GRIST TO THE MILL.

MRS. EDWARD THOMAS.]

[Music by P. E. VAN NOORDEN.

Ir's all very fine for us schoolgirls to cry,

For Love we could live, and for Love we could die ;
The saucy young rogue only laughs in his sleeve,
And launches his arrows their traces to leave :-
Saying, "Grist to the mill !" come, yield then who
will,

That Cupid may prosper through foolish things still.

What yield on such terms? No! we thank you the

same,

But we're not the moths to be caught in your flame; Our wings are too choice to be singed with its glow, And that, boastful Cupid, we'd have you to know: Saying, "Grist to the mill !" come, yield then who

will, That Cupid may prosper through foolish things still.

Yet to live and not love, while the gay cavaliers
Protest we are all irresistible dears,

Will a courage demand that must certainly fail,
So we'll compromise matters and let Cupid rail :
Tho' 'tis grist to the mill, our fate we'll still fulfil,
Nor care to be reckoned 'mong foolish things still.

MY HEART IS OVERWEARY, DEAR. MRS, EDWARD THOMAS.] [Music by P. H. ATKINSON,

'TIS years since we two parted,
Then the bloom was on my cheek,
But now 'tis whiter than the snow-
For I am worn and weak;

I thought that thou would'st come again,
Such fond belief to me,

For my heart is overweary, dear,
In waiting still for thee.

I count the hours, I count the days,

I count the months and years,
And very sad and mournful, dear,
That counting time appears;
For baffled hope and wasted youth
It tedious makes to me ;-
Oh! my heart is overweary, dear,
In waiting still for thee.

Hark! hark! I hear a well-known step,

Oh! life, ebb not away!

I did not mean it, when

Death for its slow delay.

chid

He comes-he comes! oh, let me live
Once more thy face to see,
For my heart is overweary, dear,
In waiting still for thee.

WONT YOU TELL?

J. E, CARPENTER.]

[Music by STEPHEN GLOVER.

WHY not tell me if you love me,

Be it more or be it less,

Not more distant stars above me,

Why thus leave me still to guess?
Sometimes cold and sometimes pleasant,
Tho' you frown you smile as well,
You a riddle are at present,—

Do you love me wont you tell?

When I sigh, your smile provoking
Buoys me up on hope's bright wings,
When I'm gay you say "I'm joking,
Lovers are such silly things."
I would rather you'd abuse me,
Than 'twixt hope and fear thus dwell,
So we'll say that you refuse me;
Ah! you're silent-wont you tell?

OLD ENGLAND'S VOLUNTEERS. ANONYMOUS.]

[Air—“ The British Grenadiers."

No love of conquest fires them, no false ambition

snares,

No step aggressive marks them; a holier cause is theirs.

Defenders of their Queen and homes, of all that life endears,

Against invasion's hostile bands, arise the Volunteers!

No serf or conscript swells their ranks, whose banner freedom rears;

Spontaneously, then rally round, "Old England's Volunteers."

Their watchword is "Be ready ;" and "the flag a thousand years

That's brav'd the battle and the breeze," waves o'er the Volunteers.

No pride of rank or station, the peasant and the peerOne common band of Englishmen-all meet as equals here;

Hearts beat with hearts, hand joins in hand, more firm as danger nears;

The bravest is the noblest of "Old England's Volunteers."

Old jealousies and private griefs, the rancourings of years,

Are buried in the fellowship of England's Volunteers; All discord vanishes, and naught but unity appears Among the holy brotherhood of England's Volunteers.

No bickerings of party can their solid ranks divide,There, Tories, Whigs, and Radicals are number'd side by side;

United in their country's cause, all faction disappears; They recognise no politics, the patriot Volunteers ?

Impell'd by love, at duty's call, amidst their country's cheers,

Your husbands, brothers, sires, come forth, in might, as Volunteers!

Then, wives and maids of Albion, dispel invasion's fears,

No hostile foot shall tread the shore where all are Volunteers!

66 Arm, Britons, arm !" "Defend the land !" "Your country's flag's unfurl'd,'

And answering guns and rifles bid defiance to the world;

Then pledge them in a bumper, up-standing, with three cheers,

To the safeguard of our hearths and homes, “Old England's Volunteers."

I DREAM OF THEE.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. P. KNIGHT.

I DREAM of thee when all is still,
At each dear return of night,
For when sweet sleep mine eyelids fill
Thy presence glads my sight;
I shun the open glare of day,
Earth has no charms for me,
I cannot live and thou away-
Save when I dream of thee.

I dream of thee, and then I dwell

By wood, and fount, and stream,
Nor would I break the fatal spell,
Though life prove but a dream.
For in those calm and blissful hours
Thy gentle form I see,

Again we rove earth's sunny bowers;
Oh! then I dream of thee.

I dream of thee, I live in dreams-
The sunshine broad and high,

That lights the woods, and gilds the streams,
But shows thou art not nigh;
But when the first sweet shades of night
Fall o'er the earth and sea,
My sun appears in splendour bright,
For then I dream of thee.

DULCE DOMUM.

[J. R., in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for March, 1796.] SING a sweet melodious measure,

Waft enchanting lays around;
Home's a theme replete with pleasure :-
Home! a grateful theme resound.

Home, sweet home! an ample treasure;
Home! with ev'ry blessing crown'd;
Home! perpetual source of pleasure;
Home! a noble strain resound.

Lo! the joyful hour advances,
Happy season of delight!
Festal songs and festal dances

All our tedious toils requite.

Leave, my wearied Muse, thy learning;
Leave thy task so hard to bear •
Leave thy labour, ease returning,
Leave, my bosom, all thy care.

See the year, the meadow, smiling ;
Let us then a smile display:
Rural sport our pain beguiling,
Rural pastimes call away.

Now the swallow seeks her dwelling,
And no longer loves to roam :

The example thus impelling,

Let us seek our native home!