O! SWEET AS THE MILD SIGHS OF EVENING. The Poetry arranged expressly for this work, to an Air by Donizetti. Allegro Moderato. My Mai den Aunt is com-ing! how I wish she'd stay a always says 'how things are chang'd and alter'd' since her day! And so I do believe they are, for 'tis a weary time, I should i-ma-gine, since Aunt Ta bi H i-magine, since Aunt Ta-bi-tha was in her prime! tha was in her prime! I should My Maiden Aunt is coming! how she'll criticise my dress; [thought about it less!' And say that girls were handsome once, and If I look grave, she'll ridicule Miss Prim'-if gay, declare [saucy air!' She cannot bear young ladies who have such a My Maiden Aunt is coming! and I fear I shall offend, [bend: And from her will be quite cut off, if I presume to She says young people never loung'd, or stoop'd, in her young day:'[stay away! I'm sure she's stiff enough herself!-I wish she'd My Maiden Aunt is coming! there's an end of comfort now ;— [she allow ;Neither sofas, easy chairs, nor cushions soft, will Gin I had a wee house, and a can-ty wee fire, A bon nie wee wi - fie to It fell a-bout the Martin - mas time, And a gay time it was then, O! When our gude-wife had puddings to mak', And she boil'd them in the The wind blew cauld frae south to north, It blew into the floor; Says our gudeman to our gudewife, Get up and bar the door.' 'My hand is in my hussyfe skep, An it shouldna be barr'd this hunner year, They made a paction 'tween them twa, And they could neither see house nor ha', Now whether is this a rich mon's house, But never a word wad ane o' them speak. pan, O! And first they ate the white pudding. And syne they ate the black; And muckle thocht our gudewife to hersel, But never a word she spak. Then said the tane unto the tother, 'Hae, mon, tak ye my knife; Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard, O! then up startit our gudeman, Then up and startit our gudewife, Andante. THE ROBIN'S PETITION. The Poetry by Miss Edgworth.-Composed by John Whittaker. When the leaves had for - sa- ken the trees, And the for ests were chilly and hear this un - pi tying blast, Is now empty, and ragged, and torn: On some tree, should I now take my seat, O throw me a morsel of bread! I'll whistle without other hire. pray you take pity on me. I shall die if you drive me away. And throw me a part of your store; And never w trouble you more. THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL. On Rich-mond Hill there lives a lass, More sweet than May day morn, Whose charms all other maids sur - pass, A rose with-out a thorn. smiles This lass so neat, with so sweet, Has won my right good will; I'd crowns re-sign to call her mine, Sweet pluck'd the bor-d'ring flow-ers, Or pluck'd the bordering And still I love to stand and gaze Along its winding shore, And dream of happy, happy days, That will return no more! flow'rs. But life, like thee, flows on, sweet rill! And I, like thee, must haste, Each day to do my Father's will, Nor turn one hour to waste. nightly tri.bute sped, And love and fame betraying, And friends no longer true; No smiles my face arraying, No heart so fraught with woe: So pass'd my life's sad morning, Young joys no more returning. Alas! now all around Is dark and cheerless found! A heart to pain and grieve me, With double anguish fraught, In night ly tri bute sped. That brings the wish'd repose: Shall mark my peaceful doom, No more shall grief assail, THE CHIEFTAIN'S DAUGHTER. The Poetry by G. P. Morris, Esq.-The Music by Henry Russell.—Published in Davidson's Cheap and Uniform Edition of his Compositions. |