 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Three officers, mounted, led forward the chase, 
 
 Resolv'd in the capture to share- 
 But I smil'd at their efforts, though swift was 
 their pace. 
 
 As I urged on my bonny black mare. 
 Put when I've a bumper— what can I do less— 
 Than the mem'ry drink of my bonny Black Bess ? 
 
 Hark away I hark away I still onward they press, 
 
 Aswesawby the glimmer of morn ; 
 Though many a mile on the back of Black Bess 
 
 That night he was gallantly borne. 
 Hie over, my pet I thy fatigue I must share^ 
 
 Well clear'd, never falter for breath ; 
 Eark forward, my girl! my bonny black mare, 
 We speed it for life or for death. 
 
 Yet when Tve a bumper, &c. 
 
 The spires of York now burst on our view, - 
 
 But the chimes they were ringing her knell ; 
 Halt, halt, my brave mare ; they no longer pursue j 
 
 She halted— she stagger'd— she fell ! 
 Her breathing was o'er— all was hush d as the 
 grave, . 
 
 Alas ! poor Black Bess, once my pride ; 
 Her heart she had burst, her rider to save— 
 
 For pick Turpin she liv'd and she died I 
 Yet when I've a bumper, &e. 
 
rOPULAB SONGS. 
 
 FILL THE BUMPER FAIR! 
 
 Written by T. Moore. 
 Air — ** Bob and Joan." 
 
 Fill the bumper fair ! 
 
 Every drop we sprinkle 
 O'er the brow of Care, 
 
 Smooths away a wrinkle. 
 Wit's electric flame 
 
 Ne'er so swiftly passes, 
 As when through the frame 
 
 It shoots from brimming glasses. 
 Fill the bumper fair ! 
 
 Every drop we sprinkle 
 O'er the brow of Care, 
 
 Smooths away a wrinkle. 
 
 Sages can, they say, 
 
 G-rasp the lightning's pinions^ 
 And bring down its ray 
 
 From the starr'd dominions : 
 So we, sages, sit, 
 
 And, 'mid bumpers bright'nin^, 
 From the heav'n of Wit 
 
 Draw down all its lightning! 
 Fill the bumper fair ! &c. 
 
 Would' st thou know what first 
 
 Made our souls inherit 
 This enobling thirst 
 
 For wine's celestiMl ?pirit ? 
 
358 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 It chanced upon that day 
 When, as bards inform us, 
 
 Prometheus stole away 
 
 The Hving fires that warm us. 
 
 Fill the bumper fair I &c. 
 
 The careless Youth, when up 
 
 To Grlory's fount aspiring, 
 Took nor urn nor cup 
 
 To hide the pilfer' d fire in : — ■ 
 But oh ! his joy, when round 
 
 The halls of Heaven spying, 
 Amongst the stars he found 
 
 A bowl of Bacchus lying. 
 Fill the bumper fair ! &c. 
 
 Some drops were in the bowl, 
 
 Remains of last night's pleasure. 
 With which the sparks of soul 
 
 Mix'd their burning treasure ! 
 Hence the goblet's shower 
 
 Hath such spells to win us — 
 Hence its mighty power 
 
 O'er that flame within us, 
 Fill the bumper fair! &c. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 359 
 
 MY NATIYE HILLS. 
 
 Composed by Sir H, E. Bishop. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 I liOVE the hills, my native hills, 
 
 O'er "which so oft I've stray'd ; 
 The shading trees, the murmuring rills, 
 
 Where I in childhood play'd 
 I love to hear the hreezes blow, 
 
 Upon the hills so free ; 
 Where'er I am, where'er I go, 
 
 My native hills for me. 
 
 I love my hills, my native hills, 
 
 All purple with the heath ; 
 Those fertile grounds the peasant tills, 
 
 And the woodlands far beneath. 
 When fancied joys in hope I view, 
 
 I think those hills I see ; 
 Where'er I am, where'er I go, 
 
 My native hills for me. 
 
CO 
 
 ropuLAu soNa 
 
 BANKS OF THE BLUE MOSELLE. 
 
 Composed by G. H. Eodwell. 
 Music at D'Alraaine and Co.'s. 
 
 When the glow-worm gilds the elfin Hower, 
 
 That clings around the ruin'd shrine ; 
 Where first we met, when first we luv'd, 
 
 And I confess' d me thine. 
 'Tis there I'll fly to meet thee still, 
 
 At sound of the vesper bell ; 
 In the starry light of the summer night, 
 
 On the banks of the blue Moselle. 
 
 If the cares of life should shade thy brow, 
 
 Yes, yes, in our native bowers, 
 My l\ate and harp might best accord. 
 
 To tell of happier hours. 
 'Tis there I'd soothe thy grief to rest, 
 
 Each sight of sorrow quell ; 
 In the starry light of a summer niglit. 
 
 On the banks of the blue Moselle. 
 
POrdlAR SONGS. 
 
