WHEN THEY TOLD ME HE WAS

MARRIED. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. P. KNIGHT. When they told me he was married,

How I wept to hear his name !
For I lived but in his presence,

And was happy when he came;
Had he spoken of another,

Had he spared my aching brow,
I had loved him as a brother,

But I dare not love him now.

It is true no vows were spoken,

But his words were soft and kind;
Ev'ry gift I deemed a token

That he strove our love to bind;
There are hearts, where truth ne'er enter'd,

That such falsehood ne'er could bow,
But my hopes in him were centred,

Yet I dare not love him now!
They deem not when they name him

Of the pangs that wring my soul,
And yet I ne'er shall blame him,

For could I my heart control ?
Had I known that to another

He had breathed the fatal vow,-
I had loved him as a brother,

But I dare not love him now !

CUPID'S GOLDEN ARROW. Eliza Cook.]

[Music by H. C. GBIFFITHS. YOUNG Cupid went storming to Vulcan one day

And besought him to look at his arrow; 'Tis useless, he cried, you must mend it, I say,

'Tis not fit to let fly at a sparrow.

There's something that's wrong in the shaft or the dart,

For it flutters quite false to my aim, 'Tis an age since it fairly went home to the heart,

And the world really laughs at my name. I've straighten'd, I've bent, I've tried all I declare,

I've perfumed it with sweetest of sighs, 'Tis feather's with ringlets that Venus might wear,

And the barb gleams with light from young eyes ; But it falls without touching, I'll break it, I vow,

For there's Hyınen beginning to pout, He's complaining his torch burns so dull and so low,

That Zepbyr night puff it right out.
Little Cupid went on with his pitiful tale,

Till Vulcan the weapon restored,
There, take it, young Sir, try it now, if it fail

You shall grant me no fee or reward.
The u.chin shot out and rare havoc he wrought,

The wounded and dead were untold;
But no wonder the boy had such slaughtering sport,

For the arrow was laden with gold.

THEY CHIDE ME FOR REPINING. J. E, CARPENTER]

[Music by E. L. HIME. They chide me for repining,

They mark my altered brow,
No wreath of flow’rs entwining

Amid its tresses now.
For nie no earthly pleasure

This stern, cold world can give :
Remembrance is the treasure,

For which alone I live.

His home was with the stranger,

Upon some distant shore :
Oh, had I shar'd bis danger,

He could not bave lov'd me more.

His grave no stone revealing,

Our friendship can outlive;
His mem'ry is the feeling,

For which alone I live.

AS I WALKED FORTH ONE SUMMER'S

DAY.
ANONYMOUS.]

[Music by PLAYFORD, 1676.
As I walk'd forth one summer's day
To view the meadows green and gay,
A cool retreating bower I spied,
That flvurish'd near the river's side,

Where oft in tears a inaid would cry,
“ Did ever maiden love as I ?"

Then o'er the grassy fields she'd walk,
And nipping flowers low by the stalk,
Such flowers as in the meadow grew,-
The deadman's thumb and harebell blue;

And as she pull’d them, still cried she,
“ Alas, none ever lov'd like me!"

Such flowers as gave the sweetest scent
She bound about with knotty bent;
And as she bound them up in bands,
She sigh'd, and wept, and wrung her hands;

" Alas, alas !" still sobbed she,
“Alas, none ever lov'd like me !"

When she had fill'd her apron full
Of all the flowers that she could call,
The tender leaves serv'd for a bed,
The scented flowers to rest her head;

Then down she laid, nor sigh’d, nor spake,
With love her gentle heart did break.

THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. T. MOORE.]

[Air_"Gang fane." '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!

Still her bosom rose fair-still her cheeks smild the

sameWhile 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 mingle love's language 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!

BEGONE, DULL CARE.

[ANONYMOUS, 1687.] BEGONE, dull Care,-I prithee begone from me; Begone, dull Care,—thou and I shall never agree.

Long time thou hast been tarrying here,

And fain thou wouldst me kill;
But i'faith, dull Care,

Thou never shalt have thy will.

Too much care will make a young man grey;
And too much care will turn an old man to clay.

My wife shall dance, and I will sing,

So merrily pass the day ;
For I hold it still the wisest thing

To drive dull Care away.

IF 'TIS LOVE TO WISH YOU NEAR. CHARLES DIBDIN.]

[Music by CHARLES DIBDIN.
IF 'tis love to wish you near,
To tremble when the wind I hear,

Because at sea you floating rove;
If of you to dream at night,
To languish when you're out of sight,

If this be loving, then I love.
If, when you're gone, to count each hour,
To ask of every tender power

That you may kind and faithful prove;
If void of falsehood and deceit,
I feel a pleasure when we meet,

If this be loving, then I love.
To wish your fortune to partake,
Determin'd never to forsake,

Though low in poverty we strove ;
If, so that me your wife you'd call,
I offer you my little all, -

If this be loving, then I love.

ILL OMENS. T. MOORE.]

[Air—"Paddy's resource.” WHEN daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,

And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,

The last time she e'er was to press it alone.