The ev'ning come, he sought not home,
While she, (distracted woman)

Grown wild with dread, now seeks him dead,
And hears the knell,

That bids farewell,

To dulce, dulce Domum.

THE RED RED ROSE

my love's like a red red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my love' like the melody,

That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I:

And I will love thee still my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

'Till a' the sea gang dry, my dear,
And rocks melt with the sun :
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only love!
And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

THE ROSE.

A DUET.

Air-Rousseau's Dream."

THE Rose's age is but a day;
Its bloom the pledge of its decay,
Sweet in scent, in colour bright,

It blows at morn, and fades at night.

LET FAME SOUND THE TRUMPET.

LET fame sound the Trumpet and cry to the war, Let glory re-echo the strain,

The full tide of honour may flow from the scar, And Heroes may smile on their pain,

"The treasures of Autumn let Bacchus display,
And stagger about with his bowl;
On science let Sol beam the lustre of day,
And Wisdom give light to the soul.

Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve!

Oh! give me the Friend that I know to be true,
And the Fair that I tenderly love!

What's glory but pride? a vain bubble is fame, And riot, the pleasure of wine;

'What's riches but trouble? and titles a name, But Friendship and Love are divine.

I GO WHERE THE ASPENS QUIVER.
I Go where the aspens quiver,
I go where the willows weep,
I go where the gleaming waters
Are flowing clear and deep:

1 go
where the wild-rose blossoms
Still among the purple heather;
And tread the paths we used to tread,
In blissfulness together,

I go, &c.

I go where the breezes murmur,
And I take my wild guitar;
But the music of the zephyrs
To me is dearer far.

The sweet soft tones you lov'd to hear,

Have lost their sweetness now;
And the only voice I welcome

Is the whisper-"Where art thou?"
I go, &c.

But, love, thou art gone for ever,
To the mansions of the blest,
Where the mournful mourn no longer,

And the weary are at rest;
While I am left in loneliness,
To roam by the golden river,

To weep for thee, when the willows weep,
And sigh when the aspens quiver.

I go, &c.

LISTEN! LADIES, LISTEN!

Mac Crone.

WHILE your eyes with pity's tear,
Sweetly, brightly glisten;
I will sing to beauty's ear,
Listen! ladies, listen!

Chide not now your Minstrel Boy,
Check ye not his story,

Let him sing of love and joy,
And deeds of martial glory.

Then while your eyes, &c.,

Trust, oh! trust me, ladies fair,
O'er my harp of gladness
Ne'er shall steal one note of care,
Or the gloom of sadness.
Softly will I make its tones,
Light its passing measure,

I'd not change your smiles for thrones,
Or the richest treasure.

Then while your eyes, &c.

THE KING AND THE JACKETS OF BLUE.

Jerrold.

SOME nations may boast of their walls
Of their armies may make much-ado;
But tell me the power, when Liberty calls,
Like the gallant stout jackets of blue,

Like the gallant, &c.

Our sailors are lords of the sea,

Though they roll in the old world or new! None bolder, none stronger, none nobler can be

Then the jolly stout jackets of blue,

Then the jolly, &c.

Each flag that flies over the main,'

No matter whate'er be its hue,

Must strike, as it has struck, again and again,

To the gallant stout jackets of blue,

To the gallant, &c.

The jacket to Neptune is dear,

So he spoke thus to each of his crew, "All honour, and glory, and worth shall appear, With my own jolly jackets of blue."

With my own jolly, &c.

The King in his majesty great,

Remains to his own colour true,

And 'midst all his robes and his ermines of state,

Remembers his jacket of blue.

Remembers his, &c.

Then loud let each brave sailor sing,
In a chorus still honest though new,

Here's a health and long life to our blue jacket King,
To our King in his jacket of blue.

To our King, &c.

WHY COMES HE NOT.

Baily.

WHY comes he not? Why comes he not?

Oh sister can you say,

My boy and I have watch'd the path

Together all the day.

I'm jealous of the eager child,

I fain would be alone,

That his first coming may be seen,
By no eye save my own.

He comes-'Tis he! I hear his steed;
Ah would he were in sight,

You think I am deceiv'd? But hark!
You hear him-I am right.
Fool that I was-had I gone forth,
Beyond that shadow'y grove,

I might already have beheld

The form of him I love.

He darts like lightning from the trees,

He waves his hand aloft,

Again I hear those words of love,

That I have heard so oft.

I envy not the Dame whose Lord
Is never forc'd to roam,

She never knew the boundless joy
Of such a welcome home.

THE MULETEERS RETURN.
C. Jefferys.

'Tis night, where strays my muleteer?
Oh! why does he from Lilla roam ?
For well he knows my heart is drear

When he is from his mountain home;
But soft! what music greets my ear?
What strains come o'er the dell?
Oh joy! to me the night winds bear
The sound of distant bell.

Oh! speed, ye mules, the queen of night,
Hath kiss'd the sparkling mountain rills!
And spread her fairest robes of light,
To guide ye o'er the dreary hills.

They come! they come ! their tramp I hear,
Their weary forms I see:

And soon they'll bear my muleteers
In joy again to me.

THE MARGATE HOY IN QUARANTINE.

Air" Garry Owen."

ONE Mr John Wilkin, one very fine day,
Call'd up Mrs. Wilkin, and to her did say,
"What think you dear wife, if we start away,
On Board of the Hoy, to Margate."

"There's board and lodging in the ship,
There's victuals to eat, and wine to sip,
What say you, my dear, shall we take a trip,

On Board of the Hoy, to Margate."

Like a dutiful wife, she complied with his wishes,
And pack'd his linen, coat, and small clothes,
And away they both sail'd over salt water and fishes,
On Board of the Hoy, to Margate.