In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion,

But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb.

SIDDONS.

THE BABY'S HUSH-A-BYE.

-KELLY, LONDON.

Sung by Miss Davis.

A BABY wander'd from its home,
When day was gently breaking;
Long did the pretty infant roam,

Each simple wild flower seeking.
But night came on; the dreary sky,
The winds so bleak, the leaves so dry,
Sung the poor baby's hush-a-bye.

The frantic mother sought her child,
While the chill rain was falling, -
Its lisping voice, its features mild,
At every blast recalling:

She weep'd, and, with a heartfelt sigh,
Fell on a green turf that was nigh,
Humm'd her poor baby's hush-a-bye.

The baby, near her slumb'ring, woke,
Like some sweet op'ning blossom;
Then thro' the spreading branches broke,
And leap'd upon her bosom.
The mother gave a piercing cry,

Wip'd every rain-drench'd garment dry,
Humm'd her poor baby's hush-a-bye.

KELLY.

O'KEEFE.

ERE AROUND THE HUGE OAK.

-DALE, LONDON.

SHIELD.

Sung by Mr Darley.

ERE around the huge oak that o'ershadows yon mill,
The fond ivy had dar'd to entwine;
Ere the church was a ruin that pods on the hill,
Or a rook built its nest on the pine

Could I trace back the time, a far distant date,
Since my forefathers toil'd in this field;
And the farm I now hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same which my grandfather till'd.

He, dying, bequeath'd to his son a good name,
Which, unsully'd, descended to me;

For my child I've preserv'd it, unblemish'd with shame,
And it still from a spot shall be free.

THE MAID WITH A BOSOM, ETC.

ANONYMOUS.GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

MAZZINGHI

O, BRIGHT as the lily, the maid of the Wold;
Her breast like the lily, as fair and as cold;
With Love's gentle impulse it never did glow;
So they call'd her the Maid with a Bosom of Snow.

Young Edward had courted the maid for his bride;
He knelt at her feet, and, ah! tenderly sigh'd:

But smiles of contempt on her love she'd bestow;
So he left the proud Maid with a Bosom of Snow.

Alas! cruel maiden, thy charms are no more;
When maids cease to merit, men cease to adore;
The tears of Love's anguish unheeded did flow;
Thou never knew pity-thy bosom was snow:
So I call her the Maid with a Bosom of Snow.

THE DEATH OF ABERCROMBIE.

T. DIBDIN..

DALE, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Braham.

RECITATIVE.

BRAHAM.

'TWAS on the spot, in ancient lore oft nam'd,
Where Iris and Osiris once held sway,

O'er kings who sleep in pyramidic pride;
But now for British valour far more fam'd,
Since Nelson's band achiev'd a glorious day,
And, crown'd with laurel, Abercrombie dy❜d.

AIR.

Her roseate colours the Dawn had not shed

O'er the field which stern Slaughter had tinted too

red,

'Twas dark-save each flash at the cannon's hoarse

sound,

When the brave Abercrombie receiv'd his death

wound:

His comrades with grief unaffected deplore,

Tho' to Britain's renown he gave one laurel more.

With a mind unsubdu'd, still the foe he defy'd,
On the steed which the Hero of Acre supply'd;
Till, feeling he soon to Fate's summons must yield,
He gave Sidney the sword he no longer could wield:
His comrades with grief unaffected deplore,
Tho' to Britain's renown he gave one laurel more.

The standard of Albion, with victory crown'd,
Wav'd over his head, as he sank on the ground:
"Take me hence, my brave fellows," the vetʼran did
cry;

"My duty's complete, and contented I die."

POOR TOM.

DIBDIN.

-DALE, ETC. LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

THEN, farewell, my trim-built wherry;
Oars, and coat, and badge, farewell:

Never more, at Chelsea ferry,

Shall your Thomas take a spell.

But, to hope and peace a stranger,
In the battle's heat I'll go;
Where, expos'd to ev'ry danger,

Some friendly ball will lay me low.

Then, mayhap, when, homeward steering,
With the news my messmates come,

Even you, my story hearing,

With a sigh, may cry poor Tom!

DIBDIN.

LIGHT AS THISTLE-DOWN.

MRS BROOKE.

PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Billington.

SHIELD.

LIGHT as thistle-down moving, which floats in the

air,

Sweet Gratitude's debt to this cottage I bear;
Of Autumn's rich store I bring home my part:
The weight on my head, but gay joy in

my heart.

GAY.

BLACK-EY'D SUSAN.

-GOULDING, ETC. LONDON.LEVERIDGE.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Susan came on board;
O where shall I my true-love find?

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails amongst your crew.

William, who high upon the yard,

Rock'd by the billows to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below.
The cords slide swiftly thro' his glowing hands;
And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,