 8G1 
 
 THE SHIP ON FIRE. 
 
 Written by Charles Mackay. 
 
 Composed by Henry Russell, 
 
 Music at Cramer, Beale, and Co.'s. 
 
 The storm o'er the ocean flew furious and fast, 
 And the waves rose in foam at the voice of the 
 blast, 
 
 And heavily laboured the gale-beaten ship, 
 Like a stout hearted swimmer, the spray at his 
 lip ; 
 
 And dark was the sky o'er the mariner's path, 
 Except when the lightning illum'd it in wrath. 
 A young mother knelt in the cabin below, 
 And pressing her babe to her bosom of snow, 
 She pray'd to her Grod, *mid the hurricane wild, 
 Oh! Father of mercy, look down on my child. 
 
 It pass'd — the fierce whirlwind career'd on its 
 way, 
 
 And the sliip like an arrow divided the spray ; 
 Her sails glimmer'd white in the beams of the 
 moon, 
 
 And the sails up aloft seem'd to whistle a tune. 
 There was joy in the ship as she furrow'd the 
 foam, 
 
 For fond hearts within her were dreaming of 
 home ; 
 
 The young mother press'd lier fond babe to her 
 breast. 
 
 And sirpg a sweet song as she rock'd it to rest ; 
 
862 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 V 
 
 And the husband sat cheerily down by her side, 
 And look'd with dehght on the face of his bride. 
 
 Oh happy, said he, when our roaming is o*er, 
 We'll dwell in our cottage that stands by the 
 shore. 
 
 Already in fancy its roof I descry, 
 And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the 
 sky : 
 
 Its garden so green, and its vine-cover'd wall, 
 The kind friends awaiting to welcome us all, 
 And the children that sport by the old oaken 
 tree; 
 
 Ah, gently the ship glided over the sea. 
 
 Hark, what was that ? Hark, hark to the shout. — 
 Fire ! — then a tramp, — and a rout, — 
 And an uproar of voices arose in the air, 
 And the mother knelt down — and the half-spoken 
 pray*r 
 
 That she offer' d to Grod in her agony wild. 
 Was, Father of mercy, look down on my child ! 
 
 She flew to her husband, she clung to his side. 
 Oh, there was her refuge, whate'er might betide. 
 
 Fire ! Fire ! it was raging above and below. 
 And the cheeks of the sailors grew pale at the 
 
 sight. 
 
 And their eyes glistened wild in the glare of the 
 light. 
 
 'Twas vain o'er the ravage the waters to drip, 
 The pitiless flame was the lord of the ship, 
 And the smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher 
 
 and higher ; 
 Oh God ! it is fearful to perish by fire. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 363 
 
 Alone with destruction, alone on the sea, 
 Great Father of mercy, our hope is in thee. 
 
 Sad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted and 
 brave, 
 
 They lower'd the boat, a mere spect on the wave. 
 First enter'd the mother, enfolding her child ; 
 It knew she caress'd it, look'd upward and smil'd. 
 Cold, cold was the night as they drifted away, 
 And mistily dawn'd o'er the pathway the day ; 
 And they pray'd for the day, and at noontide 
 about, 
 
 The sun o'er the waters shone joyously out. 
 Ho ! a sail ! ho ! a sail ! cried a man on the lee ; 
 Ho ! a sail ! and they turn'd their glad eyes o'er 
 the sea. 
 
 They see us, they see us, the signal is wav'd, 
 They bear down upon us; thank Grod, we are 
 sav'd ! 
 
 IF THE HEAET OF A MAN. 
 
 Sucg by Mr. Sims Eeeves, iu the Be^ger's Opera." 
 Written by Gay.— Music at D' Almaiue and Co.'s. 
 
 If the heart of a man is depress'd with cares, 
 The mist is dispell' d when a woman appears ; 
 Like the notes of a fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly 
 Raises the spirits, and charms our ears. 
 Koses and lilies her cheeks disclose. 
 But her ripe lips are more sweet than those. 
 
rOPULAK SONGS. 
 
 Press her, 
 Caress her. 
 With blisses, 
 Her kisses 
 Dissolve us in pleasure and soft repose. 
 
 SWEET JESSIE. 
 
 Music at Duff and Go's. 
 
 Sweet Jessie was young and simple. 
 
 And mirth beam'd in her eye, 
 And her smile made a rosy dimple, 
 
 Where love might wish to lie : 
 But when lovers were sighing after. 
 
 And vowed she was matchless fair. 
 Her silver sounding laughter 
 
 Said Love had not been there. 
 
 The summer had seen her smiling 
 
 'Mong flowers as fair as she. 
 But autumn beheld her sighing. 
 
 When the leaves fell from the tree ? 
 And the light of her eye was shaded. 
 
 And her brow had a cast of care, 
 And the rose on her cheek was faded : 
 
 For oh, Love had been there. 
 
 No ring is upon her finger. 
 
