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Like the leaves that fall around us,

In Autumn's fading hours ;
Are the traitor smiles that darken,

When the cloud of sorrow low'rs.
And though many such we've known, love,

For prone, alas! to range ;
We both can speak of one, love,

Whom time could never change,
We have liv'd and lov'd together,

Through many changing years;
We have shar'd each other's gladness,

And wept each other's tears.
And let us hope the future,

As the past hath been, will be,
I will share with thee thy sorrows,

And thou thy joys with me.

PLY THE OAR, BROTHER.
Ply the oar, brother, and speed the boat,
Swift o'er the glittering waves we float;
Then home as swiftly we'll haste again,
Loaded with wealth of the plundered main.

Pull away, pull away,

Row boys, row;
A long pull, and a strong pull,

And off we go.

Hark! hark ! as the neighbouring convent bell
Throws o'er the waves its vesper swell,
Sullen its boom from shore to shore,
Blending its chime to the dash of the oar
Boom, boomdash, dash!

Pull away, &c.

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN.

I've no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake,
Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake ;
Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on the tree,
Yet the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
Rich Owen will tell you with eyes full of scorn,
Threadbare is my coat, and my hosen are torn ;
Scoff on, my rich Owen, for faint is thy glee,
While the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
The farmer rides proudly to market and fair,
And the clerk at the tavern still clairns the great chair;
But of all the proud fellows, the proudest I'll be,
While the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

BACCHANALIAN SONG.

GAILY still my moments roll
Whilst I quaff the flowing bowl ;
Care can never reach the soul
Who deeply drinks of wine.

Who deeply, &c.
See the lover, pale with grief,
Binds his brows with willow leaf;
But his heart soon finds relief
By drinking deep of wine.

By drinking, &c,
Eyes of fire, lips of dew,
Cheeks that shame the roses' hue;
Dearer these to me and you,
Who deeply drinks of wine.

Who deeply, &c.

THE SOLDIER'S TEAR.
U PON the hill he turn'd

To take a last fond look
Of the valley and the village church,

And the cottage by the brook ;
He listen'd to the sounds

So familiar to his ear;
And the soldier lean'd upon his sword,

And wip'd away a tear.
Beside the cottage porch

A girl was on her knees,
She held aloft a snowy scarf

Which flutter'd in the breeze:
She breath'd a prayer for him,
A
prayer

he could not hear,
But he pausd to bless her as she knelt,

And wip'd away a tear.
He turn'd, and left the spot,

Oh! do not deem him weak,
For dauntless was the soldier's heart,

Tho' tears were on his cheek.
Go, watch the foremost ranks

In danger's dark career,
Be sure the hand most daring there

Has wip'd away a tear.

BEHOLD HOW BRIGHTLY. Behold how brightly breaks the morning,

Though bleak our lot, our hearts are warm, Inur'd to toil, all danger scorning, We'll hail the breeze and brave the storm.

Put off, put off, our way we know,

Take heed-whisper low-
Look out and spread your nets with care,

Take heed-whisper low-
The prey we seek we'll soon, we'll soon ensnare.

Away! no clouds are lowering o'er us,

Freely now we tempt the wave ;
Hoist, hoist each sail, while full before us
Hope's beacon shines to cheer the brave.

Put off, put off, &c.

HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE.
OH, tell me when, and tell me where,

Am I to meet with thee, my fair ?
I'll meet thee in the silent night,
When stars are shining gentle light,
Enough for love but not too bright,

To tell who blushes there.
You've told me when, now tell me where,

Am I to meet with thee my fair?
I'll meet thee in that lovely place,
Where flowerets dwell in sweet embrace,
And Zephyr comes to steal a grace,

To shed on the midnight air.
You've told me when, and told me where,

But how shall I know thou'lt be there?
Thou'lt know it when I sing this lay,
Which wandering boys on organs play,
No lover sure can miss his way
When led by this signal air-

Fal, la, la, la, this signal air.

OH! THE MISSLETOE BOUGH. The missletoe hung on the castle hall, The holly branch shone on the old oak wall, And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay, And keeping their Christmas holiday ; The baron beheld with a father's pride, His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride ;

While she, with her bright eyes, seem'd to be
The star of that goodly company.

Oh! the missletoe bough. ,
“I'm weary of dancing now," she cried ;
“Here tarry a moment—I'll hide--I'll hide ;
And Lovell, be sure thou’rt the first to trace
The clue to my secret hiding-place.”
Away she ran--and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
And young Lovell cried, “Oh! where dost thou hide,
I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride."

Oh! the missletoe bough. They sought her that night, and they sought her

next day ; And they sought her in vain when a week pass'd

away ; In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot, Young Lovell sought wildly, but found her not. And years flew by, and their grief at last Was told as a sorrowful tale, long past : And when Lovell appear'd, the children cried, “See! the old man weeps for his lost fair bride 1

Oh! the missletoe bough. At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid, Was found in the castle-they rais'd the lid, A skeleton form lay mouldering there, In the bridal wreath of that lady fair, Oh! sad was her fate-in sportive jest She hid from her lord in the old oak chest'; It closed with a spring-and, dreadful doom, The bride lay clasped in her living tomb.

Oh! the missletoe bough.

BANKS OF THE BLUE MOSELLE. WHEN the glow-worm gilds the elfin bower,

That clings around the shrine,

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