THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that, when a child smiles in its sleep, it is "talking with angels." [Music by S. LOVER, SAMUEL LOVER.] A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild raging sea; Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh, come back to me!" And smiled in her face as she bended her knee; My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." "And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father! For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; Her child, with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee." THE ISLE OF ROSES. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by J. W. HOBBS. They say there's an isle where but roses grow, That spot did I know, it is there I'd go, And be of that island the queen. I'd whisper farewell to the home where I dwell, They say that the rose, in that fairy isle, The rose from my cheek, and the light of my smile, THE FLOWER GATHERERS. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by STEPHEN GLOVER. Gathering flow'rs from the break of morn, Ho! for the woods at the dawn of day! Shaking the dew from the woodland flow'rs! Lady, arise from your golden sleep; Cull'd from the banks of the woodland streams. JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. ROBERT BURNS.] [Scotch Air. John Anderson, my jo, John, when Nature first began To try her canny hand, John, her master-work was man ; And you among them a', John, so trig from top to toe, She prov'd to be nae journey work, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, ye were my first conceit, I think nae shame to own, John, I lo'ed ye ear' and late: They say ye're turning auld, John, and what though it be so, Ye're aye the same kind man to me, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, when we were first acquaint, Your locks were like the raven, your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, your locks are like the snow, Yet blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, Jolm, we've had wi' ane anither; Now we maun totter down, John, but hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. FAR, FAR AWAY AT SEA. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by J. W. HOBBS. "Far, far away at sea:" Thus I heard a mother sing, In its bright blue laughing eye, As she rock'd it on her knee, Far, far away at sea, There are many that we love; FREE AS THE AIR. Mrs. W. TAYLOR.] Free as the air I will be, [Music by J. BLEWITT. Like a breeze on a sweet summer's day, Where the butterfly wingeth her way. Free as the air I will be, Free as the air, &c. Like the silver moon closing the day, As silently to the deep lake I am borne on her pale beams away; Where the sea-nymph her yellow hair laves, Free as the air, &c. SIMON THE CELLARER. W. H. BELLAMY.] [Music by J. L. HATTON. Old Simon the cellarer keeps a rare store Of Cyprus, and who can say how many more, Of sack and canary he never doth fail, And all the year round there is brewing of ale; From thence oft at curfew is wafted a fume- But there's a small cupboard behind the backstair, And Margery often is heard to declare, But Margery has, so the maids say, a tongue, |