T. DIBDIN.

FAIR ELLEN.

-DALE, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Brabam.

FAIR Ellen like a lily grew,

Was Beauty's fav'rite flower,

Till Falsehood chang'd her lovely hue;
She wither'd in an hour.

Antonio, in her virgin breast,

First rais'd a tender sigh:

The artless maid her flame confest ;

He left her then to die.

-BRAHAM.

LET FAME SOUND THE TRUMPET.

6'KEEFE.

LONGMAN, LONDON.

SHIELE,

Sung by Mr Incledon.

LET Fame sound the trumpet, and cry to the war;

Let Glory re-echo the strain:

The full tide of honour may flow from the scar,

And heroes may smile on their pain.

The treasures of autumn let Bacchus display,
And stagger about with his bowl;

On science let Sol beam the lustre of day,
And wisdom give light to the soul.

Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;

Oh! give me the friend that I know to be true,
And the fair that I tenderly love.

What's glory, but pride? A vain bubble is fame,
And riot the pleasure of wine :

What's riches, but trouble? and title's a name:
But friendship and love are divine.

BENEATH THE WILLOW TREE.

T. DIBDIN.

DALE, LONDON, AN

Sung by Mr Braham.

BRAHAM,

OH! take me to your arms, my love, for keen the wind doth blow;

Oh! take me to your arms, my love, for bitter is my

woe !

She hears me not, she cares not, nor will she list to

me;

And here I lie, in misery, beneath the willow tree!

My love has wealth and beauty-the rich attend her door;

My love has wealth and beauty, and I, alas, am poor! The ribband fair, that bound her hair, is all that's left

to me;

While here I lie, in misery, beneath the willow tree!

I once had gold and silver-I thought them without

end;

I once had gold and silver, and I thought I had a

friend!

My wealth is lost-my friend is false-my love he

stole from me;

And here I lie, in misery, beneath the willow tree!

BREATHE SOFT, YE FLUTES.

ANONYMOUS.

DALE, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Harrison.

RECITATIVE.

CALCOTT.

BREATHE soft, ye flutes; from heav'n descend,

sweet Pow'r,

Of soothing strain and modulated air,

Diffuse thy influence round;

Let softest, sweetest notes abound, To cheer the pensive hour.

AIR.

Harmony, from blissful seats above,
Descend, on plumage of the dove;
Of Peace and gentle Sleep thou sister fair,
Softly bring thy holy treasure,

Pour it o'er the trembling strings,
And, as I pause, to swell the measure,
Sweep the lyre with thy seraphic wings.
Hark, a bolder note is sounding,-

Hear the hunter's jocund horn,
From the woods and hills rebounding,

Cheerly calls the roseate morn.

Echo, playful nymph, awake,

And, starting from thy airy seat,

The sounds that float in mazy circles lake,

With iteration glad the tuneful close repeat:

Let rocks, and vales, and woods repel

The sound of merry horn and soft recording shell.

GREEN LEAVES ALL TURN YELLOW.

KENNY.

-KELLY, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Jordan.

A SAGE once to a maiden sung,
While summer leaves were growing;
Experience dwelt upon his tongue,-
With love her heart was glowing :
The summer bloom will fade away,
And will no more be seen;

1.

These leaves, which look so fresh and gay,

Will not be ever green;

For green leaves all turn yellow.

'Tis thus with the delights of love,
The youthful heart beguiling;
Believe me, you will find them prove
As transient, tho' as smiling.

Not long they flourish ere they fade,

As sadly I have seen;

Yes, like the summer leaves, sweet maid,

Oh, none are ever green;

For green leaves all turn yellow.

KELLY.

ANON.

THE GIPSIES' GLEE.

-CLEMENTI, LONDON,

Sung at the Public Concerts.

OH! who has seen the miller's wife?

I, and kindled up new strife!

E

REEVE.

A shilling from her palm I took,
Ere on the cross lines I could look.

Who has the tanner's daughter seen?
I in quest of her have been;
But as the tanner was within,

'Twas hard to 'scape him in whole skin.

From every place condemn'd to roam,
In every place we seek a home;

These branches form our summer's roof,
By thick-grown leaves made weather-proof.

In shelt'ring nooks and hollow ways,
We clearly pass our winter days;
Come circle round the gipsies' fire,
Our songs, our stories never tire;

Come stain your cheeks with nut or berry,
You'll find the gipsies' life is merry.

IN RAPTURE BE MY VOWS, ETC.

T. DIBDIN.

KELLY.

Sung by Mrs Billington and Mr Kelly.

IN rapture be my vows exprest;

Was ever man so rarely blest?
My soul, with extasy and glee,
Henceforth I offer up to thee.
Convinc'd that you will faithful prove,
I shall not now conceal my love:
From pressing ills, and Fate's alarms,
I find a refuge in those arms.

KELLY.