Eagerly crowding on the deck

A hundred seamen stand,

Whose hearts beat high as they seek to catch A glance of their native land.

Whose hearts, &c.

A thunder roll and a heavy cloud,
And a mighty blast comes on,

Before whose powers the quivering masts
Beside the wreck are gone:

She strikes! she strikes! to the boats, hurrah!
A shriek of wild despair!

Down, down she goes, and the ocean gulph
Hath hushed the voices there!

An hour since, and a hundred hearts
With eager hopes beat high;
And eyes that fondly sought the shore
Have neared it but to die!
The voice of the storm is hush'd,

The blast is lull'd to a zephyr's breath, And the sea grows calm as an infant's smile O'er the hearts that rest beneath.

THE MEETING OF SHIPS.

[THOMAS MOORE.]

When o'er the silent seas alone

For days and nights we've cheerless gone,
Oh! they who've felt it know how sweet
Some sunny morn a sail to meet.

แ Ship ahoy!" our joyful cry,
Sparkling at once is every eye,

While answering back the sounds we hear,
"Ship ahoy-what cheer? what cheer ?"

Then sails are backed-we nearer come-
Kind words are said of friends and home;
And soon, too soon, we part with pain,
To toil o'er silent seas again.

T. FRICKER.]

OLD CHRISTMAS.

[Music by E. J. LODER.

Old Christmas, jolly Christmas, with thy gay and jocund face,

Let holly-branch and mistletoe thy ruddy temples grace, Come, circle round the festive board, while winter's snows do fall,

Thou'rt still a welcome visitor in cottage and in hall; And when we hail thy coming joy, on every brow we

trace

Old Christmas, jolly Christmas, with thy gay and jocund face.

Old Christmas, sober Christmas-there is many a

vacant seat

Around the piled and crackling hearth where friends were wont to meet;

And while we greet thy presence with a seeming merry state,

We sigh to think how many an ingle nook is desolate; And 'midst our glee and frolicking, some sorrow do we trace,

Old Christmas, jolly Christmas, with thy frozen pallid face.

Old Christmas, beaming Christmas, banish sorrow from thy brow,

Let's drink oblivion to the past-we cannot heed it

now;

Then take the chair we've placed for thee, and drain the brimming glass,

"Twill cheer thy cold and aged heart-nay, never let it pass!

And you must sing a song, old boy, and join us in our glee,

We cannot let old Christmas pass without a lay from thee.

THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE.

W. H. BELLAMY.]

[Music by S. NELSON,

The flaunting flag of liberty,

Of Gallia's sons the boast,
Oh! never may a Briton see
Upon the British coast.

The only flag that Freedom rears,
Her emblem on the seas,

Is "the flag that's braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!"

To aid the trampled rights of man,
And break oppression's chain;
The foremost in the battle's van,
It never floats in vain.

The mariner where'er he steers,

In every clime he sees

"The flag that's braved a thousand years

The battle and the breeze!"

If all unite as once we did,

To keep her flag unfurl'd,

Old England still may fearless bid
Defiance to the world.

But fast will flow a nation's tears

If lawless hands should seize

"The flag that's braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!"

MY HELEN IS THE FAIREST FLOWER.

T. KIRBY.]

My Helen is the fairest flower

[Music by T. KIRBY.

That ever graced the sun or shade,
Or decked with charms the lover's bower,
The desert wild, or mountain glade.

Her bosom fairer than the snow,

Or April showers, or May morn's breath,
Than moonlight rays, or ruby's glow,
Than weeping lily closed in death.

Yes, Helen is, &c.

Her azure eye when cast above
Is brighter than yon starry sky;
Her mellow voice in notes of love
First raised my soul to bliss on high;
Her cheeks they mock the rose's bloom,
Her dear, dear lips the coral's hue,
Her breath rich India's choice perfume,
Her breast is tender, kind, and true!
Yes, Helen, &c.

I'VE WATCHED WITH THEE THE DAYLIGHT STEALING.

MARK LEMON.]

[Music by F. ROMER.

I've watch'd with thee the daylight stealing
O'er the gloomy shades of night,

And felt whilst earth appear'd revealing
His beauties to the holy light,
That thou unto my soul wert gladness,
The life that made life-life to me,

That chased away each cloud of sadness,

And show'd how bright this world might be.

I've watch'd alone while night was throwing
Her dusky mantle o'er the skies,
Hiding beneath it deep, dark flowing,
The lustre of her starry eyes;

And thought if thou wert near to cheer me,
These brighter orbs had made it stay;
For such the spell when thou art near me,
That joy and light ne'er pass away.

MEET ME IN THE WILLOW GLEN. [Music by A. LEE.

Mrs. C. B. WILSON.]

Meet me in the willow glen,

When the silver moon is beaming,
Songs of love I'll sing thee then,
When all the world are dreaming.
Songs of love I'll sing thee then,
If you'll meet me in the willow glen.

No prying eye shall come, love,
No stranger foot be seen,
And the distant village hum, love,
Shall echo through the glen.
Meet me, &c.

To melodious mandolins

My songs I'll softly blend, love,
While to thee my melody

A soothing balm shall lend, love.
Meet me, &c.

THE BATTLES OF SEBASTOPOL.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by E. J. LODER.

'Twas twice three hundred noble ships

Bore down upon the main,

Swift as the greyhound from the slips
They strove the shore to gain;
One pulse in every proud breast beat
That gallant sight to see,

One thought alone ran through the fleet,
And that was-Victory!

Secure the dastard foeman lay

Behind his granite wall,

But courage yet shall win the day-
Sebastopol must fall!