My subjects are many,
My realm it is wide,
And spot there's not any
But where I abide.

Gladd'ning the earth as they bloom in the sun,
The flowers are beautiful, every one!

Earth's weary ones come

To my roseate bowers,
And many a home

I make glad by the flowers;
For every sweet bloom

Owns a power within,
From care and from gloom

The crush'd spirit to win!

Gladd'ning the earth as they bloom in the sun,
The flowers are beautiful, every one!

I'm the queen of the flowers,
And the young and the free
Seek the bright sunny bowers
And pay homage to me:
I wreathe the rich chalice,

And where flow'rets are not,
In cot or in palace,

Beware of the spot!

Who loves not the flowers loves not the sun,
They bloom for the innocent, every one!

OH, NO! WE NEVER MENTION HER.

T. H. BAYLY.]

[Music by Sir H. R. BISHOP.

Oh, no! we never mention her,
Her name is never heard;

My lips are now forbid to speak

That once familiar word:

From sport to sport they hurry me,
To banish my regret;

And when they win a smile from me,
They think that I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene
The charms that others see;
Bat were I in a foreign land,
They'd find no change in me.
"Tis true that I behold no more
The valley where we met,
I do not see the hawthorn-tree;
But how can I forget?

For oh! there are so many things
Recal the past to me,—
The breeze upon the sunny hills,
The billows of the sea;
The rosy tint that decks the sky
Before the sun is set ;-
Ay, every leaf I look upon
Forbids that I forget.

They tell me she is happy now,
The gayest of the gay;

They hint that she forgets me too,-
But I heed not what they say:
Perhaps like me she struggles with
Each feeling of regret;

But if she loves as I have loved,
She never can forget.

THE SEA.

BARRY CORNWALL.]

[Music by NEUKOMM

The sea, the sea, the open sea,

The blue, the fresh, the ever free:
Without a mark, without a bound;

It runneth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea;

I am where I would ever be,

With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, oh, how I love to ride

On the fierce, the foaming, bursting tide,
Where every mad wave drowns the moon,
And whistles aloft its tempest tune;
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west wind doth blow.
I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the deep sea more and more,
And backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest-
And a mother she was and is to me,
For I was born on the open sea.

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
The whale it whistled, the porpoise roll'd,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcom'd to life the ocean child.

I have lived, since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a rover's life,

With wealth to spend and a

to
power range,
But never have sought or sigh'd for change;
And death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wide unbounded sea!

THE BRAVE OLD "TEMERAIRE."

J. DUFF.]

[Music by J. W. HOBBS.

Behold! how changed is yonder ship,
The wreck of former pride;
Methinks I see her as of old,

The glory of the tide

"She was the second ship in Nelson's line at the Battle of Trafalgar, and having little provisions or water, she was what sailors call 'flying light,' so as to be able to keep pace with the fast sailing 'Victory.' When the latter drew upon herself all

N

266

THE BOOK OF MODERN SONGS.

As when she came to Nelson's aid,
The battle's brunt to bear,
And nobly sought to lead the van,
The brave old "Temeraire."

When sailors speak of Trafalgar,
So famed for Nelson's fight,
With pride they tell of her career,
Her onward course, her might,
How when the victory was won,
She shone triumphant there.
With noble prize on either side,
The brave old "Temeraire."
Our friends depart, and are forgot,
As time rolls fleetly by;
In after years none, none are left
For them to heave a sigh:
But hist'ry's page will ever mark
The glories she did share,
And gild the sunset of her fate,
The brave old "Temeraire."

the enemy's fire, the 'Temeraire' tried to pass her, to take it in her stead, but Nelson himself hailed her to keep astern. The Temeraire' cut away her studding sails and held back, receiving the enemy's fire into her bows without returning a shot. Two hours later she came out with an enemy's seventy-four ship on each side of her, both her prizes, one lashed to her mainmast and the other to her anchor."-Ruskin's Notes on the Turner Gallery.

INDEX.

PATRIOTIC SONGS.

A song for the oak, the brave old oak
A traveller I have been from my birth
God save our gracious Queen

Happy land, happy land

In the depth of the forest an old oak grew
It was Dunois the young and brave

O'er Nelson's tomb with silent grief oppress'd
Oh, here's to the holly that kills melancholy

Old England is our home, and Englishmen are we...
Old England, thy stamina never has yielded
See the conquering hero comes

There's a land that bears a well-known name...
The flaunting flag of liberty...

The boast of old England, the pride of our Queen
When Britain first, at Heaven's command

NAVAL AND MILITARY.

At midnight's dreary hour is heard a fearful song
All in the downs the fleet was moor'd

Ah, pilot! 'tis a fearful night

Behold! how changed is yonder ship

Behold the Britannia, how stately and brave
Cheer up, cheer up, my mother dear
Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer
Come fill, fill the goblet, and then let us give
Courage, courage, hearts of England
Glowing with love, on fire for fame.

Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling

I'm afloat, I'm afloat, on the fierce rolling tide
In byegone days, what thoughts they raise
Mother, can this the glory be ?

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note

No stone marks the spot where the young hero sleeps....
O'er Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd

Oh, let me like a soldier fall...

...

Old Cunwell the pilot for many a year

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd