LOVE'S RITORNELLA. Words by J. R. Planché; Music by T. Cooke.-Published by Chappell. To the Music of 'Ah! vello a mi Ritorna,' in Bellini's Opera of Norma; by George Soane, B.A. Allegro. Published by Davidson. THE GREEN BUSHES. An Old Irish Melody, as sung by Mrs. Fitzwilliam in the popular Drama. -Published by Davidson. Andante Moderato. As I was a walk-ing one morning in May, To hear the birds whis-tle and see lamb-kins play, es - pied a young dam-sel, so sweet-ly sang she, Down by the green bush-es, where she chanc'd to meet me. 'O! why are you loitering here, pretty maid?' I'll buy you fine jewels, and live but for thee, If you'll lave your own true love, and folly with me?' 'I want none of your bavers, nor fine silks or hose, For I'm not so poor as to marry for clothes; But if you'll be constant and true unto me, And when he came there and found she was gone, DANDY JIM OF CAROLINE. As sung by Henry Russell.-Published in Davidson's cheap and uniform Edition of his Compositions. I heard old massa say of late, South Ca- ro - li - na was de state Where a I dress myself in de long tail blue, I'm sure de hatter told me so, And de deuce is in it if he didn't know. De giggling gals cry, 'How divine My pantaloon's a tartan check, In my patent boots Peg see her face, Dere wasn't such a heel in de country, oh! White beauty's but skin-deep alone, She's eighteen inches from de heel to de toe, I marry her, and soon shall see Elegant lads d'image ob me; De gals shall show, in form and face, My expectation tell me so, We'll hab four and twenty little nigs all in a row, Boys and gals almost divine, Like Dandy Jim ob Caroline. Andante Affetuoso. THE TEAR. The Poetry by Lord Byron; the Music by G. J. Godian. When friend-ship or love our sym-pa-thies move, When truth in a glance should ap pear, The lips may beguile with a dim-ple or smile, But the test of af- fection's a tear. Too oft is a smile but the hy-po-crite's wile, To mask de-tes-ta-tion or fear: Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul - telling eye Is dimm'd for a time with a tear, a Irish Melody by Leman Rede, to the Air of Moore's 'Meeting of the Waters.' A ca- va-lier gal-lop'd in haste o'er the glade, And his steed and his master were gai-ly ar- ray'd, And bright was his form, and blithe was his air; In his hat was seen flow-ing the gift of his fair, In his hat was seen flow-ing the gift of his fair. And Helen look'd out from her window that night, in sight; In a moment he folded the fair to his breast. The morning beam'd brightly, the cavalier's Flew lightly along o'er the dew-spangled mead; she wore. She weeps not, but looks from her lattice ari day, On the road where the cavalier wended his way; In vain her heart throbs, or ber bosom may burn, That knight and those blisses will never retura! NO MORE SHALL I SEEK IN THE RED FIFLD OF DANGER. Irish Melody-'Tis gone and for ever. one who, had she but applaud-ed, Had brighten'd in-gra-ti tude's drear - i- est way? No matter when years shall have sadden'd her spirits, That chosen of all-that best beam of my glory, Who promised to light me to heaven's own shrine, Has thrown the first blight on the dawn of my story, And wither'd the wreath that she taught me to twine. Oh! vain was the hope that she kindled so brightly, And which rose 'mid the stars that watch'd over me nightly: She has cast off the chain that but fetter'd ler lightly, And left all its weight and its chillness on me. And taught her how false is the flatterer's breath, Sad, deserted, declining, she'll think of my meritsShe'll seek me, perhaps she must seek me in death! She will ask-they will tell her, when hope from life parted, [started; One heart-burst escaped, and one burning tear Then, silent and lone, I went forth broken-hearted, To seek some lone spot that might serve for a grave. ~ NE'ER ASK WHERE RADIANT SUMMER FLIES. Ne'er ask where radiant Sum-mer flies, When win - try tempests cloud the skies: Un mark'd the sea-sons may depart, For love makes summer, makes sum-mer in my heart. THE LASS O' GOWRIE. A MAN'S A MAN Saft kisses on her lips I laid The blush upon her cheek soon spread- 'I'll gang wi' ye to Gowrie.' The Words by Robert Burns.-Published by Davidson. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden gray an' a' that, Gie fools ther snk, and knaves their wine,- A man's a man for a' that; For a' that, an' a' that, Their tin - sel show, an' a' that; An honest man, tho' ne'er so poor, Is chief o' men, for a' that. Wha wad for honest poverty Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, A king can mak a belted knight, Hang down their heads, an' a' that, Wha struts and stares, and a' that; A marquis, duke, an' a' that, The coward slave we pass him by, Tho' hundreds worship at his word, But an honest man's above his might; And dare be poor for a' that, For a' that, an' a' that, He's but a coof, for a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man of independent mind He looks an' laughs at a'that. MY HEART IS SAIR. Guid faith! he manna fa' that; Their dignities, an' a' that: |