 And her raven locks are grey. 
 Yet traces of beauty linger, 
 
 Like the light of the parting day ; 
 She looks with a glance so tender. 
 
 On a locket of golden hair. 
 And a tear to his ship's defender. 
 
 Shows Love's own dvvtHing tliere. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 THE AEETHUSA. 
 
 Music at Wybrow's, 
 
 Come all ye jolly sailors bold, 
 
 Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould. 
 
 While English glory I unfold, 
 
 Huzza for the Arethusa ! 
 She is a frigate tight and brave 
 As ever stemmed the dashing wave, 
 
 Her men are staunch 
 
 To their favourite launch j 
 And when the foe shall meet our fire^ 
 Sooner than strike we'll all expire^ 
 
 On board of the Arethusa. 
 
 'Twas with the Spring fleet she went out, 
 The English Channel to cruise about, 
 When four French sail in show so stout, 
 
 Bore down on the Arethusa. 
 The famed Belle Poule straight a- head did lie, 
 The Arethusa seem'd to fly, 
 
 Not a sheet or a tack, 
 
 Or a brace did she lack ; 
 Though the Frenchmen laughed and thought it 
 stuff, 
 
 But they knew not our handful of men so tough, 
 On board of the Arethusa. 
 
 On deck five hundred men did dance. 
 The stoutest they could find in France ; 
 We with two hundred did advance, 
 On board of the Arethusa : 
 
366 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, Ho ! 
 The Frenchmen they cried out, Hollo ! 
 
 — Bear down, d'ye see j — 
 No, no, says the Frenchmen, that can't be ; 
 Then I must lug you along with me, 
 
 Says the saucy Arethusa. 
 
 The fight was off the Frenchman's land, 
 We forced them back upon their strand, 
 For we fought till not a stick would stand 
 
 Of the gallant Arethusa. 
 And now we've driven the foe on shore, 
 Never to fight with Britons more : 
 
 Let each fill his glass, 
 
 To his favourite lass : 
 A health to our captain, and officers true, 
 And all that belong to the jovial crew — 
 
 On board the Arethusa. 
 
 DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE 
 EYES. 
 
 Dbink to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine, 
 Or leave a kiss within the cup. 
 
 And I'll not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 
 
 Doth ask for drink divine. 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sip, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 367 
 
 ANNIE BELL. 
 Composed by Alexander Lee. — Sung by Mr. Sims Reeves. 
 
 Music at D. Almaineand Co.'s. 
 
 Oh ! never can my soul forget 
 
 Her face so heavenly fair, 
 Which from the hour when first we met, 
 
 Was deeply graven there : 
 
 The snow-white wreath was on her brow, 
 That match'd the brow so well, 
 
 For purer than the virgin snow 
 Was gentle Annie Bell. 
 
 Like some sweet blossom of the spring. 
 
 My darling Annie grew, 
 And like some bright ethereal thing, 
 
 She vanished from my view ; 
 
 I saw her spotless soul depart, 
 
 I heard her last farewell, 
 And now I mourn in grief of heart 
 
 My gentle Annie Bell. 
 
868 
 
 POPULAR &0NG3. 
 
 THE STANDARD BEAREE. 
 
 Composed by Lindpaintner, — Music at JuUien's. 
 
 Upon the plain, where moonbeams glitter bright, 
 And breezes through the standard's folds are 
 creeping, 
 
 The minstrel-watcher wakes the stilly night, 
 With love's sweet song, his harp-strings softly 
 sweeping, — 
 " I may not tell the ladye of ray heart, 
 
 Whose lustrous eyes and beaming smiles I 
 cherish ; 
 
 "For Freedom's cause I'll fight till life depart, 
 And, faithful to my standard, bravely perish." 
 
 The night has fled, and with the golden day 
 The impatient God of War renews the battle-; 
 
 The minstrel seeks the thickest of the fray. 
 Yet still he sings amid the cannon's rattle, — 
 " I may not tell the ladye of my heart," &c. 
 
 The field is won ; but death has stricken now 
 The minstrel-knight; his ebbing life-blood 
 staineth 
 
 The fallen banner, yet he singeth low 
 Love's dying strain, the while existence 
 waneth, — 
 
 " I have not breath'd my ladye's name — no sigh 
 Shall mourn the wreck of hopes I once did 
 cherish ; 
 
 For freedom, love, and light, I've fought and die, 
 And, faithful to my standard, bravely perish.'* 
 
rOrULA.R SONGS. 
 
 303 
 
 THE SMUaaLER KING. 
 
 Music at Kanaford's. 
 
 There's a brave little bark, 
 
 Stealing out in the dark, 
 From her nest in the bustling baj, 
 
 The fresh breeze meets 
 
 On her dingy sheets, 
 And swiftly she darts away. 
 
 She never must run 
 
 In the eyes of the sun, 
 But along with the owl take wingr. 
 
 She must keep her flight 
 
 For the moonless night, 
 For she carries the Smuggler King ! 
 
