Kelvin Grove.

Let us haste to Kelvin Grove, bonny laddie, O, The sweet scene of early love, bonny laddie, O, Farewell to cot and mill, farewell to dell and hill; We'll fondly gaze adieu, bonny laddie, O.

Hark! the drums to arms beat, bonny laddie, O, Let us march, our foes to meet, bonny laddie, O, When in the battle field, love's guardian angel shield, And my prayer shall be for thee, bonny laddie, O.

If thou'rt wounded in the strife, bonny laddie, O, I will cheer and guard thy life, bonny laddie, O, Amid dread war's alarms, thy pillow be my arms, Till health again restore my dear bonny laddie, O.

When peace shall bless our shore, bonny laddie, O, To our native hills once more, bonny laddie, O, With little cot and mill, beside the fall and hill, And Scotland's sons shall hail my bonny laddie, O.

They're aꞌ noddin.

As sung by Mrs. AUSTIN.

And they're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
And they're a' noddin, at our house at hame;
The cats lo'e milk and the dogs lo❜e broo,
The lads lo'e lasses and the lasses lo'e lads too;
And they're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
And they're a' noddin, at our house at hame.

O they're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
O they're a' noddin at our house at hame;
In comes old dame wi' a pan o' good broo,

The de'il take tak' ye a' for ye've been a noddin too;
And we're a' noddin, &c.

O we're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
O we're a' noddin at our house at hame;
An' how d'ye dame, and how d'ye thrive,

An' how many bairns ha' ye? Lassie, I ha' five;
And they're a' noddin, &c.

O we're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,

O we're a' noddin, at our house at hame;

But the drums they beat, and the pipes they play, And the foulk are a' crazy for to march away;

While we're a' noddin, &c.

O we're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,

O we're a' noddin, at our house at hame,
My Jammie tarry not, when your country ca's,
For glory waits on him wha for Scotland fa's;
While we're a' noddin, &c.

The Minute Gun at Sea.

Let him who sighs in sadness hear,
Rejoice and know a friend is near:
What heavenly sounds are those I hear-
What being comes the gloom to cheer?

When in the storm on Albion's coast,
The night-watch guards his weary, weary post,
From thoughts of danger free;

He marks some vessel's dusky form,
And hears, amid the howling storm,
The minute gun at sea.

Swift on the shore a hardy few,

The life-boat manned with a gallant, gallant crew,
And dare the dangerous wave;

Through the wild surf they cleave their way,
Lost in the foam, nor know dismay,

For they go the crew to save.

But oh! what raptures fill each breast,
Of the hapless crew of the ship distress'd:
Then landed safe, what joys to tell

Of all the dangers that befell;

Then is heard no more,

By the watch on the shore,
The minute gun at sea.

March to the Battle Field.
As sung by Mr. HORN.

March to the battle field;

The foe is now before us,
Each heart is freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us;
The woes, the pains,
The galling chains,
Which kept our spirits under,
In proud disdain,
We've broke again,

And tore each link asunder!
March to the battle field,

The foe is now before us,
Each heart is freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us.

Who, for his country brave,

Would fly from her invader?

Who, his base life to save,

Would, traitor-like, degrade her?
Our hallow'd cause,

Our home and laws,
'Gainst tyrant pow'r sustaining,
We'll gain a crown

Of bright renown,

Or die, our rights maintaining!

March, &c.

The Campbells are comin.
As sung by Miss STEPHENS.

The Campbells are comin, O ho, O ho, The Campbells are comin, O ho, O ho, The Campbells are comin

From bonny Loch Lomond.

The Campbells are comin, O ho, O ho.

The great Argyle he goes before,
He makes the guns and cannons roar;
Wi' sound o' trumpet, pipe and drum,
And banners waving in the sun.
The Campbells are comin, &c.

Wi' bonnet blue, auld Scotia's pride,
And braid claymore hung at their side,
Wi' plumes all nodding in the wind,
They ha'e no left a man behind.
The Campbells are comin, &c.

Hark! hark! the pibroch's sound I hear,
Now bonnie lassie dinna' fear;
'Tis honor calls, I must away,
Argyle's the word-and ours the day.
The Campbells are comin, &c.

The Minstrel's Return.
The minstrel's return'd from the war,
With spirits as buoyant as air;
And thus on his tuneful guitar,

He sings in the bower of his fair:
The noise of the battle is over,

The bugle no more calls to arms, A soldier no more, but a lover,

I kneel to the power of thy charms!

Sweet lady, dear lady, I'm thine,

I bend to the magic of beauty,
Though the helmet and banner are mine,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty.

The minstrel his suit warmly prest,

She blush'd, sigh'd, and hung down her head, Till conquer'd, she fell on his breast, And thus to the happy youth said: "The bugle shall part us, love, never, My bosom thy pillow shall be; Till death tears thee from me for ever, Still faithful, I'll perish with thee." Sweet lady, dear lady, I'm thine,

I bend to the magic of beauty!
Though the helmet and banner are mine,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty.

But fame called the youth to the field,
His banner way'd over his head;
He gave his guitar for a shield,

But soon he laid low with the dead:
While she, o'er her young hero bending,
Receiv'd his expiring adieu :

"I die, while my country defending,
With my heart to my lady-love true.”
"Oh! death!" then she sigh'd, "I am thine,
I tear off the roses of beauty,

For the grave of my hero is mine,

He died true to love and to duty!"

Meeting of the Waters.

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet,
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart
E'er the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart,