FILL, FILL! Poetry by George Soane, A.B.; Music from Flotow's Opera of Stradella.-Published by Davidson. Allegretto. dear-est, for grief; Fill, fill ! sing, sing! Time, while we speak's, on Grieving will furrow the face with lines, Grieving will quench, too, the brightest eye; the wing. Under the sun he's the happiest one Who only lives in the moment nigh. Fill, fill! &c. SWEET ROBIN. Allegretto. once O! where are you going, sweet Robin? What makes you so proud and so shy? I saw the day, little Robin, My friend - ship you would not deny. But win-ter a-gain is re- turn-ing, And wea-ther both storm-y and snell: 'Gin ye will come back to me, Ro-bin, I'll feed you with mou lins my sel'. O! where are you going, sweet Ro bin! What makes you so proud and so shy? I day, little Robin, My friend To wander the groves here and there. ship you would not de ny. once saw the I once had a lover, like Robin, But should the stern blast of misfortune HUSH'D BE SORROW'S SIGH. Poetry by Leman Rede; to Irish Melody, Moore's 'Norah Creina.'-Published by Davidson. Allegretto. Hush'd be sor-row's sigh to-night,-Let no tear of grief be start-ing: Joy alone shall bliss with weeping? Waves will roll between us soon; Morns will rise, and we shall greet not; Re-serve your tears till eve has flown, And let us weep, love, when we meet not. Come, take the cup! our only tears Must be the ruby tears of pleasure; These few last moments are as yearsWe cannot lose in woe the treasure! Now let ev'ry thought of bliss Here in rich communion meet, love! O! let that dear last kiss be sweet, love! O! let our parting hour be such A brilliant moment of delight, love,- E Of joy, to make the hour more bright, love On pleasure fled or bliss departed, O! COME WITH ME,-I'LL ROW THEE O'ER. Allegretto. while I gently ply the oar, renew my vows to thee, re-new my # vows to thee, renew re -new my vows, my vows to thee! little Taffline, with a silken sash!' And the lads will say, Dear heart, what a MAIDENS, WOULD YOU KNOW. Poetry by George Soane, A.B.; the Music from Flotow's Opera of Stradella.-Published by Davidson. MONEY IS YOUR FRIEND. not? Pray, tell me now, Yes, money, mo-ney, money is your friend! From a tiny Nig grown up a lad, I look about what trade to be had: Hatter, tailor, can't advance, So I set up at once to teach de dance; To figger in and figger out so; Yet it nebber do to gib it up so, Nigger boy,- I dance as light as old bear's cub, Wid de handsom'st critter ebber was seen ;Her hair is red, her eyes am green, And dat it wur dat make me lub her so; It would nebber do to gib her up so, Nigger boy,- Now I've fifteen little Nigs complete, And what's berry strange, ebery one o' 'em can eat: Day and night I dance, I toil, And all to make de pot to boil; For it's money makes de mare to go, And de little tings must lib, you know; So it nebber do to gib it up so, Nigger boy,- I'm happy man wid happy wife, Wid my little Nigs I lead a happy life; To gib any ting up I say is obsurd, All can manage if to work dey go ;- |