 She must, &c. 
 
 A monarch is he. 
 
 As bold as can be, 
 Of a strong and a daring band, 
 
 The bullet and blast 
 
 May go whistling past, 
 But he quails neither heart nor hand. 
 
 He lives and dies 
 
 With his fearful prize 
 Like a hunted wolf he'll spring- 
 Wit h trigger and dirk 
 
 To the deadliest work. 
 And fight like a Smuggler King ! 
 
 And fight, &c, 
 315 2 A 
 
370 
 
 POPTTLAR SONGS. 
 
 Back from tlie wave 
 
 To his home in the cave — 
 
 In the sheen of the torches' glare — 
 He reigns the lord 
 Of a freebooter's board, 
 
 And never was a costlier fare. 
 Right firm and true 
 Are the hearts of his crew 
 
 There's faith in the shouts that ring, 
 As they stave the cask, 
 And drain the flask, 
 
 And drink to the Smuggler King ! 
 
 And drink, &c. 
 
 I NEYER SAYS NOTHING- TO NOBODY- 
 
 What a shocking world this is for scandal ! - 
 
 The people get worse every day, 
 Every thing serves for a handle 
 
 To take folk's good name away. 
 In backbiting vile, each so labours, 
 
 The sad faults of others to show bocly j 
 I could tell enough of my neighbours, 
 
 But I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
 'Tis a snug little house I reside in, 
 
 And the people who're living next door. 
 Are smother'd completely, such pride in 
 
 As I never met with before. 
 But outside of doors they don't roam, 
 
 A large sum of money they owe body, 
 Folk call but can't find them at home, 
 
 I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
POPULAR S0NO3. 
 
 371 
 
 The butcher so greasy and fat. 
 
 When out he does nothing but boast, 
 Struts as he cocks on his hat, 
 
 As if he supreme ruled the roast. 
 Talks of his wealth and his riches, 
 
 Consequence always does show body ; 
 His ugly old wife wears the breeches, 
 
 JBut I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
 The baker lives quite in great style. 
 
 His wife is, oh. Lord ! such a fright, 
 New dresses she's got a great pile, 
 
 They sleep out of town every night, 
 Country cottage completely in state, 
 
 Determin*d not to be a low body ; 
 He*3 been pull'd up three times for short weight. 
 
 But I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
 The publican thriving in trade, 
 
 With sorrow is now looking down ; 
 His sweet little pretty bar-maid, 
 
 Has a little one just brought to town. 
 He's not to be seen much about, 
 
 His wife is a deuce of a shew body, 
 The beadles are on the look out, 
 
 But I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
 A methodist parson of fame, 
 
 I see very often go by ; 
 His heart is fill'd full of love's flame. 
 
 He visits a girl on the sly ; 
 Although this daily I see, 
 
 And surely he's but a so-so body, 
 Of course, as 'tis nothing to me, 
 
 I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
372 
 
 POPULAR SONGS. 
 
 I could tell, if I lik'd, such a tale, 
 
 Of neighbours all round great and small ; 
 That surely I think without fail, 
 
 Would really astonish ye all. 
 But here now my short ditty ends, 
 
 I don't want to hurt high or low body ; 
 I wish to keep in with my friends, 
 
 So I never says nothing to nobody. 
 
 THE FLOWER OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 Composed by Alexander Lee.— Sung by Misa Pole. 
 Music at D'Almaine and Co.'s. 
 
 Blooming- like a rose in J une, 
 
 And fragrant with a breath as pure, 
 
 Beauty owns her for its Queen, 
 The bonny flower of Lammermoor. 
 
 Yet her heart is light as air. 
 
 Like the heather's snowy down j 
 
 Soft the smile your hope would gain, 
 
 But, ah ! 'twill change and leave a frown. 
 
 When you wander thro' our vale. 
 
 There heedless of what light may lure, 
 
 AU is o'er if once you meet 
 
 The bonny flow'r of Lammermoor, 
 
 Oft around her glances fly. 
 
 Yet each beam is cold at heart ; 
 
 You may leave your peace behind. 
 But break not hers when you depart 
 
POPULAR SOXGS. 
 
 373 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 Written by Burns. 
 
 O, MY luve's like a red, red rose. 
 
 That's newly sprung in June : 
 O, my luve's like the melodie 
 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
 
 So deep in luve am I ; 
 And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry : 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 
 I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile ! 
 And I will come again, ray luve, 
 
 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS. 
 
 Music at Jeffery'8, 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 And then take hands ; 
 Foot it featly here and there, 
 And let the rest the chorus bear. 
 
 Hark, hark ! the watch-dogs bark ; 
 
 Hark, hark ! I hear the strain of chanticleer I 
 Hark, hark ! I hear, &c. 
 
374 
 
 POrULAB SONGS. 
 
 PESTHAL. 
 
