When I'm laid low and am at rest, But should I ever live to see BURIAL OF THE SEED. The Poetry translated from the German; the Music by Weber. Andantino. Now, my seed, thy grave is made; In thy silent chamber laid, Come, cheer up, my lads,-'tis to glo- ry we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year; To ho-nour we call you, not press you like slaves, For who are so free as we sons of the waves! Heart of oak are our ships, heart of oak are our men; We al-ways are rea - dy; steady, boys, stea-dy;-we'll fight, and we'll con-quer, a-gain and again. Heart of oak, &c. They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes; But should their flat-bottoms in darkness get o'er, We'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make'em sweat, But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad, The flower and pride of a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. There was a lass, &c. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. As in the bosom o' the stream The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en, So trembling, pure, was tender love, Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. There was a lass, &c. And now she warks her mammie's wark, But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, There was a lass, &c. The sun was sinkin' in the west, And whisper'd thus his tale of love: 'O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; O canst thou think to fancy me? Nor wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me? There was a lass, &c. At barn nor byre thou shalt na drudge, Nor naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells, And tent the waving corn wi' me.' Now what could artless Jeanie do? She had nae will to say him na: At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And love was aye between them twa. There was a lass, &c. HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. The Poetry by Burns; the Music as sung by Mr. Wilson. Moderato. Happy we are a' the-gi-ther, Hap-py we'll be gin an' a'; Time shall see us Fine. a' the bli-ther, Ere we rise to gang a-wa! Here, a -round the in-gle blee-zing, Wha sae hap-py D.C. al Fine. and sae free; Tho' the nor-thern wind blaws free-zing, Frien'-ship warms baith you and me. See the miser o'er his treasure, Gloating wi' a greedy e'e! Can he feel the glow o' pleasure Can the peer in silk and ermine, His claes are spun an' edged wi' vermin, Thus then let us a' be tassing Aff our stoups o' gen'rous flame; An' while roun' the board 'tis passing, Raise a sang in frien'ship's name. Frien'ship maks a' us mair happy, Frien'ship gies us a' delight; Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, Frien'ship brings us here to-night.. Happy we've been, &c. WHATE'ER MAY BE MY WAYWARD LOT. The Poetry by David Thompson, arranged to Mozart's Wer unter eines Madchens Hand.' Moderato. aid? No! no! no, ne-ver for a day; No! If smiling scenes of joy I see, And feel their cheering power, I'll think how brighter they would be Then can that dear remembrance fade, Moderato. no! no, ne-ver for a day! And o'er that dear remembrance fling OFT HAVE I MARK'D THE EVENING SHADE. Composed by Dr. John Smith. Oft have I mark'd the ev'ning shade Steal o'er some PP ru in gray, And watch'd the cres. glow-ing sunbeams fade, In sad-ness soft a way: Yet clings its lin - g'ring last dim. cres. ca |