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Those iron days are past and gone ;

Then came the sunny days,
When all the royal favour shone
On good old English ways.

Then the days were blest,
For the land had rest,
Nor labour toil'd in vain :

Both in cot and hall,
They were merry all-
May we soon see the like again !
Then hope the farmer's cares beguiled,

His flocks were on the hill,
His crops around the valley smiled,
And merry went the mill.

Then the peasant sang,

Till the echoes rang,
As he reap'd the golden grain ;

For a feast to come

Was the harvest-home-
May we soon see the like again!
May peace be still the yeoman's lot,

His garners well be stored ;
May peace be in the peasant's cot,

And plenty crown his board.
May England flourish great and free,
Her commerce long maintain ;.

And the good old ways
Of the bygone days,
May we soon see the like again!

OUR BONNY ENGLISH ROSE. 0. JEFFREYS.]

[Music by 8. NELSON OLD England's emblem is the rose:

There is no other flower
Hath half the graces that adorn

This beauty of the bower;

And England's daughters are as fair

As any bud that blows :
What son of hers who has not lov'd

Some bonny English Rose ?
Who hath not heard of one sweet flower,

The first among the fair,
For whose welfare a British heart

Hath breath'd a fervent prayer ?
Oh, may it never be her lot

To lose that sweet repose, That peace of mind, which blesses now

The bonny English Rose ! If any bold enough there be

To war 'gainst England's isle, They soon shall find, for British hearts,

What charms hath woman's smile! Thus nerv’d, the thunder of their arms

Would teach aspiring foes How vain the power that defies

The bonny English Rose ! Now heaven decrees her to the throne;

'Twill be the nation's prayer That in each joy she hath not known,

Her heart may ever share;
That health may long light up her brow,

And, as time onward flows,
It still may be our pride to sing,

"The bonny English Rose !" Beneath her sway may every land,

Where she dominion holds, Be happy as the glorious isle

Where freedom's flag unfolds ;
From sea to shore, from shore to sea,

The song of gladness flows :
And oh, may heaven for ever bless

The bonny English Rose !

WE MAY ROAM THRO' THIS WORLD. T. MOORE.]

[Air—"Garryowen.” We may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast,

Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest; And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,

We may order our wings, and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,

Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies, We need never leave our native isle,

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you

roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remeinber the smile that adorns her at home.

In England, the garden of beauty is kept

By a dragon of prudery, placed within call ; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,

That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all. Oh! they want the wild sweetbriary fence

Which round the flower of Erin dwells ;
Which warms the touch, while winning the sense,

Nor charms us least when it most repels
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd,
Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you

roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye, While the daughters of Erin keep the boy,

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, Through billows of woe and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore.

Then, remember, wherever the goblet is crown'd,
Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you

roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,

Oh! remember the smiles that adorn her at home.

AFTER THE BATTLE. T. MOORE.]

[Air—"Thy fair bosom." Night clos'd around the conqueror's way,

And lightnings show'd the distant hill,
Where those who lost that dreadful day

Stood few and faint, but fearless still!
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,

For ever dimm'd, for ever crost-
Oh! who shall say wbat heroes feel,

When all but life and honour's lost?

The last sad hour of freedom's dream,

And valour's task, mov'd slowly by,
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam

Should rise and give them light to die.
There's yet a world where souls are free,

Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ;
If death that world's bright opening be,

Oh! who would live a slave in this ?

A SPELL IS HANGING O'ER ME. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Air-Italian A SPELL is hanging o'er me,

A'fate seems on me now;
Joys fleet away before me,

Some curse hangs on my brow.
The path is dark and dreary

That my steps must wander o'er,
Like a pilgrim faint and weary,

To a bleak, unfriendly shore.

But thy form is ever near me,

Though I wander far away;
Like a star of hope to cheer me

With its soft and glad’ning ray,
And when my spirit ponders

On each passing scene of pain,
That light around me wanders,

And calms my soul again.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEE, TOM

MOORE.

[LORD Byron.]
My boat is on the shore,

And my bark is on the sea ;
But ere I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee!

Here's a sigh for those I love,

And a smile for those I hate ;
And, wbatever sky's above,

Here's a heart for any fate.
Though the ocean roars around me,

It still shall bear me on;
Though a desert should surround me,

It hath springs that may be won.
Were it the last drop in the well,

As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirits fell,

'Tis to thee that I would drink !

In that water, as this wine,

The libation I would pour
Should be “ Peace to thee and thine,

And a health to thee, Tom Moore."

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