With trembling haste the seal she breaks,
And reads my tender billet-doux.

The billet-doux when I receive,

I press it to my throbbing heart;
Sweet words, I cry-such joys you give,
Oh! never, never thence depart.
And now it to my lips is prest;
But when the magic name I view,
Again I clasp it to my breast,
My fond, my tender billet-doux.

совв.

POOR THEODORE'S FORGOT!

-GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Miss De Camp.

THE other day, when I was dancing
To the air you love so well,

MAZZINGHI.

And with the flowerets sweet advancing,

At your feet the offering fell, A sigh, your woe betraying,

O'erpower'd the smile you meant to give,

While in vain to speak essaying.

Ah! could I your griefs relieve:
But, alas! you love me not;
Poor Theodore's forgot!

O let me hope to see reviving

All the gaiety you know;

When, for your kind attention striving,
I was ever in your view:

My childish sports approving,

My trifling all your cares beguil'd;
Still on your brow no frown reproving,
You on your little orphan smil'd.
But, alas! &c.

CARLISLE.

THE SILKEN CORD.

BIRCHALL, LONDON.

Sung in Private Circles.

WITH conscious pride I view the band
Of faithful friends that round me stand,-
With pride exult that I alone

Can join these scatter'd gems in one;
For they're a wreath of pearls, and E
The silken cord on which they lie.
'Tis mine their inmost souls to see;
Unlock'd is every heart to me;
To me they cling, on me they rest,
And I've a place in every breast;
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.

HAIGN.

G. NICKS,

THE COTTAGE QUEEN.

PRESTON, LONDON.COM, AND A

Sung by Mrs Bland.

SAY, did you mark that lonely cot

Beside yon limpid spring,

G. NICKS.

Round which the honey-suckle sweet
And woodbine closely cling?
There dwelt a maid, 'midst rural scenes,
By Fashion's eye unseen;

And she, by all the rustic train,

Was call'd the COTTAGE QUEEN.

Her cheek was like the damask rose;
Her form was fair to view;
Her eye! the violet's azure bloom
Was never half so blue.

At tales of woe, soft trickling tears
Would grace her lilly neck,
As pearly drops of morning dew
The op'ning snow-drops deck.

Her heart was chastity itself;

Her thoughts were free from guile :
Not purer, nor more innocent,

The new-born infant's smile.
She felt for ev'ry child of woe,
And pity'd their distress;
And still her greatest pleasure was

Their suff'rings to redress.

MOORE..

THE MAID OF MARLIVALE.

-HIME, LIVERPOOL. STEVENSON.

Sung at the Liverpool Concerts.

WHERE is the nymph, whose azure eye
Can shine thro' Rapture's tear?

The sun is sunk, the moon is high,
And yet she comes not here,
Oh! maid of Marlivale.

Was that her footstep on the hill,-
Her voice upon the gale?

No; 'twas wind, and all was still,

Oh! maid of Marlivale.

Come to me, love,—I've wander'd far;
'Tis past the promis'd hour:
Come to me, love, the twilight star
Shall guide thee to my bower,

Oh! maid of Marlivale.

THE SOLDIER, SLUMB'RING, ETC.

G. WALKER.

---WALKER, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Dignum.

THE soldier, slumbʼring after war,
Dreams he hears the cannons roar;
And mutt'ring trumpets, from afar,
Rouse him to the fight once more.
But if he wakes, the gentler strains
Of happy Peace around him move,

Far other raptures fill his veins,

-WHITAKER.

And sounds of war give place to tales of love.

The soldier, tranquil after war,

Heeds no more the din of arms;

The trumpet nor the drum, from far,

Rouse him with their loud alarms:

But softer strains and softer airs
His bosom charm, and bid to share
All that a grateful land prepares,

And hail the hero guardian of the fair.

The soldier, tranquil still in peace,

Thinks how oft the field was won,-
And, while the strifes of nations cease,
Tells the story to his son:

While all around the vet'ran creep,
And hear how he has bled to save;
The mother and the daughters weep,
Yet join to bless the hero and the brave.

ADDISON,

THE WOODLAND MAID.

SKEFFINGTON.

--KELLY, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Gibbon.

THE woodland maid, my beauty's queen,
In Nature's simple charms array'd,
This heart subdues; that matchless mien
Still binds me to the woodland maid.

Let others sigh for mines of gold,
For wide domains, for gay parade

I would, unmov'd, such toys behold,
Possess'd of thee, sweet woodland maid.