-I'll tell thee how the steed drew nigh,
And left his lord afar,

But if my tale should make thee sigh,
I'll strike the light guitar.

Answer to "The Light guitar,”

Yes! I will leave the festive scene,
The gay and courtly throng,
To wander through the forests green,
And listen to thy song.

The waters like a mirror seem,

For every beaming star;

Then haste to yonder silent stream
And strike the light guitar.

And when thou tell'st of one, whose tears
Were shed for her true knight,
Bethink thee of thy maiden's fears
When thou wert in the fight-
Nor longer brave the battle plain,
Nor roam from me afar,

But sing hope's long forgotten strain,
And strike the light guitar.

Should these Fond Hopes.

Should these fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy young heart employ;
Should the cold world come to wake thee

From all the visions of youth and joy;

Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish

Him who once thought thy young heart his own, All, like spring birds, falsely vanish,

And leave thy winter unheeded and lone :

Oh! 'tis then, he, thou hast slighted,

Would come to cheer thee, when all seemed o'er, When the truant, lost and blighted,

Would to his bosom be taken once more:
Like that dear bird, we both can remember,
Who left us while summer shone around;
But when chill'd by bleak December,
Upon our threshold a welcome still found.

The Mellow Horn.

At dawn, Aurora gaily breaks,
In all her proud attire,
Majestic o'er the glassy lakes,
Reflecting liquid fire.

All nature smiles to usher in
The blushing queen of morn;
And huntsmen with the day begin
To wind the mellow horn.

And huntsmen with, &c.

At eve, when gloomy shades obscure
The tranquil Shepherd's cot,
When tinkling bells are heard no more,

And daily toil forgot;

"Tis then the sweet enchanting note,

On Zephyrs gently borne,

With witching cadence seems to float,
Around the mellow horn.

With witching cadence, &c.

As a Beam o'er the Face.

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be ting'd with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring,
For which joy has no balm, and affliction no sting!
Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay,
Like a dead, leafless branch, in the summer's bright
ray;

The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain,
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.

With Helmet on his Brow.

Sung by Mr. POVEY.

With helmet on his brow, and sabre on his thigh, The soldier mounts his gallant steed to conquer or to

die:

His plume, like a pennon, streams on the wanton summer wind,

In the path of glory still that white plume shalt thou

find;

Then let the trumpet's blast to the brazen drum reply,

'A soldier must with honor live, or at once with honor die.'

O bright as his own good sword, a soldier's fame

must be,

And pure as the plume that floats above his helm, so white and free,

No fear in his heart must dwell, but the dread that shame may throw

One spot upon that blade so bright, one stain on that plume of snow;

Then let the trumpet's blast to the brazen drum reply,

'A soldier must with honor live, or at once with honor die.'

My Heart and Lute,
I give thee all, I can no more,
Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well,
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute can tell.
I give thee all, I can no more,

Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.

Though love and song may fail, alas,
To keep life's clouds away,
At least 'twill make them lighter pass,
Or gild them if they stay.

If ever care his discord flings,

O'er life's enchanted strain,
Let love but gently touch the strings,
"Twill all be sweet again.
I give thee all, &c.

Anna of Conway.

When morn's ruddy blushes illumine the sky,
Away o'er the mountains I cheerfully hie,
To the fair or the market, whiche'er it may be,
I care not, since Anna looks kindly on me,
Yes! Anna of Conway looks kindly on me.

As I push off my boat, when the evening is gray,
A supply to provide for the market next day,
O'er the fisherman's labors I whistle with glee,
Since Anna, sweet Anna, is watching for me,
Yes! Anna of Conway is watching for me.

Ere long, at the church, wedlock's knot will be tied,
Then proudly I'll bear to our cottage my bride;
My bosom from care and anxiety free,
Since Anna, sweet Anna, smiles only for me,
Yes! Anna of Conway smiles only for me.

The Lad that I Love.

The lad that I love no lassie shall know, oh! oh! The path that he treads to no one I'll show, oh! oh! His heart is all truth whenever we meet,

Then why should new faces e'er teach him deceit ? Oh, no, I will keep him, and cherish him so, oh! oh! That beauty herself sha'n't tempt him to go, oh! oh!

The church is hard by I very well know, oh! oh! He show'd me the door, and press'd my hand so, oh! oh!

Love, honor, obey, are the words to be said,

And I'll say 'em, and keep 'em whenever I wed,
That is, if I marry the man that I know, oh! oh!
If not, poor soul, I shall bother him so, oh! oh!

My fortune's my face, which I hope I may show, oh! oh!

"Tis honest, and that is a treasure I know, oh! oh! This poor little hand is all I can give,

And where I once pledge it, it ever shall live;

For the heart's in the hand I mean to bestow, oh! oh! And hands are the gifts which make the heart glow, oh! oh!

Isabel,

Wake, dearest, wake! and again united

We'll rove by yonder sea;

And where our first vows of love were plighted,

Our last farewell shall be;