Non troppo Presto. I'M NOT SUCH A FOOL AS I LOOK. not such a fool as I look. Tol lol de rol lol de rol lol, Tol de rol lol de rol lay. A genius, you'll find, I have got, For writing, in blank verse or rhyme ; And for melo-dram', opera, or farce, I have jokes that will suit 'em all, prime. My writings (and they're not amiss) Would fill a large ciphering-book; I beg you wo'nt doubt what I say, For I'm not such a fool as I look. Tol lol be rol, &c. I'm resolv'd not to drink table-beer, If of friends you would offer the best, You may laugh, but you know what I mean ;- Tol lol de rol, &c. When first I reach'd Lunnun's fam'd town, 'Mong the wonderful sights I saw in't, There was one, such a beauty, O dear! With whitey-brown hair and a squint. She ogled me, then whispered softly, And she, faith! suspected no harm. And now that I'm single again, To cut a fine figure myself. So, if there be any lass here In a good house would like a snug nook, She might do worse than share it with me,For I'm not such a fool as I look. Tol lol de rol, &c. དུ་ཀ《ཀ O! THIS LOVE. The Poetry by G. P. Morris; the Music by Henry Russell.-Published by Davidson. Moderato. O! this love this love! I once the pas-sion slight-ed; But hearts, but hearts that truly love Must break or be united! O! this love! O! this love! THE IVY GREEN. The Poetry by Charles Dickens, Esq., printed by permission; the Music by Henry Russell. Md rato. O! a dain-ty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o'er ru - ins old ! Of right choice food are his meals, ween, In his cell so lone and cold: The walls must be crumbled, the stones de-cay'd, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mould'ring dust that years have made is a mer-ry meal for him. Creep-ing where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. O! creep-ing where no rare old plant is the Ivy green. Creeping, life is seen, A For tender-ness form'd in life's early day, A parent's soft sor-rows to The les-son of pi-ty was caught from the eye, And ere words were my own I spoke with a sigh! The nightingale plunder'd the mate-widow'd dove, Soft embers of passion still rest in their glow, BIND THY BROW WITH A WREATH OF THE VINE. Moderato. brows with a wreath, with 3 wreath of the gene-rous vine ! It will teach thee the way to be bless'd! Why sad for the smile that has only be brows with a wreath, with a wreath of the ge - ne-rous vine! Bind thy brows with a Translated from the German by G. Soane, A.B.; The Music by C. G. Reissiger.-Published by Davidson. Home! when morn ing breaks my slum-ber, How each thought returns to thee ! Or when ev'ning's light is fading, How I long at home to be! O! how tame is ev'ry pleasure, When a-way from those we love! E'en the stars, to trou-bled fan- cy, Move with call me not happy when - ev-er I smile, And seek, 'mid the heart-less, my thoughts to be -guile; When I mingle with all that is sportive and gay, And court the bright moments of sunshine and May. O vain were the mask which my Moderato. THE LILY OF THE VALE. Composed by F. H. S. Pendleton.-Published by Davidson. There is a gen-tle flower - et, That oft un - heed-ed grows Near some un-heard-of Dolce. ri - vu-let, In calm and sweet re-pose. This lit-tle flow'r is of -ten seen To bloom in rall. yonder dale: Tho' call'd by some the Forest Queen, 'Tis the Lily of the Vale! 'When will you come back, Lord Lovel?' she said; 'When will you come back?' said she. 'In a year or two, or three, or four, He'd only been gone twelve months and a day, So he rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed, 'O! what is the matter?' Lord Lovel he said; Then he order'd the grave to be open'd wide, Then he flung his self down by the side of the corpse, Gave two hops, three kicks, heav'd a sigh, blew his nose, Sung a song, and then died in the struggle, Lady Nancy was laid in Saint Pancridge's church, And out of her, &c. |