PHILIP THE FALCONER.

W. H. BELLAMY.]

[Music by E. J. LODER.

Young Philip the Falconer's up with the day,

With his merlin on his arm,

And down the mill-meadows has taken his way
To hawk-and pray where's the harm?
Philip is stalwart, and Philip is young,
And Philip, they say, has a musical tongue;
The miller's young sister is fresh and is fair,
And Philip he always is hawking there!
For he vows and declares, believe it or not,
There's not in the kingdom, for herons, such a spot;
And falcons, they say, to fly true to their prey,
Should be train'd in the morning early.

The miller's to market to buy him some corn,
For work it should never stand still;

A maiden is loitering under the thorn,
In the meadow below the mill;

And Philip's grown tired of a bachelor's life, Thinks the miller's young sister would make a good wife;

And so comes a whisper, and so comes a smile,

And then a long leave-taking over the stile.
Oh, when he returns from market, I guess,
The miller will find he's a sister the less!
For maidens, they say, do not always say "nay,"
When they're asked in the morning early.

The miller's returned to a comfortless home,
No maiden's sweet voice is there;

He sought o'er the hills, through the valleys and fields,
For comfort his spirits to cheer.

But the birds sang less sweetly, the streams murmur'd low,

The winds were all cross, and the mill wouldn't go:
But he met little Mary just down by the lea;—
Now they both had long lov'd, when they thought their
hearts free ;-

“Oh, Mary,” he said, and her hand press'd the while, "Shall we talk of our wedding just down by the stile ?" She blush'd, turn'd away, but she didn't say "nay," So they married one morning early.

SHE WAS SISTER TO THE ANGELS.
J. E. CARPENTER.]
[Music by J. W. HOBBS.

She was sister to the angels,
For we knew we could not trace,
In that form of radiant beauty,
Any stain of earthly race;

Like a sunbeam was her laughter,
And of heav'n's own blue, her eye;
And we wonder'd not they took her
To their home beyond the sky:
Like a shadow that comes flitting,
Through some bright and sunny beam;
She has pass'd away before us,

And has left us but a dream.

There are flowers that fade in summer,
That the spring-time may restore;
But the heart grows sad and weary,
Ere the winter time is o'er.
In a thousand sunny places,

We their beauteous forms may view;
But they seem not half so lovely

As the flowers our childhood knew.
So in all that's fair around us,
We in part recall that face,

That had less of earth than Heaven,
Yet of each had left a trace.

T. H. BAYLY.]

SING ON, SING ON.

[Music by J. C. CLIFTON

Oh! give me a sweet and a shady bow'r
On the banks of a river clear and bright

And let not a ray of the sun have pow'r

To peep thro' the woodbines from morn till night: Then sing me the songs that I used to hear,

In our own sweet home more fair than this; And if on my cheek you behold a tear,

Sing on, sing on, for such tears are bliss.

When last we met in that lonely bow'r

We knew not the meaning of such fond tears:
We are older now, and weep for some

Who shar'd in the pleasure of former years.
Ah! when I remember how oft they heard
That song in a shady spot like this,
Tho' a tear may fall for ev'ry word,
Sing on, sing on, for such tears are bliss.

A SEA-SIDE SERENADE.

THOMAS MILLER.]

[Music by HENRY FARMER.

On thee while fondly dreaming,
I see the moonlight gleaming,
Upon the silver sea;

And think her beams resemble
The tears which I saw tremble,
When last I looked on thee!

And as the stars lie sparkling
Or the dim waves roll darkling
Far out upon the sea,

So Hope comes faintly shining,
So memory goes repining,

When thou art not with me.

Or to the lighthouse turning
In the far distance burning,
A watchman on the sea,
I picture thee while sleeping
And see some angel keeping
A silent watch o'er thee.

BANKS OF ALLAN WATER.

M. G. LEWIS.]

On the banks of Allan Water,

[Scotch Air.

When the sweet spring-time did fall,
Was the miller's lovely daughter,

The fairest of them all.

For his bride a soldier sought her,
And a winning tongue had he,
On the banks of Allan water
None was so gay as she.

On the banks of Allan water,

When brown autumn spreads its storc
Then I saw the miller's daughter,
But she smiled no more;

For the summer grief had brought her,
And the soldier false was he,

On the banks of Allan Water
None was so sad as she.

On the banks of Allan Water,
When the winter snow fell fast,
Still was seen the miller's daughter;
Chilling blew the blast;

But the miller's lovely daughter

Both from cold and care was free,

On the banks of Allan water

There a corpse lay she.

COME DWELL WITH ME.

T. H. BAYLY.]

[Music by A. LEE,

Come, dwell with me, come, dwell with me,
And our home shall be, our home shall be,
A pleasant cot, in a tranquil spot,

With a distant view of each changing scene.
My cottage is a magic scene,

The sheltering boughs seem over green,

The streamlet as it flows along
Seems murm'ring forth a fairy song.

Come, dwell with me, &c.

The tendrils of the purple vine
Around the rustic porch will twine,
The woodbine and the myrtle flower
Shall make each casement seem a bower.
1 will not make thee once regret
The gay saloons where first we met.
"Twill be my pride to hear thee say,
Love makes this valley far more gay.

Come, dwell with me, &c.

O LET ME LIKE A SOLDIER FALL.

EDWARD FITZBALL.]

[Music by W, V. WALLACE.

O let me like a soldier fall

Upon some open plain;

This breast, expanding for the ball
To blot out every stain;

Brave, manly hearts confer my doom,
That gentler ones may tell
Howe'er forgot, unknown my tomb,
I like a soldier fell.

I only ask of that proud race
Which ends its blaze in me,
To die the last and not disgrace
Its ancient chivalry;

Though o'er my clay no banner wave
Nor trumpet requiem swell;

Enough, they murmur at my grave
He like a soldier fell.

THE LADS OF THE VILLAGE.

CHARLES DIBDIN.]

[Music by C. DIBDIN.

While the lads of the village shall merrily, ah,
Sound the tabors, I'll hand thee along,

D