She hail'd the sight,

And ev'ry night
The cottage rung,
As thus they sung:

Oh! dulce, dulce domum.

But soon, alas! this scene of bliss
Was changed to prospects dreary;
For war and honor roused each Swiss,
And Edward left his Mary.
To bold St. Gothard's height he rush❜d,
'Gainst Gallia's foes contending;
And, by unequal numbers crush'd,
He died his land defending.
The ev'ning come,

He sought not home,
Whilst she, distracted woman,
Grown wild with dread,

Now seeks him dead;

And hears the knell
That bids farewell
To dulce, dulce domum.

Now to the Lists.

Sung by Mr. ANDERSON.

Now to the lists, brave knights away,
The sun is brightly beaming,
Our men at arms aloft display

Our banners red and streaming;

Our crests upon each gonfalon
Soar proudly high and waving,
As though the vict'ry now were won,
By courtly deeds and braving.

March to the lists, brave knights away,
The trump is shrilly sounding,

The heralds call the gay tourney,
Our restless barbs are bounding.
Mount on our gallant barbs away,
While round our hauberks twining,
Our ladies' scarfs and colors gay
Play in the sunbeams shining.
With trusty lance and brands away,
In ladies' love confiding;

To tilt and play in the courtly fray,
'Neath bright eyes proudly riding.
March to the lists, &c.

Good-by.

I can bid you good morning, good day, or good night, At expense of perhaps one faint sigh,

Since I know a few hours will renew my delight;

But, oh! when I bid you good-by

My tongue becomes dull, and my heart becomes chill, And warm tears shut out light from each eye; My soul feels forebodings of deadliest ill,

When I try, love, to bid you good-by.

Then send me not from you, love, do let me stay, For I can't speak the word if I try;

Morn and eve I will wish you good night and good day,

But I can't nor I won't say good-by!

My Beautiful Jean.

By J. J. WILLson.

Slow broke the morn o'er the eastern hills glintin' White o'er the linns fell the foam o' the burn, The lav'rock and mavis their carols were chantin', When lanely I wander'd my sorrow to mourn.

Sweet bloom'd the heather amang the green buckan,
Dew-deck'd the gowan and daisy were seen;
But a flow'ret I miss'd there, the queen too I reckon,
Of a' bonnie blossoms, my beautiful Jean.

For Jeanie had fallen as droops the fair lily,

Or mild blushing rose 'neath the deluging rain ; For Jeanie had fallen, the sweet maid of Killie, In trusting to many and doubting of ane.

Sing on, thou blithe lav'rock, thy song to the mornin', The tears of remembrance shall flow frae my e'en, Bloom on, ye wild flowers, the breckan adornin', Ye'll mind me in sorrow of beautiful Jean.

Sandy o'er the Lea.

AIR-"Comin' thro' the rye."

I winna marry ony man but Sandy o'er the lea;
1 winna marry ony man but Sandy o'er the lea:
I winna hae the dominee, for guid he canna be,
But I will hae my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the lea,
For he's ay a-kissing, kissing, ay a-kissing me:
He's ay a-kissing, kissing, ay a-kissing me.

I winna hae the minister, for all his godly looks:
Nor yet will I the lawyer hae, for a' his wily crooks;
I winna hae the ploughman lad, nor yet will I the
miller,

But I will hae my Sandy lad, without a penny sil

ler.

For he's ay a-kissing, &c.

I winna hae the soldier lad, for he gangs to the war, I winna hae the sailor lad, because he smells o' tar: I winna hae the lord nor laird, for a' their meikle gear, But I will hae my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the muir. For he's ay a-kissing, &c.

The Kiss,

By LORD BYRON.

The kiss, dear maid, thy lips have left,
Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.

The parting glance that fondly gleams,
An equal love may see,

The tear that from the eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.

The kiss, &c.

I ask no pledge to make me blest,
In gazing when alone;

Nor one memorial for a breast,

Whose thoughts are all thine own.
By day or night, in weal or wo,
That heart, no longer free,

Must bear the love it cannot show,

And silent ache for thee.

The kiss, &c.

The World's Deceit.

By A. BROOKE.

"Tis said the joys which childhood knows, no future agé can bring,

For every path is strewed with flowers, when life is in its spring:

And fondly men regret the days, they ne'er again shall see

But I can scarce regret their loss, they never bloomed for me!

When youth the flattering spell receives, of love from woman's heart,

He cannot, will not, think how soon, those rainbow dreams depart.

It is indeed a fairer show, that steals away the mind

But oh! to lift the veil and see, the hollowness behind! Around the sons of wealth and pow'r, some glittering phantoms play :

Are these the friends to soothe in age-to cherish in decay?

No! when the star of fortune sets, their faithless hearts recoil,

They leave the wretch, alone to weep, or revel in his spoil!

Thus man must still repose upon some visionary stay, Entwine his spirit round a shade,—and feel it shrink away:

But when, from every earthly joy, the fainting soul is riven,

In mercy spare the thread, on which he hangs his hopes of heaven.

The Chough and Crow,

A CELEBRATED GIPSY GLEE.

The chough and crow to roost are gone,
The owl sits on the tree,

The hushed wind wails, with feeble moan,
Like infant charity.

The wild fire dances on the fen,

The red star sheds its ray,

Uprouse ye, then, my merry men,

It is our op'ning day."

Chorus.-Uprouse ye, then, my merry men, &c.

Both child and nurse are fast asleep,

And closed is every flower,

And winking tapers faintly peep

High from my lady's bower;