THE ROSE OF AFFECTION.
[BENSON.]

Of all the sweet flowers that bloom in the spring,
Of all the gay birds that float on the wing,
Give me the pure violet and lily so pale,

The thrush and the linnet, the pride of the vale;
But the queen of all flowers, whose worth I'll impart,
Is the rose of affection that blooms in the heart.
Then give me a girl with a heart that's sincere,
And the eye that can drop an affectionate tear:
Thus the rose and the lily shall gracefully twine,
An emblem of beauty, where virtues combine;
For the queen of all flowers, whose worth I'll impart,
Is the rose of affection that blooms in the heart.

THE OAK AND THE IVY.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by E. RANSFORD, In the depth of the forest an old oak grew, The pride of the greenwood there; O'er his branches the ivy her mantle threw, When the forest boughs were bare. She clung like a bride to his sturdy side, And her shining leaves so green

Made him blithe and gay through the live-long day, In the midst of a winter scene.

Oh! long may the oak and the ivy stand

The pride and the boast of our native land!

Oh the oak of the forest told me true,
And I echo his tale in song,

That the ivy his branches made fair to view,
While the oak made the ivy strong;
'Twas a union good, in the old deep wood
Had each, for itself, grown there,
The plant, alone, had no beauty shown,
And the boughs of the tree 'd been bare.
Then long may the oak and the ivy stand,
The pride and the boast of our native land!

Then let's copy the oak and the ivy-green,
And like Britons go hand in hand;
And firm as our oaks may our sons be seen,
In the cause of their native land;
May our daughters fair, like the ivy, share
The arms of the parent tree;

While we all unite in our strength and might
For our homes and for liberty.

As long as the oak and the ivy stand

The pride and the boast of our native land!

OLD ENGLAND FOR EVER SHALL WEATHER THE STORM.

D. A. O'MEARA.]

[Music by THOMAS WILLIAMS.

Old England! thy stamina never has yielded
To the ills that have menaced abroad and at home;
And while all your energy nobly is wielded,

Triumphant you still shall support Freedom's dome; Distress for a moment may dim your bright glory,

But the cloud shall pass over-no care shall deform: Thy councils and people shall tell the proud story— Old England for ever shall weather the storm. Old England, &c.

Thy force, single-handed, has e'er been victorious;
The friend of the suff'ring, the pride of the brave!
Thy struggles, privations, have ever been glorious-
The birthplace of liberty-home of the slave.
Yes, yes, there's a spirit within thee proclaiming,
No blast of misfortune-no blast shall disarm,
Like thy own native oak, the rude tempest disdaining,
Old England for ever shall weather the storm!
Old England, &c.

CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.

[ANONYMOUS.]

Charlie is my darling,

My darling-my darling!

Charlie is my darling,

The young cavalier!

'Twas on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,

When first I saw my brave Monteith,
The young cavalier.

As he came marching up the brae
The pipes play'd loud and clear,
And a' the clan came running out
To meet the cavalier.

Wi' Highland bonnet on his head
And claymore long and clear,

He came to fight for Scotland's rights,
My brave cavalier.

Oh! Charlie, &c.

ADIEU, ADIEU, MY NATIVE SHORE!

[LORD BYRON.]

Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The night winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon sun that sets upon the sea

We follow in his flight;

Farewell, awhile, to him and thee!

My native land, good night!

With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine,

Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.

F

Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!
And when ye fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My native land, good night!

MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT.

J. A. WADE.]

Meet me by moonlight alone,

[Music by J. A. WADE.

And then I will tell you a tale-
Must be told by the moonlight alone,
In the grove at the end of the vale.
You must promise to come, for I said
I would show the night flowers their queen,
Nay, turn not away thy sweet head,
"Tis the loveliest ever was seen.

Oh! meet me by moonlight alone.

Daylight may do for the gay,

The thoughtless, the heartless, the free;
But there's something about the moon's ray
That is sweeter to you and to me.
Oh! remember, be sure to be there;

For though dearly a moonlight I prize,

I care not for all in the air,

If I want the sweet light of your eyes.
So meet me by moonlight alone.

THE BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER.

Sir WALTER SCOTT.]

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,

[Music by A. LEE.

Why, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,

All the blue bonnets are over the border!

Many a banner spread flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story;

Mount and make ready, then, sons of the mountain glen,

Fight for your Queen, and the old Scottish glory. Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing; Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are boundingStand to your arms, and march in good order! England shall many a day tell of the bloody fray, When the blue bonnets came over the border!

THE BANNER OF WAR.

PRINCE HOARE.]

[Music by JOHN BRAHAM.

Behold the "Britannia," how stately and brave
She floats on the ambient tides;

For empire designed, o'er the turbulent wave
How trim and how gallant she rides!

Yet love in a true Briton's heart
With glory contends for a part,

And the fair cheek of beauty with tears is impearl'd
When the banner, the banner of war, is unfurl'd!

On the shore how alert, how intrepid her crew-
How firm at their sovereign's command;
Or dauntless o'er oceans her foes to pursue,
And die for the cause of our land!

Yet one tear ere the heroes depart,

One sigh shall be drawn from the heart;
One kiss on the cheek which sweet sorrow 's impearl'd,
When the banner, the banner of war, is unfurl'd.

Now, forth to the contest! the battle swells high,
And fierce round the vessel it roars:

Hark! the sons of Britannia "To victory!" cry,
And victory sounds to our shores.