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With gray shadow nightly,
The sun still looks brightly

Upon that red breast-
A look warm and glowing,
A last fond look throwing,
Where melody's flowing,

As he sinks to rest.

FAIR DAYS OF AUTUMN.

All around a deepening shroud of softness

Fills the mellowing air, With an incense to the eye appealing

O’er the varied prospect everywhere !

Incense spreading like a vast thanksgiving,

Not with voice of mirth; But as altar smoke, of nature, wreathing

Grateful o'er the produce-yielding earth.

Seraph homes in western skies draw nearer

When the broad light fades; While with cloud-wrapt beauty heaven is glowing

Watchful blue mists fold the sleepy glades.

Hallowed seems each scene since gilded summer

Shone in robes of green ; And ablaze her beds of vivid color

Dazzled with the splendour of their sheen.

Were the grape-bloom shadows half so tender

In those summer days ?
Wore her infant hours those veils of whiteness

Autumn's mystic, sun-steeped mornings raise? Angels' breathings closer to us whisper

Of the shortening year; Creeping round us in the freckled bowers

Where the rustling leaves fall crisp and sere.

Time his way toward the winter winging

Sparing some bright flowers, Bids us cherish these as God sent tokens

Not in grief to pass life's waning hours.

MUSTER SONG OF THE BRITISH VOLUNTEER

RIFLEMEN.

Readily, readily,

Rifles muster readily.
Comrades of the death-winged ball,

Keep your purpose steadily,

Steadily, aye steadily !
At each shot a foe must fall!

Give your fire steadily.

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For our mothers, for our wives,

For our maidens' beauty, We will dearly sell our lives, At the call of duty.

Readily, readily, &c.

Laugh we at invasion's frown,

With a proud emotion;
Looking, from our white cliffs, down

On Britannia's ocean.
Freedom's home shall still be free,

See her flag wide waving ;
To protect the refugee
Who comes sheiter craving.

Readily, readily, &c.

Who shall say they can discern

England's bravery waning, While her sons, with purpose stern,

To such arms are training ?
Foes may come, or stay away ;

If, with valour burning,
They should come, we only say,
How about returning?

Readily, readily, &c.

ARMY, NAVY, AND VOLUNTEERS.

A PATRIOTIC SONG.

Brave Soldiers ! who afar and near

Hold fast the banner of our sway, In temper'd vale, or plateau cold,

Or parching in the tropic ray; Well trusted guardians of our right,

We think of you with noble pride
As worthy sons of sires of old,
By brunt of battle scathed and tried.

Cheers!

Loud cheers!!
Loud glorious hearty cheers!!!
For their self-denial and daring,

That old England's heart endears.

The giant fleet, in armour clad,

That lives upon the surging main, And rides in peril and in storm

An empire's welfare to maintain, Looks back to when King Alfred launched

His galley navy from the shore, To grow in time, and find a voice, And speak with cannon's mighty roar.

Cheers!

Loud cheers!!
Loud glorious hearty cheers !!!
For our lion hearted sailors,

Bold as those of bygone years.
All love sweet peace, yet when 'tis war

Each one is ready for the fray;
With willing steps our soldiers speed,
Our sailors aid them on their

way. Upspringing, like the dragon's teeth,

Our Volunteers, in serried ranks, Stand forth the marksmen of the world, Their greatest prize a nation's thanks.

Cheers!

Loud cheers!!
Loud glorious hearty cheers!!!
For our army, and our navy,

And united volunteers.

A WINE SONG.

Where the southern sun is beaming,
Where the rich-robed earth is teeming,
Where the vine-clad slopes are gleaming,

Is thy birthplace--Wine! Where the southern sun is beaming,

Is thy birthplace-Wine!

Purple, red, and yellow, gushing-
Maidens young thy berries crushing,
Glowing, sun-kissed cheeks are blushing

O'er thy cradle-Wine ! Glowing, sun-kissed cheeks are blushing

O’er thy cradle-Wine !

Swarthy forms huge casks are stowing,
White-winged ships are ocean going,
Distant winds o'er ocean blowing,

Waft thee to us—Wine ! Distant winds, o'er ocean blowing,

Waft thee to us—Wine!

Here, long time thou liest sleeping,
In trustworthy butler's keeping,
Till he brings thee, gurgling, leaping

To our fond lips—Wine ! Health-reviving, care-dispelling,

Love-inspiring-Wine !

THE CUPS OF THE LAWS.

ANACREON. ODE XLVIII.
Bring the lyre of great Homerus;
Tear
away

the blood stained string.

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