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WRITTEN ON THE SAND. J. E. CARPENTER.]
[Music by N. J. SPORLD. It was written on the sand,
“Love cannot know decay;"
And Love had passed away.
“How firmly friends are tied ;”.
Written on the sand !
It was written on the sand,
" The world is full of truth,"
Go search the spot, oh! youth !
Our hopes, our joys, our fears ;-
Falling on the sand !
OH! TELL ME HOW TO WOOP
[MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 1640.]
Right soone l’ll mount my steed,
That bears frae me the meed;
Thy picture next my heart;
Shall rue it to his smart :
For thy dear sake no care I'll take,
If gay attire thy fancy please,
I'll deck thee in array,
And squire thee all the day!
These sounds I'll strive to catch ;
Then tell me how to woo, &c.
But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow;
I never loved but you !
I wear the blue,
Oh! tell me how to woo, &c.
VARIETY IN ONE.
[CHARLES DIBDIN.] “In one thou couldst find variety,"
Cried Dick, “wouldst thou on wedlock fix pour “I rather should expect," cried I,
“ Variety in five or six;"' “But never was thy counsel light,
I'll do't, my friend !-So said, so done, I'm noosed for life, and Dick was right,
I find variety in one. "Her tone has more variety
Than inusic's system can embrace ; She modulates through every key,
Squeaks treble, and growls double-bass ; Divisions runs, and trills, and shakes,
Enough the noisy spheres to stun: Thus, as harsh discord music makes,
I find variety in one.
“Her dress boasts such variety,
Such forms, materials, fashions, hues ;
From Russian bears to cockatoos ;
Now she's a gipsy, now a nun ;
En't this variety in one?
Thought, word, and deed, we both concur,
So I'm an April day to her :
Thus as we Hymen's gauntlet run,
Each finds variety in one.
"Then cherish love's variety,
In spite of every sneering elf;
In change, variety itself?
More bright, to show her radiant sun :
Men find variety in one.”
THE BUD IS ON THE BOUGH.
[Music by F. MORI. The bud is on the bough,
And the blossom on the tree,
Bring a thrill of joy to me.
No pleasure can I know,
To chase away my woe.
The bud will grow a blossom,
The blossom will grow pale,
But fall when o'er the vale
In every wind that blows :
May in the dust repose.
The seed become a tree;
Will bud and blossom be.
Yes, brighter far than they ;
And never more decay.
ROSE, THOU ART THE SWEETEST
[Music by Mrs. ROBERT ARXWRIGHT,
[By LORD CANTALUPE, about 1720.] [This song, adapted to the old English melody of “ Pretty Polly Oliver,” is an answer to Shenstone's, “Wheu forced from dear Hebe to part," the music by Dr. Arne.] Fair Hebe I left with a cautious design To escape from her charms and to drown love in wine : I tried it, but found, when I came to depart, The wine in my head but still love in my heart. I repair'd to my reason, entreating her aid, Who paus’d on my case, and each circumstanice weigh'd; Then gravely pronounc'd, in return to my prayer, That Hebe was fairest of all that were fair! “That's a truth,” replied I, “I've no need to lie
taught ; I came for your counsel to find out a fault.” " If that's all,” says reason,
return as you came, For to find fault with Hebe would forfeit my naine." What hopes, then, alas ! of relief from my pain, When like lightning she darts through each throbbing
vein ; My senses surprised, in her favour took arms, And reason confirms me a slave to her charms.
THE HARVEST-HOME SONG. EDWIN RANSFORD.]
[Music by E. RANSFORD, TAE harvest-home's come round again,
Then let each beart be gay ;
Our grateful homage pay,
To fill the ears with grain,
O'er hill and fertile plain.