THE WIND AND THE BEAM!

Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.] [Music by JOHN BLOCKLEY,

The wind and the beam loved the rose,

And the rose loved one;

For, who seeks the wind as it blows,
Or loves, or loves not the sun?

None knew whence the humble wind stole,
Poor sport of the skies;

None dreamt that the wind had a soul,

In its mournful sighs.

The wind, &c.

Oh, happy beam, how canst thou prove
That bright love of thine?

In thy light is the proof of thy love,
Thou hast, thou hast but to shine.
How else can the wind reveal,

Unwelcome its sigh;

Mute to its rose let it steal,

Its proof is to die!

The wind, &c.

ORANGES, SWEET ORANGES!
[DOUGLAS JERROLD.]

Oh, oranges, sweet oranges,

Plumpy cheeks that peep in trees,
The crabbed'st churl in all the south
Would hardly let a thirsty mouth
Gaze at ye, and not long to taste,
Nor grant one golden kiss at last.
La, la, la-la sol fa mi-

My lady look'd through the orange tree.

Yet cheeks there are, yet cheeks there are,
Sweeter, oh God! how far!

That make a thirst like very death,

Down to the heart, through lips and breath ;
And if you ask a taste of those,

The kindest owners would turn foes.

Oh, la, la-la sol fa mi

My lady's down the orange tree.

NAPOLEON'S MIDNIGHT REVIEW.

Baron ZEDLITZ.]

[Music by Chevalier NEUKоMM.

At midnight's dreary hour is heard a fearful sound, The spectre-drummer's summons, parading round and

round;

With his fleshless hands fast rolling, rolling in wonted play

That awful signal rally, he takes his ghostly way. Oh! strange and wild is the 'larum peal that through the darkness comes,

It stirs, it wakens the valiant ones, laid low in their grassy tcmbs;

The hearts that lie in the depths congealed of northern ice and snows,

And those o'er whose unnumber'd heaps Italian summer

glows,

The brave in the slimy Nile enwrapt, and in Arabia's sands,

They start from their graves, and arms again bedeck their glittering hands.

At the midnight hour, afar and near, th' unearthly clamours flow,

And he who pours the trumpet blast is riding to and fro; On their airy steeds on ev'ry side the thronging dead obey

The blood-stain'd hosts of the battle-field, in all their fierce array,

Ghostly, beneath their gleaming helms, the grinning skulls appear,

And countless weapons high in air, their bony hands

uprear.

And at the midnight hour the chieftain leaves his

grave;

Slowly he comes, on his charger white, amid his chosen

brave;

He wears no tow'ring plume, no mark of kingly pride, And small is the sheathed sword that hangs his shadowy form beside.

The boundless plain illuming, the yellow moonbeams shine,

The squadrons form, and the hero there surveys the warrior line;

The ranks salute their silent lord, the stately march

renew,

And now, with clanging music, pass before their master's view.

Marshals and generals round him in circling order go, And a word to one beside him the chieftain whispers low;

That word with lightning swiftness flies through all the wondrous train,

"France!" 'tis their watchword, and again—the password "St. Helen!"

Thus, at the midnight hour, along th' Elysian shore, Wanders a mighty spirit that toils on earth no more.

HAVE FAITH IN ONE ANOTHER.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by JAMES PERRING.

Have faith in one another,

When ye meet in friendship's name;
For the true friend is a brother,

And his heart should throb the same.
Though your path in life may differ,
Since the hour when first ye met,
Have faith in one another,

Ye may need that friendship yet.

Have faith in one another,

When ye whisper love's fond vow:
It will not be always summer,
Nor be always bright as now.
And when winter time comes o'er ye,
If some kindred heart ye share,
And have faith in one another,
Ye shall never more despair.

Have faith in one another,

For should doubt alone incline,
It would make the world a desert,
Where the sun would never shine.
We have all some transient sorrow
That o'ershadows us to-day;
But have faith in one another,
And it soon shall pass away.

Have faith in one another,

And let honour be your guide,
And let truth alone be spoken,
Whatever may betide.
The false may reign a season,
And oh! doubt not that it will;
But have faith in one another,

And the truth shall triumph still

OF WHAT IS THE OLD MAN

T. H. BAYLY.]

THINKING?

[Music by J. P. KNIGHT.

Of what is the old man thinking
As he leans on his oaken staff?
From the May-day pastime shrinking,
He shares not the merry laugh,
But the tears of the old man flow
As he looks on the young and gay,

And his grey head moving slow,
Keeps time to the air they play.
The elders around are drinking,

But not one cup will he quaff;
Of what is the old man thinking
As he leans on his oaken staff?

"Tis not with a vain repining
That the old man sheds a tear;
"Tis not for his strength declining,
He sighs not to linger here.
There's a spell in the air they play,
And the old man's eyes are dim,
For it calls up a past May-day,

And the dear friends lost to him.
From the scene before him shrinking,
From the dance and the merry laugh,
Of their calm repose he is thinking,

As he leans on his daken staff.

OLD ENGLAND IS OUR HOME.

MARY HOWITT.]

[Music by E. J. LODER.

Old England is our home, and Englishmen are we,
Our tongue is known in ev'ry clime, our flag in ev'ry

sea.

We will not say that we alone the right of freedom

know;

There's many a land that's free beside, but England made it so!

The thunder of her battle-ship was heard on many a shore,

But her healing words of peace are heard above the cannon's roar.

Then let us shout for England, the world-beloved England:

Let every true man shout with us, Hurrah! hurrah! for England!