River Spirit.

Tears of an imprison'd maiden,
Mix with my polluted stream;
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow laden,
Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam.
Tell me, thou who viewest the stars,
When shall cease these feudal jars ?
What shall be the maiden's fate ?
Who shall be the maiden's mate?

Mountain Spirit.

Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll,
In utter darkness round the pole ;

The northern bear lowers black and grim;
Orion's studded belt is dim:

Twinkling faint, and distant far,

Schimmers through mist each planet star
Ill may I read their high decree,
But no kind influence deign thy shower,
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower,
Till pride be quell'd and love be free.

QUARTET.

Th' unearthly voices ceast
And the heavy sound was still;
It died on the river's breast,
It died on the side of the hill.

Walter Scott, Esq.

HARMONISTS' GLEE, for Three Voices and Chorus.

SOBER lay and mirthful glee,
Harmony, belong to thee!

Thou, with more than chymic art,

From each fibre of the heart

Can'st extract the sigh at will,
And the liquid tear distil:
Or its joyful impulse speak,
Dancing on the dimpled cheek.
Goddess! at this festive hour,
Rich libations will we pour
Of rosy wine!

R. J. S. STEvens.

Thou can'st sheath the crimson'd steel,
Bid the soul for others feel;

Cupids, as they wanton round,
In thy fragrant wreaths are bound:
Hymen's torch of hallow'd light
Draws from thee its lustre bright :
Friendship's transports spring from thee,
Sister sweet of Sympathy !
Goddess! at this festive hour,

Rich libations will we pour
Of rosy wine!

O descend, angelic maid!
In celestial white array'd,

With tresses fair, which might become
The proudest threads of Pallas' loom;
In thy olive chaplet twin'd,
Flowing gracefully behind.
Sweetly sound thy silver lyre!
Touch the chord! thy sons inspire!

Goddess! at this festive hour,

Rich libations will we pour

Of rosy wine!

Samuel Birch.

GLEE for Four Voices.

W. HORSLEY, M.B.

SLOW! fresh font! keep time with my salt tears,

O slower yet, O fainter gentle springs;

List to the heavy part the music bears,

Woe weeps out her decision when she sings.
Droop herbs and flow'rs,

Fall grief in show'rs,

Or beauty is not our's.

O! could I still, like melting snow,
Upon some craggy hill fall down;

Since summer's pride is now a wither'd daffodil.

Ben Jonson.

GLEE for Three Voices.

Harmonized by J. MAZZINGHI.

RECITATIVE.

SHE paused, then blushing led the lay,

To grace the stranger of the day;
Her mellow.notes awhile prolong
The cadence of the flowing song;
Till to her lips, in measured frame,
The minstrel verse spontaneous came.

GLEE.

Huntsmen rest, thy chase is done,

While our slumb'rous spells assail ye; Dream not with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillie. Sleep! the deer is in his den;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying:

1

Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
How thy gallant steed lay dying.

Walter Scott, Esq.

GLEE for Five Voices.

SWEET is the soft and sunny breeze,
That fans the golden orange grove;
But, oh! much sweeter far than these,

The kisses are, of her I love,

S. WEBBE.

GLEE for Five Voices.

Dr. ALCOCK.

Soon as the genial spring renews the shade,

Beneath the bow'r the lover tells

His tender wishes to the list'ning maid,
While she, in blushes, all her flame reveals.
The turtle mourns his solitude no more,
But woos and bills as happy as before.

GLEE for Four Voices.

W. HORSLEY, M.B. SEE how fair Flora decks our fields with flowers, And clothes our groves in gaudy summer's green ; And wanton spring pours forth her balmy show'rs, To hasten Ceres' harvests, hallow'd queen!

Now shepherds lay their winter weeds away,
And in neat jackets sporting on the plains;
And at the rivers fishing day by day,
Now, who so frolic, as the shepherd swains?
Drayton's Seventh Eclogue.