TO THE MOON.

GLEE for Four Voices.

HINDLE.

QUEEN of the silver bow! by thy pale beam,
Alone and pensive, I delight to stray;

And watch thy shadows trembling in the stream,
Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way.
Still while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast;
And oft I think, fair planet of the night,

That in thy orb the wretched may have rest.
The suff'rers of the earth, perhaps, may go,
Releas'd by death, to thy benignant sphere ;
And the sad children of despair and woe,
Forget in thee their cup of sorrow here.
O! that I soon may reach thy world serene,
Poor wearied pilgrim in this toiling scene.

GLEE for Four Voices.

Sir G. T. SMART.

QUEEN of the Skies! who silver'st wide
This dreary world, with glory's sea,
Roll from thy orb the radiant tide,
And pour thy lucid stream on me.

Here, muffled dark in horrors dread,
I bow to sacred Love's command;
While anguish clasps my aching head,
And terror chills with palsied hand.

O hear O guide these 'wilder'd feet
To where my lov'd Hedallun stays!
Give me his long-lost form to meet—
To light his eyes with fond amaze !

Give him-O ere with life he part

Give him, to lull these wild alarms— Once more to soothe this dying heart

Once more to bless his Melna's arms!

THE MALTESE MARINERS' HYMN,

For Thrce Voices.

QUEEN of the seas! ordain'd to prove

Our dear Redeemer's filial love,
Bend from thy starry throne,

O beata Virgine!

Whene'er the beating tempest roars,
O give fresh vigour to our oars,
That we secure may reach our shores,
O beata Virgine!

Whene'er the rolling billows sleep,
And zephyrs fan the level deep,
Chant we, while all due measure keep,
O beata Virgine!

Ye white-cross-knights, the sacred train,
Look from your tow'rs that shade the main,
Repeat, repeat, repeat, the strain,

O beata Virgine!

Dr. Kett.

GLEE for Four Voices.

J. S. SMITH.-Prize, 1777. RETURN, blest days! return, ye laughing hours! Which led me up the roseate steep of youth; Which strew'd my simple path with vernal flow'rs, And bade me court chaste science and fair truth. Witness, ye winged daughters of the year,

If e'er a sigh, had learnt to heave my breast, If e'er my cheek was conscious of a tear,

Till Cynthia came, and robb'd my soul of rest. So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,

Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek; 1 gaz'd, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak. Dr. Percy.

GLEE for Four Voices.

S. WEBBE.-Prize, 1777.

RISE, my joy! sweet mirth attend,

I'm resolv'd to be thy friend;

Sneaking Phoebus hides his head,
He's with Thetis gone to bed:

Tho' he will not on me shine,
Still there's brightness in the wine;
From Bacchus I'll such lustre borrow,
My face shall be a sun to-morrow.

S. Webbe.

MADRIGAL for Four Voices.

RETURN, return, my lovely maid,

HUTCHINSON.

For summer's pleasures pass away;
The trees' green liv'ries 'gin to fade,
And Flora's treasures all decay.
No more, at ev'n-tide, waileth sweet
Sad Philomel the woods among
Nor lark the rising morn doth greet:
Return, my love, thou stay'st too long.

GLEE for Four Voices.

S. PAXTON.-Prize, 1781.

ROUND the hapless André's urn
Be the cyprus foliage spread;
Fragrant spice profusely burn,
Honours grateful to the dead.

Let a soldier's manly form,

Guard the vase his ashes bears;

Truth, in living sorrow warm,
Pay a mourning nation's tears.

Fame, his praise upon thy wing,
Thro' the world dispersing tell,

In the service of his king,

In his country's cause he fell.

Miss Seward.