 Written to the melody supposed to have been scratched 
 on the walls of his dungeon by Colonel Pesthal, a victim 
 to Russian depotism a lew hours before his execution. 
 
 Ah ! that dream, once more so full of Heaven's 
 transporting bliss ; 
 
 Forms of light blend o'er me, with a silent, prayer- 
 ful kiss ; 
 
 Hush! what is't they whisper with a voice 
 divine ? 
 
 "Joy, poor captive, joy ! soon wilt thou be 
 free ; 
 
 Through thy prison bars already 'gins to shine 
 Immortality." 
 Ah, that sweetest dream ! my weary pilgrimage 
 is past ; 
 
 Hope, and peace, and rest ! oh, ye have come to 
 me at last* 
 
 Death ! I welcome thee I thou art a boon — oh 
 
 passing dear ; 
 None are left on earth to mourn above my earthly 
 
 bier. 
 
 Swift, ye wretches, who fulfil a Despot's will ; 
 Glut your murderous weapons with this true 
 heart*8 blood ; 
 Tell him how unshrinkingly it met the steel, 
 Which HIS never could. 
 Ah I I cannot see I Bright angels, now with ya 
 
 Bear my parting spirit with ye — Ah ! — I die, — 
 I die. 
 
POrULAE SONGS. 
 
 S75 
 
 ANNIE LAUEIE. 
 Music at J efferys and Co/s. 
 
 Maxwelton braes are bonnie, 
 
 Where early fa's the dew, 
 And its there that Annie Laurie 
 
 Gie'd me her promise truej 
 Gie'd me her promise true ; 
 
 Which ne'er forgot will be, 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 
 I'd lay me doun and dee. 
 
 Her brow is like the snaw- drift, 
 
 Her neck is like the swan, 
 Her face it is the fairest 
 
 That e'er the sun shone on ; 
 That e'er the snn shone on ; 
 
 And dark blue is her e'e, 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 
 I'd lay me doun and dee. 
 
 Like dew on the go wan lying 
 
 Is the fa' o' her fairy feet, 
 And like winds in summer sigliing, 
 
 Her voice is low and sweet, 
 Her voice is low and sweet ; 
 
 And she is a' the world to me ; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 
 I'd lay me doun and dee. 
 
a76 
 
 POPULAK SONGS. 
 
 NIGHT AND MORN. 
 
 Music at Lee's. 
 
 Night ! night ! night ! night is a gloomy time, 
 What joy can there be in the midnight chime? 
 Fields and flowers are lost to sight, 
 E'en beauty is his in the spiteful night j 
 Cold dews descend and chill the heart, 
 The lover from his love must part ; 
 (Grood night! good night !) they sigh and say, 
 Can the night be good, when your love's away ? 
 
 Morn ! morn ! morn ! morn is a waking hour, 
 
 It opens bright eyes and the closed flower; 
 
 All that's beautiful there is seen, 
 
 The sloping hills and the meadows green : 
 
 The bird ascends from its lofty nest, 
 
 The hind wakes strong from his nightly rest j 
 
 (Grood morrow, good morrow !) the lover cries, 
 
 Though the morn has no light like his lady's eyes. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 After the Battle 256 
 
 After the Ball 279 
 
 Ah ! Why so Cruel, Fairest Maid 270 
 
 All's WeU.. 29 
 
 All is Lost now 108 
 
 Anchorsmiths (The) 213 
 
 Anchor's Weigh'd (The) 341 
 
 An Englishman's Hope 261 
 
 And do I Meet Thee once Again ? 89 
 
 Annie Gray 309 
 
 Annie Bell , 367 
 
 Annie Laurie 375 
 
 Answer to " Annie Laurie." 96 
 
 Arethusa (The) 365 
 
 Army and Navy (The) 195 
 
 Art thou in Smiles 42 
 
 Auld Lang Syne 32 
 
 Auld Robin Gray 114 
 
 Awake! Awake! 315 
 
 Avenging and Bright fell the Swift Sword of Erin ... 284 
 
 Banks of the Severn (The) 149 
 
 Banks of the Blue Moselle 360 
 
 Battle and the Breeze (The) 65 
 
 BarcaroUe (The) 226 
 
 Bay of Biscay, O ! (The) 49 
 
 Beam of Tranquillity 165 
 
 Beautiful Maid of my Soul (The) 336 
 
 Beautiful BeUs 351 
 
 Before the Battle 253 
 
 Be Kind and True to Each Other 128 
 
 Believe me, if all those Endearing Young Charms ... 223 
 
 BeU Amie 316 
 
 Best of all Good Company (The) 281 
 
 Better Times are Coming 21 
 
 Be Watchful! and Beware! 274 
 
 Bid me Discourse 101 
 
 Blanche and Lesette 343 
 
 Blind Warrior and Child (Ihe) 241 
 
 377 
 
378 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Blind Girl and the Rose (The) 81 
 
