WHEN THE ROSEBUD OF SUMMER.

The Poetry by E. J. B. Fitzsimons, Esq.; the Music by Sir J. Stevenson

When the rose-bud of Sum-mer, its beau -ties be-stowing, On Win-ter's rude blast all its

then, dearest El-len,* I'll love you no more! I'll love you no more! And the

espress.

len, dearest Ellen! I'll love you no more, I'll love you no more, I'll

When of hope the last spark, which thy smis

love you no more! O! then, dearest El-len! I'll love you no more! And the pulse of that heart which adores you shall perish, [&c. In my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er, O then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more! Ladies in singing this song sabstitute the name of Henry for Ellen.

lov'd to cherish,

She's all my fancy paint-ed her, She's lovely, she's divine; But her

heart it is another's-She ne-ver can be mine: Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd, A 3 a tempo.

love without decay: O! my heart, my heart is breaking For the love of A lice

Gray;

O my heart, my heart is break-ing For

Her dark brown hair is braided

O'er a brow of spotless white;

Her soft blue eye now languishes,
Now flashes with delight:-
The hair is braided not for me,
The eye is turn'd away;

Yet my heart, my heart is breaking,
For the love of Alice Gray.

the love of

Alice Gray.

I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,
I've trembled in the blast;

But my pilgrimage is nearly done-
The weary conflict's past:

And when the green sod wraps my grave,
May pity haply say :-

'O! his heart, his heart was broken,

For the love of Alice Gray !'

THE POLICEMAN'S LOVE.-PARODY ON ALICE GRAY. From 'Merry England in the Olden Time,' by Geo. Daniel, Esq.

The Charlie quite, I've, honour bright, sent packing for a cheat;

She's all that fancy painted her! she's rosy without
rouge,
[bright gamboge;
Her gingham gown a modest brown turn'd up with A
She learns to jar the light guitar, and plays the
harpsichols,-
[Cent Consols.
Her fortune's five-and twenty pounds in Three per
At Beulah Spa, where love is law, was my fond
heart beguil'd;

I pour'd my passion in her ear-she whisper'd,
'Draw it mild!'
[does not?
In Clerkenwell you bear the bell: what muffin-man
And since, my Paul, you've gain'd your p'int, per-
haps you'll stand your pot.

watchman's wife, he'd whack me well when he was on his beat.

your dow'r; 'Adieu !' he said, and shook his head, 'my dolor be And, while you laugh, I'll take my staff, and go and cry-the hour.

Last Greenwich Fair we wedded were: she's won,
and we are one;

And Sally, since the honey-moon, has had a little son.
Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none than
Sally smarter;
I said it 'fore I married her, and now I say it arter.

LOVE, LITTLE BLIND URCHIN.

Love, little blind ur-chin, went stroll-ing one day, And mad-ri-gals chaunt-ed so

pret-ty; While

bal-lads he sold as he went on his way, With Val-en-tine ver-ses so

witty: Love's burden was, 'Maids, ne'er away your hearts throw; Till prudence prompts yes, always

་

answer 'O! no,' al-ways answer O! ne 'always an-swer O! no!' Till prudence prompts

yes, always answer 'O! no, no, no, no!' always answer 'O! no!' always answer O! no!' Love, little blind urchin, advice didn't spare,

Yet his arrows at random, he shot 'em ; And a dart aim'd at Prudence, who chanc'd to be there,

But, thus wounded, their hearts she forgot 'em. Left by Prudence, the maids turn'd out silly, and [said No.' They often said 'Yes,'-when they should have

I LOVE MY LOVE IN THE MORNING.
The Poetry adapted by J. N. Sola, to an Irish Melody.-Published by Davidson.

MY FONDEST, MY FAIREST.

Hummel's celebrated Air, A la Tyrolienne,' written and arranged by George Linley.
Published by Cramer, Addison, and Beale.

own one! come hither to me! Bright gar-lands I bring thee; Sweet songs I will

My love, still I think that I see her once more; But, alas! she has left me, her loss to de

plore: My own little Kathleen, my poor lost Kathleen, my Kathleen,

those that meet me here? And where are hearts so warm and true As those that meet me here? Since last, with spirits wild and free.

Josephine was to be divorced, sacrificed to his ambition, or, as he termed it, "to the welfare of France," she endured the anguish of wounded love and mortified pride-but he was inexorable, and she obeyed.- Vide Crown's HISTORY OF FRANCE.

SING ON, SING ON.

The Poetry by T. H. Bayly; the Music by J. C. Clifton.-Published by J. Willis.
Sempre.

O! TWINE ME A BOWER.

The Poetry by Thomas Crofton Croker; the Music by Alexander D'Roche.

O! twine me a bow'r all of woodbine and roses, Far, far from the path of your