Ask smiling Honour to proclaim
What is glory, what is fame.
Hark! the glad mandate strikes the listening ear"The truest glory, to the bosom dear,
"Is when the soul starts soft Compassion's tear."
What are riches, pomp, and pow'r?
Gewgaws that endure their hour,
Wretched mortals to allure.
Can greatness reach the idly vain,
Indulging in the princely fane,
Deaf to the miseries of the poor?
Ask smiling Reason to proclaim
What is glory, what is fame.
Hark! the sweet mandate strikes the listening ear"The truest glory, to the bosom dear,
"Is when the soul starts soft Compassion's tear."
GOULDING, LONDON.
Sung by Mr Incledon.
THE morn unbars the gates of light;
The landscape smiles, in beauty bright;
The nightingales now swell their throats,
And on the wings of silence floats.
Hark, the huntsman's horn so shrill,
The woods around with echos fill!
Each sportsman mounts his panting steed,
And o'er the trembling earth they speed.
The welkin resounds
With horns and with hounds,
Tan tara, tang, &c.
The stag pursues his eager flight;
The hunters keep their prey in sight;
The staunch old pack, with wond'rous speed,
Rush forward o'er each plain and mead.
Hark, hark, the huntsman blows his horn!
The stag's at bay-his fate's forlorn!
The trembling tear starts from his eyes,
And, lost in grief, the antler dies.
The welkin resounds
With horns and with hounds,
Tan tara, &c.
GOULDING, LONDON.THOMPSON.
Sung at the Newcastle Concerts.
ZEPHYR, whither are you straying?
With prankish girls in gardens playing,
False as fair!
A butterfly's light back bestriding,
Queen-bees to honey-suckles guiding,
Or in a swinging harebell riding,
Free from care.
Before Aurora's car you amble,
High in air;
At noon, when Neptune's sea-nymphs gambol,
When on the tumbling billows rolling,
Or on the smooth sands idly strolling,
Or in cool grottos they lie lolling,
You sport there.
To chase the moon-beams up the mountains
You prepare;
Or dance with elves at brinks of fountains,
Mirth to share:
Now seen with love-lorn lilies weeping,
Now with a blushing rose-bud sleeping;
While fays, from forth their chambers peeping,
Cry, O rare!
-DALE, LONDON.
Sung at the Public Concerts.
LIFE let us cherish, while yet the taper glows;
And the fresh flow'ret pluck, ere it close.
Why are we fond of toil and care?
Why choose the rankling thorn to wear,
And heedless by the lily stray,
Which blossoms in our way.
When clouds obscure the atmosphere,
And forked lightnings rend the air,
The sun resumes his silver crest,
And smiles adown the west.
The genial seasons soon are o'er;
Then let us, ere we quit this shore,
Contentment seek; it is Life's zest,
The sunshine of the breast.
Away with ev'ry toil and care,
And cease the rankling thorn to wear;
With manful hearts Life's conflict meet,
Till Death sounds the retreat.
-DIBDIN, LONDON.
Sung by Mr Dibdin.
BLEAK was the morn when William left his Nancy,
The fleecy snow frown'd on the whiten'd shore,
Cold as the fears that chill'd her dreary fancy,
While she her sailor from her bosom tore:
To his fill'd heart a little Nancy pressing,
While a young tar the ample trowsers ey'd ;
In need of firmness in this state distressing,
Will check'd the rising sigh, and fondly cry'd,
Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean;
Sorrow's a notion,
Grief all in vain!
Sweet love, take heart,
For we must part
In joy to meet again.
Loud blew the wind, when leaning on that willow Where the dear name of William stood,
When Nancy saw, toss'd by a faithless billow,
A ship dash'd 'gainst a rock that topp'd the flood: Her tender heart with frantic sorrow thrilling,
Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore,
No longer could resist a stroke so killing;
'Tis he, she cry'd, nor shall I see him more!
Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean?
Sorrow's my portion,
Misery and pain!
Break, my poor heart,
For now we part
Never to meet again.
Mild was the eve, all nature was smiling,
Four tedious years had Nancy pass'd in grief,
When, with her children the sad hours beguiling,
She saw her William fly to her relief!
Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
But soon return'd to life, to love, and joy,—
While her grown young ones anxiously surround her;
And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy!
Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,
Grief all in vain?
My joy how sweet,
For now we meet
Never to part again!
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