 Boat, a Boat (A) 90 
 
 Bonnv Kate and Harry 45 
 
 Bright Days of the Past (The) 327 
 
 By the sad Sea Waves 81 
 
 By that Lake, -whose gloomy Shore 275 
 
 CaU of Freedom (The) 11 
 
 Can I e'er Forget the Yalley 52 
 
 Catch (A) 319 
 
 Cheerful Melody (The) 25 
 
 Chieftain's Daughter (The) 251 
 
 Child and the Dew-drop (The) 168 
 
 Chough and Crow (The) 267 
 
 Colonel (The) 131 
 
 Come, Brothers, Arouse 106 
 
 Come let us be Happy Together 66 
 
 Come, in my Sadness, Come 83 
 
 Come to my Merry Mountain Home 148 
 
 Come o'er the Sea 323 
 
 Come, Best in this Bosom 344 
 
 Come unto these Yellow Sands 373 
 
 Coming through ths Meadows on a bright May-day... 137 
 
 Cottage Orne (The) 346 
 
 Dear Native Isle 19 
 
 Dear English Girl (A) 49 
 
 Dearest, then I'll Love thee more ' 31 
 
 Death of Nelson (The) 7 
 
 Dirge (The) 215 
 
 Do not Mingle 127 
 
 Dream of the Dying Maiden (The) 181 
 
 Drink to her 203 
 
 Drink to me only with Thine Eyes 366 
 
 Dying Wife (The) I47 
 
 England's Golden Days 236 
 
 Erin ? oh, Erin ! 201 
 
 Erl-King (The). 264 
 
 Eveleen's Bower 191 
 
 Ever be Happy and Light as Thou Art . . 59 
 
 Excelsior 230 
 
 Faded Rose (The) ', [ [ ] 36 
 
 Faithless Nelly II7 
 
 Fallen Oak (The) 266 
 
 Farewell, my Trmi-built Wherry 211 
 
 Farewell to Ayrshire 262 
 
 Farewell to England 273 
 
 Farewell, but whenever You Welcome the Hour . . 311 
 
IXDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fighter's Wife (The) 170 
 
 Fill ev'ry Glass 254 
 
 Fill the Bumper Fair 357 
 
 Flag that Brav'd a Thousand Years (The) 10 
 
 Flag of Liberty (The) 303 
 
 Flow, 0 my Tears 312 
 
 Flower of Lammermoor (The) 372 
 
 Footstool (The) 160 
 
 Forgive and Forget 122 
 
 Fortunate Land (The) 321 
 
 Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed (A) 110 
 
 Friend in Distress (A) 47 
 
 From Ruin's Topmost Towers 184 
 
 Gambler's Wife (The) 257 
 
 Gentle Hour (The) 296 
 
 Gift that hath a Simple Charm (The) 24 
 
 Give but the Word 200 
 
 Glee 226 
 
 Glee— Old Winter 28 
 
 God Save the Queen 16 
 
 Gondolier (The) 177 
 
 God Save our Church and Queen 293 
 
 Hail, Smiling Morn 310 
 
 Hand of Friendship (The) 247 
 
 Happy Dream (The) 186 
 
 Happy Days of Yore (The) 83 
 
 Harry Bluff 222 
 
 Has sorrow Thy young Days Shaded 329 
 
 Hear me, Norma 206 
 
 Heart that can Feel for Another (The) 116 
 
 Hee thatte Loves a Rosie Cheek 143 
 
 He never has Deceived me yet 46 
 
 Her Cheek was Pale, yet Beautiful 252 
 
 Here's a Health to All Honest Men 141 
 
 Hero of a Hundred Fights (The) 158 
 
 Holy Friar (A) 110 
 
 Holly Branch (The) 276 
 
 " Home Once and For Ever" 26 
 
 Home, Sweet Home 331 
 
 Hope of Return (The) 119 
 
 Household Narrative (A) 52 
 
 How dear to me the Hour when Day-light dies 212 
 
 Hunter's Horn again is Sounding (The) 64 
 
 I'd Mourn the Hopes that leave me 320 
 
 If the Heart of a Man 363 
 
 m Meet Thee To-Niglit 60 
 
380 lis BEY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I'll not Beguile Thee from "Bhy Home 334 
 
