Where, faithful to his noble vow,
His war-cry fill'd the air,

"Be honour'd, aye, the bravest knight,
Be loved the fairest fair."

They owed the conquest to his arm,
And then his liege lord said,
"The heart that has for honour beat
By love must be repaid.

My daughter Isabel and thou

Shall be a wedded pair,

For thou art bravest of the brave,

She fairest of the fair."

And then they bound the holy knot
Before St. Mary's shrine,
That makes a paradise on earth,

If hearts and hands combine.
And every lord and lady bright
That were in chapel there,

Cried, "Honour'd be the bravest knight,
Be loved the fairest fair."

KITTY TYRRELL.

CHARLES JEFFERYS.]

[Music by C. W. GLOVER.

You're looking as fresh as the morn, love,
You're looking as bright as the day,
But while on your charms I'm dilating,
You're stealing my poor heart away.
But keep it, and welcome, mavourneen,
Its loss I'm not going to mourn;
Yet one heart's enough for a body,
So pray give me yours in return.

Mavourneen, mavourneen! &c.

I've built me a neat little cot, love,
I've pigs and potatoes in store,

I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love,
And may-be a pound or two more.

It's all very well to have riches,
But I'm such a covetous elf,

I can't help still sighing for something,
And, darling, that something's yourself.
Mavourneen, &c.

You're smiling, and that's a good sign, love:
Say "Yes," and you'll never repent,
Or if you would rather be silent,

Your silence I'll take for consent.
That good-natured dimple's a tell-tale;
Now all that I have is your own,
This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell,
Next week you'll be Mistress Malone.
Mavourneen, &c.

Let me have the rolling tide,

The chase and the raging battle;

The roar of the bold broadside,

And the sound of the cannon's rattle.

SOLDIER.

Oh! a soldier's life for me!

The march and the bugle sounding;

SAILOR.

But a sailor's bold and free

As the bark o'er the ocean bounding.

SOLDIER.

Though the same green turf we tread May be the soldier's pillow;

SAILOR.

Though the blue sky's overhead,
And beneath the trackless billow,-

Still a sailor

Вотн.

And a soldier knows no fears

When the signal calls to battle, And the music that he hears

Is the sound of the cannon's rattle.

SOLDIER.

We'd die for our native land,
As our sires of old before us,
In the fame of their patriot band,

And the banner that waves o'er us.

SAILOR.

And while woman's voice can cheer, Will Britain's bold defenders Make Britain's foes still fear

The flag that ne'er surrenders!

SOLDIER.

Oh! a soldier's life for me,

And a soul with ardour burning.

SAILOR.

Give me the rolling sea,

Yet for some bright smile returning.

SOLDIER.

'Mid the brave I'd take my stand In Britain's ARMY ever,—

SAILOR.

In the cause of our native land,
From the NAVY who could sever?

What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main?
Pale glist'ning pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells,
Bright things which gleam unreck'd of, and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea,

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! High hearts, and brave, are gather'd to thy breast, They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle's thunders will not break their rest;
Keep thy red gold, and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back, give back, the true and brave.

Give back the lost and lovely-those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long;
The pray'r went up through midnight's breathless
gloom,

And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song;
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy tow'rs o'erthrown,
But all, but all is not thine own.

To thee the love of woman hath gone down,
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,

O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flow'ry crown;
Yet must thou hear a voice-restore the
Earth shall reclaim her precious things f

Restore, restore the dead, thou se

"TWAS ON A SUNDAY MORNING.

CHARLES SWAIN.]

[Music by FRANK MORL

"Twas on a Sunday morning
Before the bells did peal;

A note came through my window
With Cupid on its seal.
And soon I heard a whisper
As soft as seraphs sing;
'Twas on a Sunday morning
Before the bells did ring.

The dawn had been but cloudy,
My heart had caught its gloom;
But now a sudden sunlight
Fill'd all my little room.
I kiss'd the note-'twas guarded
With ribbon, flower, and string;
"Twas on a Sunday morning
Before the bells did ring.

Oh! good was he, and handsome
As any in the land,

That vow'd to me his true heart-
His heart and faithful hand.
I hurried through the garden,
And back the gate did swing;
'Twas on a Sunday morning
Before the bells did ring.

My foot just turn'd the field-path,
And on the turf did rest,
When in his arms he caught me,
And strained me to his breast.
A tear was on his fond cheek-
Sweet tears that love can bring:
'Twas on a Sunday morning
Before the bells did ring.