The tender prayer

Thou putt'st up there
Shall call a guardian angel down
To watch me in the battle.

My safety thy fair truth shall be,
As sword and buckler serving;
My life shall be more dear to me,
Because of thy preserving:
Let peril come, let horror threat,

Let thund'ring cannons rattle,
I'll fearless seek the conflict's heat,
Assur'd, when on the wings of love,
To heaven above, &c.

Enough, with that benignant smile
Some kindred god inspir'd thee,
Who knew thy bosom void of guile,
Who wonder'd, and admir'd thee:
I go assur'd, my life, adieu,-

Though thund'ring cannons rattle,
Though murd'ring carnage stalk in view,
When on the wings of thy true love
To heaven above, &c.

THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD.

ANONYMOUS.GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon."

-MAZZINGI.

O SING, sweet bird! from that lov'd strain

A transient bliss I feel,

To lull that sorrow which in vain

I labour to conceal :

O sing, sweet bird, &c.

From Sylvia torn, whose vocal pow'r
Made earth, a heav'n to me,
To cheer each sad and lonely hour
I fondly taught it thee:

O sing, sweet bird, &c.

That if misfortune damp my love,
Or yield me up to care,

Thy lay may rouse my soul, and prove
A rescue from despair:

O sing, sweet bird, &c.

THOMPSON.

BURNS.

THE RED, RED ROSE.

GOULDING, LOND.

Sung at the Public Concerts.

O MY love's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;

O my love's like the melody

That's sweetly play'd in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie, bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry!

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt with the sun!

And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run!
And fare thee weel, my only love!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

FAITHLESS EMMA!

G. A. ESQ.

HIME, LIVERPOOL.

Sung by Mr Spray.

STEVENSON.

I WANDER'D once at break of day,
While yet upon the sunless sea,
In wanton sighs, the breeze delay'd,
And o'er the wavy surface play'd;
Then first the fairest face I knew,
First lov'd the eye of softest blue,
And ventur'd, fearful, first to sip
The sweets that hung upon the lip
Of faithless Emma!

So mix'd the rose and lily's white,
That Nature seem'd uncertain quite,

To deck her cheeks, what flow'rs she'd chose,

The lily or the blushing rose !

I wish I ne'er had seen her eye,

Ne'er seen her cheek of doubtful dye,

And never, never dar'd to sip

The sweets that hung upon the lip

Of faithless Emma!

C

For though, from rosy dawn of day,
I rove along, and anxious stray,

Till night, with curtain dark, descend,
And day no more its gleamings lend;
Yet still like hers no cheek I find,
Like hers no eye, (save in my mind)
Where still I fancy that I sip

The sweets that hung upon the lip
Of faithless Emma!

SWEET LITTLE MARGARET.

LYSAGHT.

HIME, LIVERPOOL. STEVENSON.

Sung at the Public Concerts.

SWEET little Margaret, oh my delight,
Your air's so engaging, your beauty so bright,
'Tis heaven to tarry with you, love:

Ah! lend me your hand, feel my heart how it beats;
Its throbbing pulse tenderly, softly repeats

The passion it feels for its true love.

Sweet little Margaret, graceful and fair,
The joy of my heart, and the balm of my care,
Believe me, I live but for you, love;

Let's seal our fond vows with a rapturous kiss,
And sweeten Life's cup with the soul-soothing bliss
That flows from empassion'd and true love.

ANON.

WANDERING MARY!

GOULDING, LONDON.THOMPSON.

BLEAK blows the storm upon that breast,
Whose guest is life-consuming sorrow;
Oh! take me to some place of rest,

Where I may slumber till to-morrow.
You view my face; it once was fair;
At least, so said my charming Harry;
But he is gone, and black despair

Is all that's left to wand'ring Mary!

No thief am I, as some alledge,

Tho' sore hath cold and hunger try'd me;
I pluck the hawberry from the hedge,
When human aid is oft deny'd me.

But, hush, my babe! tho' large the load
Of woes that we are doom'd to carry,

Within some cold grave's bleak abode
You'll sweetly sleep with wand'ring Mary!

RYLEY.

POOR PAT O'CONNOR.

NOT PUBLISHED.

Sung by Mr Ryley,

ANON.

AH! bless your honor! poor Pat O'Connor,

Ploughing on the sea,

Lost his precious sight by lightning in the night!
Poor Pat O'Connor begs for charity!

Ah! give him one poor halfpenny!