The old Oaken Bucket.

BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH, ESQ.

TUNE-"Jessie, the Flower of Dumblane."

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection recalls them to view
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
And ev'ry lov'd spot that my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood
by it,

The bridge and the rock, where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, and the dairy house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket, which hung in the well; The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucket

The moss cover'd bucket, which hung in the well.

That moss cover'd vessel I hail as a treasure,

For often at noon, when return'd from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seiz'd it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell, Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucket,

The moss cover'd bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As pois'd on the curb it inclin'd to my lips;
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips,
And now far remov'd from the lov'd situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well.
The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucket,
The moss cover'd bucket arose from the well.

Hurrah for the White, Red, and Blue.
As sung by Mrs. HACKET.

Hush'd is the clamorous trumpet of war,
Hush'd, hush'd is the trumpet of war;
The soldier's retired from the clangor of arms,
The drum rolls a peaceful hurrah.

"Tis cheering to think on the past,

"Tis cheering to think we've been true, 'Tis cheering to look on our stars and our stripes, And gaze on our white, red, and blue. Hurrah for the white, red, and blue, (repeat.) 'Tis cheering to look on our stars and our stripes, And gaze on our white, red, and blue.

Here's a sigh for the brave that are dead,
Here's a sigh for the brave that are dead,
And who would not sigh for the glorious brave
That rest on a patriot bed?

"Tis glory, for country to die,

"Tis glory that's solid and true;

'Tis glory, to sleep 'neath our stars and our stripes, And die for our white, red, and blue.

Hurrah for the white, red, and blue, (repeat,) "Tis glory to sleep 'neath our stars and our stripes, And die for our white, red, and blue.

Here's freedom of thought and of deed,

Here's freedom in valley and plain;

The first song of freedom that rose on our hills,
Our sea shore re-echoed again.

"Tis good to love country and friends,
"Tis good to be honest and true;

"Tis good to die shouting at sea or on shore;
"Hurrah for the white, red, and blue!"
Hurrah for the white, red, and blue, (repeat.)

'Tis good to die shouting, at sea or on shore,
"Hurrah for the white, red, and blue!"

morrow, and fleet in my arms Like fai- ry

be ador'd, as this moment thou art, Let thy

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,

That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,

To which time will but make thee more dear. Oh! the heart that has truly lov'd, never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close;

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd, when he rose.

Erie and Champlain.

Hail to the day which arises in splendor,
Shedding the lustre of victory far,
Long shall its glory illumine September,

Which twice beheld freemen the victors in war.
Rous'd by the spirit of heaven-born freedom,
Perry her lightning pours over the lake,
His falchion, a meteor, glitters to lead them,
And swift on the foemen in thunders they break.
Loud swells the cannon's roar,

Round Erie's sounding shore,
Answer'd in volleys by musketry's voice,
"Till Britain's cross descends,
And the haughty foe bends;

Victory, glory, Columbians, rejoice.

Victory,

Hail to the day, which in splendor returning,
Lights us to conquest and glory again;

Time, hold that year-still the war-torch was burning,
And threw its red ray on the waves of Champlain.
Rous'd by the spirit that conquer'd for Perry,
Dauntless McDonough advanc'd to the fray,
Instant the glory that brighten'd Lake Erie,
Burst on Champlain with the splendor of day;
Loud swells the cannons' roar,

On Plattsburg's bloody shore,
Britons retreat from the tempest of war,
Prevost deserts the field,

While the gallant ships yield;
Victory, glory, Columbians, huzza.

Hail to the day, which, recorded in story,
Lives the bright record of unfading fame;
Long shall Columbians, inspir'd by its glory,
Hail its returning with joyous acclaim.
Victory scatter'd profusely the laurel

Over our heroes, on land and on flood,
Britain, astonish'd, relinquish'd the quarrel,
Peace saw her olive arise from the blood.
Now cannons cease to roar

Round freedom's peaceful shore,
Silent and hush'd is the war bugle's voice;
Let festive joys increase,

In the sunshine of peace,

Peace gain'd by victory; freemen, rejoice.

Away o'er the blue Waves of Ocean.
As sung by Signorina GARCIA.

Away o er the blue waves of ocean,

1 go to my own native shores;
Yet this bosom will glow with devotion

To the clime and the scenes it adores.