When she spoke, how charming her voice!
Her sense was with sweetness combin'd:
She ne'er look'd, but she heighten'd my joys;
She ne'er spoke, but she polish'd my mind.

Return, then, dear Charlotte, return,

And cheer up the gloom that is here;
Thine absence alone 'tis I mourn,
Thy presence will dry up my tear.
My thoughts were all fix'd upon thee,
As oft as I pensively stray'd;
How dear is thine image to me,
Thou lovely and elegant maid!

ANON.

HENRY'S COTTAGE MAID.

GOULDING, LONDON..

Sung at the Principal Concerts.

Ah! where can fly my soul's true-love?
Sad I wander this lone grove;

Sighs and tears for him 1 shed;
Henry is from Laura fled.

Thy love to me thou didst impart;
Thy love soon won my virgin heart;
But, dearest Henry, thou'st betray'd
Thy love with thy poor cottage maid.

Through the vale my grief appears,
Sighing sad, with pearly tears;
Oft thy image is my theme,
As I wander on the green.

PLEYEL

See, from my cheek the colour flies,
And Love's sweet hope within me dies;
For, oh! dear Henry, thou'st betray'd
Thy love with thy poor cottage maid.

WHEN THE SEASON INVITES.

ANONYMOUS.GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung at the Newcastle Concerts.

THOMPSON.

WHEN the season invites, and all nature is gay,
And Phoebus illumines the morn,

The sportsmen are ready, and cry "hark away!
As cheerfully sounds the blithe horn.

Up the hill or the lawn, see, they brush it along,
While ruddy their faces the glow;

Sweet Echo, in chorus, repeats the glad song,
With hark forward, huzza, tally-ho!

With well-scented hounds artful Reynard's pursu❜d, Who nimbly flies over the plain;

Tho' with cunning above other brutes he's endu❜d, Yet his cunning, alas, is in vain!

The staunch pack surround him—his courage is past;
Too weak to contend with the foe,

He faulters, he trembles, and yields up at last,
While the sportsmen sing loud "tally-ho!"

Mankind are all huntsmen, the great and the small,
Tho' diff'rent the game they've in view;

And some, leaping high, often meet with a fall,
As eagerly still they pursue.

But we, the true sportsmen, all dangers defy;

No sorrow, or troubles we know ;

For at night, o'er the bowl, we fresh raptures supply, With repeating the song "tally-ho!"

THE RED-BREAST.

R. ANDER30N.WARD, LIVERPOOL.

Sung at the Liverpool Concerts.

TENANT of a leafy dwelling,
Flitting round from tree to tree,
Winter's drear approach oft telling,
Rest, poor wand'rer, here with me.

Thou shalt live secure from danger;
I will to thy wants attend,
And protect thee, feeble ranger,

Proud to be each creature's friend.

Now forc'd from thy native bowers,
Come, and to my Anna sing,
Shelter'd safe from stormy showers,
Till the glad return of spring.

For my sake she will regard thee;
Thou, sweet bird, wilt be caress'd:
For thy songs she will reward thee;
Pity's mansion is her breast.

M. LEG.

DIBDIN.

BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW.

-PRESTON, LONDON..

Sung by Mr Bannister.

BLOW high, blow low, let tempests tear
The main-mast by the board,

My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear,
And love well stor❜d,

Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,

The roaring winds, the raging sea,
In hopes, on shore,

To be once more
Safe moor'd with thee.

Aloft while mountains high we go,
The whistling winds that scud along,
And the surge, roaring from below,
Shall my signal be to think on thee,
Shall my signal be to think on thee;
And this shall be my song-

Blow high, blow low, &c.

And on that night when all the crew
The mem❜ry of their former lives,
O'er flowing cans of flip, renew,

DIEDIN.

And drink their sweethearts and their wives,

I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee;

And, as the ship rolls through the sea,

The burthen of my song shall be,

Blow high, blow low, &c.

U

THE WITCHES.-GLEE.

SHAKESPEARE. GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung at the Ladies' Concerts.

WHEN shall we three meet again-
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurly-burly's done;
When the battle's lost and won!
That will be e'er set of sun.

M. P. KING.

RANNIE.

BARRA VALE.

BRODERIP, LONDON.

Sung in Private Circles.

O BARRA Vale, gay joy was mine,
When first thy rural shades I knew;
I deem'd my native fields divine,

Till Joy and Hope together flew.
Ah! then, while Love the heart invades,
Before the eye all beauty fades;
So, fated now, I bid farewell
To early bliss and Barra Vale!

O Barra Vale, beneath thy shades-
I fondly sported while a boy;
Thy flow'ry wilds and balmy glades,

The smiling scenes of harmless joy.
Now destin'd from their charms to rove,
Dear haunts of Innocence and Love,

ROSS.