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THE WAVING GREENWOOD TREE. G. LINLEY.]

[Music by LINLEY. Now by the waving greenwood tree

We merry, merry warriors roam ;
Careless and jovial, ever free,

We hail our patire home!
We roam beneath fair Cynthia's light,

Or, hiding in the shade,
Telling soft tales of true delight
To some lovely woodland maid.

Now by the waving, &c.
Now by the waving greenwood tree

We merry, merry warriors roam ;
Careless and jovial, ever free,

We hail our pative home!
We quaff not, we quaff not the red, red wine,

But our nut-brown ale is good;
For the song and the dance of the great we ne'er pine,

While the rough winds are our choristers rude.

WHEN FORCED FROM DEAR HEBE

TO GO. SAENSTONE.]

[Music by Dr. ARXE. WHEN forced from dear Hebe to go,

What anguish I felt at my heart !
And I thought, but it might not be so,

She was sorry to see me depart;
She cast such a languishing view,

My path I could scarcely discern,
So sweetly she bade me adieu,

I thought that she bade me return.
I thought she might like to retire

To the grove I had labour'd to rear ;
For whatever I heard her admire,

I hasten'd and planted it there.

Her voice such a pleasure conveys,

So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she says,

I'm sure still to love her the more.
And now ere I haste to the plain,

Come, shepherds, and talk of her ways : I could lay down my life for the swain

That would sing me a song in her praise ; While he sings may the maids of the town

Come flocking and listen awhile ; Nor on him let Hebe once frown, -

But I cannot allow her to smile.

To see, when my charmer goes by,

Some hermit peep out of his cell : How he thinks of his youth with a sigh,

How fondly he wishes her well ! On him she may smile if she please,

'Twill warm the cold bosom of age ; But cease, gentle Hebe, oh ! cease,

Such softness will ruin the sage. I've stole from no flow'rets that grow

To paint the dear charms I approve, For what can a blossom bestow,

So sweet, so delightful, as love ? I sing in a rustical way,

A shepherd and one of the throng ; Yet, Hebe approves of my lay ;

Go poets, and envy my song.

JOE OF THE BELL.

AROUND the face of blue-eyed Sue

Did auburn ringlets curl ;
Her coral lips seem'd dipped in dew;

Her teeth two rows of pearl.

Joe of the Bell, whose wine they said
Was new in cask as he in trade,

Espoused this nonpareil.
“You keep the bar," says Jor," my dear,
But be obliging, Sue, d'ye hear,
And prove to all who love good cheer

They're welcome to the Bell.”

A London rider chanced to slip

Behind the bar to dine,
And found sweet Susan's yielding lip

Much mellower than her wine.
As Joe stept in, he stampt, and swore

He'd dust his jacket well;
Hey-day !" says Sue, “what's this, I trow?
You bade me be obliging, Joe !
I'm only proving to the

beau
He's welcome to the Bell.”

I'LL FOLLOW THEE. J. E. CARPENTER.)

[Music by HENRY FARMER. I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee,

Wherever thou mayst go,
To the land of burning sunshine

Or the realm of winter snow;
For the world is not as boundless

As a woman's heart can be,
So, wherever thou mayst wander,

I will follow, follow thee!
I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee,

Whatever thou may’st prize,
Of fame or grandeur to be won

Beneath the alien skies ;
For the world owns no such treasure

As a faithful heart can be,
Then, wherever thou may'st wander,

I will follow, follow thee!

I'll follow thee, I'll follow thee,

Whatever thou mayst bear,
For there cannot be a danger

That a true heart would not share ;
Then whate'er of joy or sorrow

In thy future lot may be
Love shall baunt you like your shadow,

For I'll follow, follow thee !

THE SAILOR'S GRAVE.

[Eliza Coox.] OUR bark was out-far, far from land, When the fairest of our gallant band Grew sadly pale, and waned away Like the twilight of an autumn day. We watched him through long hours of pain ; But our cares were lost, our hopes were vain, Death brought for him no coward alarm; For he smiled as he died on a messmate's arm.

He bad no costly winding-sheet,
But we placed a round shot at his feet;
And he slept in his hammock as safe and sound
As a king in his lawn shroud, marble-bound.
We proudly deck'd his funeral vest
With the English flag about his breast;
We gave him that as the badge of the brave,
And then be was fit for his sailor's grave.
Our voices broke-our hearts turned weak-
Hot tears were seen on the brownest cheek
And a quiver play'd on the lips of pride,
As we lowered him down *he ship's dark side.
A plunge-a splash-and our task was o'er ;
The billows roll'd as they ro!l'd before ;
But many a rude prayer hallowed the wave
That closed above the sailor's grave.

O, RUDDIER THAN THE CHERRY.

[Music by G. F. HANDEL.]

RECITATIVE.
I RAGE! I melt ! I burn !
The feeble god has stabb'd me to the heart !
Thou trusty pine, prop of my godlike steps,

I lay thee by.
Bring me a hundred reeds, of decent growth
To make a pipe for my capacious mouth;
In soft, enchanting accents let me breathe
Sweet Galatea's beauty, and my love.

AIR.
O, ruddier than the cherry!

O, sweeter than the berry!
O nymph, more bright than moonshine night,

Like kidlings blitbe and merry.
Ripe as the melting cluster,

No lily has such lustre,
Yet hard to tame as raging flame,

And fierce as storms that bluster.

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VOICE OF MUSIC. Hon. Mrs. NOBTON.] [Music by Hon. MRS. NORTON,

Voice of music sweetly falling,

Oh, how deep and true thy spell !
Songs of welcome, songs of triumph,

Tender lays of fond farewell.
Manhood loves thy martial measure,

Age would fain thy notes prolong,
And the child's first sense of pleasure,

Is the mother's cradle song.
Soldiers worn and weak and weary,

Marching on a foreign foe,
Exiles faint and lone and dreary,

Bending 'neath a weight of woe:

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