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We Met.

We met! 'twas in a crowd," and I thought he would shun me;

He came ! I could not breathe, for his eye was upon me!

He spoke! his words were cold, and his smile was unalter'd;

I knew how much he felt, for his deep-toned voice falter'd,

I wore my bridal robe, and I rivalled its whiteness; Bright gems were in my hair, how I hated their brightness!

He call'd me by my name, as the bride of another; Oh! thou hast been the cause of this anguish-my mother!

And once again we met, and a fair girl was near him; He smil'd and whisper'd low, as I once used to hear

him;

She leant upon his arm-once 'twas mine and mine only!

I wept !-for I deserv'd to feel wretched and lonely. And she will be his bride! at the altar he'll give her The love that was too pure for a heartless deceiver. The world may think me gay, for my feelings I smother;

Oh! thou hast been the cause of this anguish-my mother!

The Secret of Singing,

By B. CORNWALL.

Lady, sing no more!

Science all is vain,

Till the heart be touch'd, lady,

And give forth its pain.

"Tis a hidden lyre,

Cherish'd near the sun,

O'er whose witching wire, lady,
Fairy fingers run.

Pity comes in tears,

From her home above,

Hope, and sometimes fears, lady.
And the wizard,—Love!

Each doth search the heart,
To its utmost springs,
And when they depart, lady,
Then the Spirit sings!

Pray, Goody,

As sung by Mr. SINCLAIR.

Pray, Goody, please to moderate the rancor of your tongue,

Why flash those sparks of fury from your eyes? Remember, when the judgement's weak, the prejudice is strong,

A stranger why will you despise ?

Ply me, try me,

Prove, ere you deny me,

If you cast me off you blast me, never more to rise!

Pray, Goody, &c.

Be mine, dear Maid,

As sung by Mr. SINCLAIR.

Be mine, dear maid, this faithful heart
Can never prove untrue;

"Twere easier far with life to part,
Than cease to live for you.

My soul, gone forth from this lone breast,
Lives only, love, in thine;
There is its holy home of rest,
Its dear, its chosen shrine.

Then turn thee not away, my dear,
Oh, turn thee not away, love;
For by the light of truth I swear,

To love thee night and day, love.

"Tis not mine eye thy beauty loves,
Mine ear thy tuneful voice;

But 'tis my heart thy heart approves,
A life-enduring choice.

The lark shall first forget to sing,
When morn unfolds the east,
Ere I by change or coldness wring
Thy fond confiding breast.

Then turn, &c.

Love from the Heart.
As sung by Madame VESTRIS.
Yes, I will leave my father's halls
To roam along with thee;
Adieu, adieu, my native walls,
To other scenes I flee.

Yes we will seek the silent glade,
When we have stray'd afar,
And you shall play, my dearest maid,
Songs on your light guitar.

Love, gentle love, shall be our guide
To a far distant land,

And whether bliss or wo betide,

This heart you shall command.

I'll tell you tales of olden years-
Of hapless love or war;

But should they cause you pearly tears,
Then strike the light guitar.

Brignal Banks.

Words by Sir W. SCOTT-Music by Dr. CLARKE.
O Brignal banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-hall,
Beneath the turret high,
A maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily,-

O Brignal banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen.

If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we,
That dwell by dale and down.
And if thou canst that riddle read,
As read full well you may,

Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed
As blithe as queen of May.
Yet sung she, Brignal banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen,

I read you, by your bugle horn,
And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a ranger sworn,
To keep the king's green wood.
A ranger, lady, winds his horn,
And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night.

Yet sung she, Brignal banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay;

I would I were with Edmund there,
To reign his queen of May!

With burnish'd brand and musketoon,
So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold dragoon,

That lists the tuck of drum.
I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum,
My comrades take the spear.
And O, though Brignal banks be fair,
And Greta woods be gay,

Yet mickle must the maiden dare,
Would reign my queen of May!

Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die;
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met,
Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.
Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green;
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen

She never blamed him, never,

She never blam'd him, never,

But received him when he came,

With a welcome kind as ever,

And she tried to look the same!