 I'm a poor Shepherd Maid 355 
 
 I'm Afloat 228 
 
 In this Old Chair my Father Sat •. 330 
 
 In Every Blooming Flower 136 
 
 I cannot Smile, Dear Mother 90 
 
 I cannot Tell Thee how I Love Thee 91 
 
 I have Need of all your Kindness 272 
 
 I have a Little Pony 68 
 
 I had a Dream, a Happy Dream 340 
 
 I Love Thee-for Thy Heart 221 
 
 I never Says Nothing to Nobody 374 
 
 I never Said that I had Loved Ill 
 
 T saw thy Form in Youthful Prime , 280 
 
 I Saw from the Beech 352 
 
 I Slept, and Oh I How Sweet the Dream 35 
 
 I waited by the Beech Tree 48 
 
 I Wish He would Decide 53 
 
 I will Love Thee to the Last 56 
 
 I "Welcome Thee with Gladness 164 
 
 It is a Dream, I shall Awake 81 
 
 It is not the Tear at this Moment Shed 238 
 
 I've Parted from Annie 126 
 
 Ivy that Grows on yon Old Abbey "Wall (The) 163 
 
 Jackets of Blue (The) 143 
 
 Jeannette and Jeannot 118 
 
 Jeannot's Song 120 
 
 Jock O'Hazeldean 239 
 
 John Anderson, my Jo 59 
 
 Jolly Nose 307 
 
 Kathleen Mavoumeen 304 
 
 Katty, Darling 69 
 
 KattyO'Comey 35 
 
 Knightof the Silken Scarf 281 
 
 Lady Love, Lady Love, Koam with me 79 
 
 Lady Jane Grey 162 
 
 Lake of the Dismal Swamp (The) 167 
 
 Lass O'Gowrie (The) 95 
 
 Last Night I was Dreaming of You 54 
 
 Last Time I came o'er the Muir (The) 139 
 
 Learned Man (The) 97 
 
 Legacy (The) 188 
 
 Lesbia hath a Beaming Eye 263 
 
 Let Erin Remember the Days of Old 225 
 
 L ife on the Ocean "Wave (A) 76 
 
 Life, Some say, is Nou^t but Woe 93 
 
INDEX. 381 
 PACK 
 
 Live and let Live 161 
 
 Loadstar (The) 212 
 
 Loch-Na-Garr 227 
 
 Lookup! 44 
 
 Lo ! on the Mountain Height 187 
 
 Lonely Isle (The) 43 
 
 Longest Day will have an End (The) 37 
 
 Love in her Eyes sits Playing 254 
 
 Love's Serenade 216 
 
 Love Wakes and "Weeps 354 
 
 Love's Young Dream 246 
 
 Lying 172 
 
 Maiden, I will ne'er Deceive Thee 302 
 
 Maid that Tends the Goats (The) 154 
 
 Maniac (The) 217 
 
 Man's a Man for a' That (A) 233 
 
 MaryBlane 82 
 
 Mary in Heaven (To) 171 
 
 *'Marsellase" (The) 298 
 
 Meet me, Love 80 
 
 Merrily Goes the Mill 125 
 
 Merrily o'er the Waters Blue 192 
 
 Merry Days of Old (The) 130 
 
 Merry Gipsy girl again (A) ^ 330 
 
 Milly's Consolation 103 
 
 Minstrel Boy (The) 297 
 
 Mither, Blame me not for Loving 92 
 
 Monks of Old (The) 33 
 
 ** Mourir Pour la Patrie !" 242 
 
 Musical Preside (The) 28 
 
 Mynheer Van Dunck 300 
 
 My Bark which o'er the Tide 176 
 
 My Bonny Kate 232 
 
 My Bonny Black Bess 355 
 
 My Heart's on the Rhine 224 
 
 My Mother's Voice 93 
 
 My Native Land for me 153 
 
 My Native Hills 359 
 
 Nay, tell me not, Dear 282 
 
 New Answer to <'Ben Bolt.'* (The) 121 
 
 Never Despair 277 
 
 Night and Mom 376 
 
 No, not more Welcome than Pairy Numbers 335 
 
 Norah Mourveen 199 
 
 Norah pay Darling 55 
 
 Norah H'Shane 133 
 
8S2 INDEX. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Norah, the Pride of lOldare 319 
 
