STURDY WINTER.

The Music from Weber's Opera of Der Freyschutz; the Poetry by George Soane, A.B.-Published by Davidson.

O! welcome, sturdy win-ter: Though your touch is some-what chill, And

voice is of the roughest, Yet i' faith! I love you still. The fields of spring are

greener, And

autumn's eve more bright; Yet snug the chim-ney - cor-ner, When

win-ter's fire burns bright; The fields of spring are green-er, And autumn's eve more

The Poetry by Miss Jane Anna Porter; the Music by Henry Russell.-Published in Davidson's Cheap and Uniform Edition of his Compositions.

Andante Sostenuto.

On the brave who have fal-len, No tear we be stow; Remov'd from a

fallen, no tear we be-stow; Re-mov'd from a world of op-pres-sion and woe.

O'er the actions of those who unshrinking could
sell

Their freedom so dearly, enraptur'd we dwell;
And, although unsuccessful, the patriots that roam
Shall be warmly receiv'd in our own island home.
It is here that the spirit can swell uncontroll'd;
It is here that high thoughts need not perish urtold;

And a hand for a friend, or a sword for a foe,
Is a gift that the poorest hath pow'r to bestow.
We have mourn'd for the vanquish'd, we mourn that
the brave

Shall ever encounter a premature grave;
But O! not for those only who fell is the stain
Of our tears still unwip'd, but for them who remam

THE GREEN LITTLE SHAMROCK OF IRELAND.

Allegretto.

Composed by W. Shield.

There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle,-'Twas St. Pat-rick him. fz

shamrock, the sweet little green little shamrock

This dear little plant still grows in our land,
Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin,
Whose smiles can bewitch, whose eyes can command,
In each climate that each shall appear in-
And shine thro' the bog, thro' the brake, thro' the
mireland,
Just like their own dear little shamrock of Ireland.
The sweet little shamrock, &c.

This dear little plant that springs from our soil,
When its three little leaves are extended,
Denotes from one stalk we together should toil,
And ourselves by ourselves be befriended;

And still thro' the bog, thro' the brake, thro' the
mireland,
[Ireland,
From one root should branch like the shamrock of
The sweet little shamrock, &c.
This dear little plant that shoots from our earth,
Let the hard hand of industry nourish;
And love in each heart find its own warm birth,
While peace, joy, and plenty shall flourish,
And bloom thro' the bog, thro' the brake, thro' the
mireland,

Just like our own dear little shamrock of Ireland,
Your own little shamrock, &c.

TOO LATE I STAY'D.
Composed by C. Gilfert.

Andante.

Too late I stay'd- for- give the crime- Un - heed-ed flew

the hours; For

noiseless falls the foot of time That only treads on flow'rs.

O! who with

clear a-mount re-marks The ebbing of his glass,

When all its sands are

dia-mond sparks Which daz-zle as they pass,

Which dazzle as they pass

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIN' CAN BLAW.
The Poetry by Robert Burns.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wal-lace bled! Scots, wham Bruce has af-ten led!

See the front o' bat-tle lour, See ap-proach proud Edward's pow'r, Chains and sla-ve-ry.