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He sleeps far away 'mid the slain,

His broken shield pillows his head:

The smiles of his children await him in vain-
The peace of the valley is fled.

THE MERRY BELLS OF ENGLAND.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. M. EDNEY.

The merry bells of England,

How I love to hear them sound
The gladsome chime of olden time,
That spreadeth joy around;
They ring from moss-clad steeples,
Amid the cottage band,
And send their sounds of revelry
O'er all our happy land;
They sound from stately edifice,
From many an old church tower,
The rich and the poor alike can feel
The influence of their power;
To every heart their tones impart
Fond memory's dearest spells;
For a Briton's native music is
Old England's merry bells!

Oh, the merry bells of England-
The chimes ring loud and free,
To hail again, by land or main,
Some well-won victory;

To England's brave, in Honour's grave,
Their music seems to say,
"The memory of your glorious deeds

Shall never pass away.'

And oft too ring the village bells

To hail the wedded pair,

When nuptial vows the twain have bound,
Love's heart and home to share;

There's not a sound can e'er resound
In which such music dwells,
As in Britain's native music-
Old England's merry bells.

Oh! the merry bells of England,
What rapture fills the scene,
When their joyous peals the day reveals-
The birthday of our Queen;

As 'mid the shouts their tones ring out-
Their voices clear and gay,
Proclaim a nation's homage on
Victoria's natal day,

Oh! may they sound, as time comes round
To fill with joy the air,

On many a happy birthday

Of old England's choicest fair,
There's nought a people's loyalty
More truly, clearly tells,

Than a Briton's native music-
Old England's merry bells.

FAREWELL TO THE MOUNTAIN.

T. J. THACKERY.]

[Music by J. Barnett,

Farewell to the mountain

And sun-lighted vale,

The moss-border'd streamlet
And balm breathing gale!
All so bright, all so fair,

Here a seraph might dwell;
'Tis too lovely for me,

Farewell! Oh! farewell!

Farewell! for more sweetly

Each sound meets mine ear,
The wild bee and butterfly
They may rest here:

Hark! their hum, how it blends
With the deep convent bell,
Such strains are of heaven.
Farewell! Oh! farewell!
Farewell to the mountain,
And sun-lighted vale,
The moss border'd streamlet,
And balm breathing gale!
All so bright, all so fair,
Here a seraph might dwell ;
"Tis too lovely for me,
Farewell! Oh! farewell.

G. LINLEY.]

CONSTANCE.

[Music by G. LINLEY,

I do not ask to offer thee
A timid love like mine,
I lay it, as the rose is laid,
On some immortal shrine ;
I have no hope in loving thee,
I only ask to love;

I brood upon my silent heart,
As on the nest the dove.

But little have I been beloved,
Sad, silent and alone;

And yet I feel, in loving thee,

The wide world is mine own:

Thine is the name I breathe to heaven,

Thy face steals o'er my sleep,

I only ask that love like this

May pray for thee and weep.

I THINK ON THEE IN THE NIGHT.

[T. K. HERVEY.]

I think on thee in the night,

When all beside is still,

And the moon comes out with her palë, sad light, To sit on the lonely hill;

When the stars are all like dreams,
And the breezes all like sighs,

And there comes a voice from the far-off streams, Like thy spirit's low replies.

I think on thee by day,

'Mid the cold and busy crowd,

When the laughter of the young and gay

Is far too glad and loud!

I hear thy soft, sad tone,

And thy young sweet smile I see: My heart, my heart were all alone, But for its dreams of thee!

NORAH, THE PRIDE OF KILDARE.

ANONYMOUS.]

As beauteous as Flora

Is charming young Norah,

[Irish Melody.

The joy of my heart and the pride of Kildare; I ne'er will deceive her,

For sadly 'twould grieve her

To find that I sigh'd for another less fair;
Her heart with truth teeming,

Her eye with smiles beaming,

What mortal could injure a blossom so rare
As Norah, dear Norah, the pride of Kildare?

Where'er I may be, love!

I'll ne'er forget thee, love!

Though beauties may smile and try to ensnare, Yet nothing shall ever

My heart from thine sever,

Dear Norah, sweet Norah, the pride of Kildare! Thy heart with truth teeming,

Thy eye with smiles beaming,

What mortal could injure a blossom so rare
As Norah, dear Norah, the pride of Kildare ?.

CHEER UP! AND KEEP ON, NEVER

MINDING.

[E. FARMER.]

Let sages rave, with visage grave,

To prove this world's beyond all bearing,
But ne'er forget, some warm hearts yet

Are left, which make it worth the wearing.
If clouds should lower, and friends look sour,
"Tis only neighbour's fare you're finding;
One maxim still cures every ill,

Cheer up! and keep on, never minding!

One thing's quite clear, no mortal here
Hath happiness without some sorrow;
And though to-day joy flies away,

It may come back again to-morrow.
No hour so drear, but in its rear

Some warmer, brighter tint is winding;
Then come what may, play out the play-
Cheer up! and keep on, never minding!

FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE ARE DIVINE.

[Music by W. SHIELD.]

Let Fame sound the trumpet, and cry
Let glory re-echo the strain;

to the war,"

The full tide of honour may flow from the scar,
And heroes may smile on their pain.

The treasures of autumn let Bacchus display,
And stagger about with his bowl;
On science let Sol beam the lustre of day,
And wisdom give light to the soul.

Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;

Oh, give me the friend that I know to be true,
And the fair that I tenderly love.

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