 Oh ! Blame not the Bard if he Hy to the Bowers 208 
 
 Oh ! Charming May 14 
 
 Oh I Doubt me Not 314 
 
 Oh I Erin, my Country 295 
 
 Oh ! had we some bright little Isle of our Own 308 
 
 Oh, no ! We never mention Her 353 
 
 Oh I Say when we again shall meet 39 
 
 Oh Sing no more that Song to Me 127 
 
 Oh I Summer Night 244 
 
 Oh! 'Tis Sweet to Think 259 
 
 Oh, Weep not, Lady, for Thy Love 67 
 
 Oh wherefore Sigh 156 
 
 Oh I Where's the Slave 324 
 
 Old Conwell the Pilot ; 74 
 
 Old England's Men of War 288 
 
 Old Familiar Strain (The) 132 
 
 Old Farm Gate (The) 101 
 
 Old House at Home (The) 318 
 
 O Lonely Flower 198 
 
 One Bumper at Parting 294 
 
 On Music 234 
 
 On the Banks of Allen Water 235 
 
 Orange Blossom Wreath (The) 142 
 
 Original Answer to " Jenny Jones" (The) 123 
 
 Originof the Harp (The), 240 
 
 Orphan Boy to his Mother (The) 57 
 
 O, the Roast Beef of Old England 287 
 
 Our Country, Our Church, and Our Queen 8 
 
 Our Country and Our Queen 63 
 
 Our Own Fireside 15 
 
 Our Village Loves 32 
 
 Outlaw (The) , 105 
 
 O, Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut 146 
 
 Paint the Charms of Her I Love 155 
 
 Patrick has left me 210 
 
 Pauper's Drive (The) 291 
 
 Peace! Peace I Peace I 33 
 
 Pesthal 374 
 
 Phelim O'Toole 145 
 
 Pilgrimof Love (The) 290 
 
 Place in Thy Memory (A) 349 
 
 Ploughshare of Old England (The) 220 
 
 Pope he leads a Happy Life (The) 78 
 
 Postman's Knock (The) 75 
 
 Prince's Day (The) 219 
 
INDEX. 383 
 PAGE 
 
 Ragged Boy (The) 178 
 
 Red, Red Rose (A) 373 
 
 " Remember Me !" 109 
 
 Remembrance of Home (Tbe) 58 
 
 Romance of Dunois 337 
 
 Rose in your Bouquet is Faded (The) 144 
 
 Round 285 
 
 Sailor's Grave (The) 313 
 
 Sailor's Journal (The) 204 
 
 Sally in our Alley 71 
 
 Scots wha hae wi' WaUace Bled 248 
 
 She Comes in Visions Fair and Bright 22 
 
 She Leaves us for Another Home 135 
 
 She takes her Evening "Walk alone 175 
 
 She is Far from the Land 271 
 
 Ship on Fire (The) 361 
 
 Smiles and Tears 91 
 
 Smile that Plays (The) 100 
 
 Smiling Faces 327 
 
 Smuggler King (The) 369 
 
 Soldier who Died for His King (The) 349 
 
 Song for the Times (A) 12 
 
 Song for Old Friends (A) 88 
 
 Songof Fionnuala (The) 219 
 
 Song of O'Ruark, Prince of Breffiii (The) 301 
 
 Sovereigns of England (The) 278 
 
 Speak of a Man as we Fmd Him 62 
 
 Standard Bearer (The). . , 368 
 
 Stand to Your Guns 113 
 
 Steerman's Song (The) 180 
 
 Steam, Steam, Steam 324 
 
 St. Senatus and the Lady 185 
 
 St. Patrick was a Gentleman 189 
 
 Sublime was the Warning 196 
 
 Summer of the Heart (The) 87 
 
 Sweetest Hour in Twenty-four (The) 51 
 
 Sweet Summer, Adieu 44 
 
 Sweet Jessie 364 
 
 Take back that Virgin Page 182 
 
 Tears which from her Eyelids Fell (The) 115 
 
 Tell me, Mary, how to Woo Thee 328 
 
 They Mourn me Dead in my Father's Hall 345 
 
 They Named Him 138 
 
 They told Her to Forget Me 135 
 
 Thour't gane awa' 157 
 
 Thou Vision Puie , 26« 
 
884 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Through Grief and through Danger 243 
 
 »Tis Gone, and for Ever 347 
 
 'Tis then You'U Think of Me .... , 77 
 
 'Tis the Last Rose of Summer 289 
 
 'Tis Sweet to be Remembered 129 
 
 Too Late for the Train 173 
 
 To 177 
 
 Trab I Trab ! 13 
 
 Tree and the Streamlet (The) 229 
 
 Tubal Cain 268 
 
 Under Briar, Rock, or Mountain 202 
 
 Valet de Sham (The) 150 
 
 Village Maids 27 
 
 Vivi Victoria 17 
 
 "Wanderer (The) 134 
 
 Well— Peace to thy Heart 179 
 
 "We may Roam through this World 193 
 
 We may be happy yet 70 
 
 We've happier Days in Store ; 29 
 
 Whale (The) 322 
 
 What the Bee is to the Flowret 286 
 
 When All around Our Path is Dreary 112 
 
 When do You Mean to Change Your Name T 37 
 
 When first I met Her, 332 
 
 When the Cheerful Log was Burning 86 
 
 When the Wind Blows 312 
 
 When Wearied Wretches sink to Sleep 162 
 
 While History's Muse the Memorial was keeping. . . . 338 
 
 While the Bloom is on the Rye 306 
 
 Who would not be a Gipsy Girl 194 
 
 Why Chime the BeUs so Merrily ? 18 
 
 Will You Love me Then as Now? 30 
 
 With a Jolly fuU Bottle 245 
 
 Wolf is out (The) 174 
 
 Woman's Heart 107 
 
 Yellow-haired Laddie (The) 166 
 
 Ye Page and Ye Fayre Ladye 299 
 
 Yes, I have Dared to Love Thee 25 
 
 Yes, I have Lov'd Thee 250 
 
 You Ask of What I'm Thinking 60 
 
 You Ask me to Forget Her 85 
 
 Young May Moon (The) 305 
 
 You Remember Ellen 317 
 
 You see That brightly beaming Star 41 
 
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