BARBAULD.

THE HAUNT OF FAIRIES.

-GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung at the Newcastle Concerts.

THIS is sure the haunt of fairies;
In yon cool alcove they play :
Care can never cross the threshold;
Care was only made for day.
Choral songs, and sprightly voices,
Echo from her cell shall call;
Sweeter, sweeter than the murmur
Of the distant water-fall.

This is sure, &c.

Ev'ry ruder gust of passion,

Lull'd with music, dies away;
Till, within the charmed bosom,
None but soft affections play:
Soft as when the evening breezes
Gently stir the poplar grove,
Brighter than the smile of Summer,
Sweeter than the breath of Love.
This is sure, &c.

THOMPSON,

MAZZINGHI.

THE WREATH.-A GLEE.

ANONYMOUS.GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung at the Public Concerts.

YE shepherds, tell me, have you seen

My Flora pass this way,

In shape and feature beauty's queen,
In pastoral array.

Shepherds, tell, &c.

A wreath around her head she wore,

Carnation, lily, rose;

And in her hand a crook she bore,
And sweets her breath compose.
Shepherds, tell, &c.

The beauteous wreath that decks her head
Forms her description true,-
Hands lily white, lips crimson red,

And cheeks of rosy hue.

Shepherds, tell, &c.

MAY WE NE'ER WANT A FRIEND.

T. DIBDIN.PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

-DAVY.

SINCE the first dawn of reason that beam'd on my mind,

And taught me how favor❜d by fortune my lot, To share that good fortune I still was inclin'd, And impart to who wanted what I wanted not. 'Tis a maxim entitled to every one's praise,

When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him,

And my motto, tho' simple, means more than it saysMay we ne'er want a friend, nor a bottle to give

The heart by deceit or ingratitude rent,

Or by poverty bow'd, tho' of evil the least, The smile of a friend may invite to content; And we all know content is an excellent feast. 'Tis a maxim entitled, &c.

ANON.

OH HAD I JUBAL'S LYRE.

-GOULDING, ETC. LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Dickons, late Miss Poole.

OH had I Jubal's lyre,

Or Miriam's tuneful voice,
To sounds like his I would aspire,
In songs like hers rejoice:

My humble strains but faintly shew
How much to Heav'n and thee I owe.

O'KEEFE.

THE WOLF.

-GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mr C. Bannister.

AT the peaceful midnight hour,
Every sense and every pow'r
Fetter'd lies in downy sleep;
Then our careful watch we keep;
While the wolf, in nightly prowl,
Bays the moon with hideous howl.
Gates are barr'd, a vain resistance;
Females shriek, but no assistance.

-HANDEL

SHIELD.

Silence, or you meet your fate!

Your keys, your jewels, cash, and plate!
Locks, bolts, and bars soon fly asunder;
Then to rifle, rob, and plunder!

ANON.

FAIR ROSALE.

-DALE, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Dignum.

ON that lone bank where Lubin dy'd,

Fair Rosale, a wretched maid, Sat weeping o'er the cruel tide,

Faithful to her Lubin's shade!

'Oh! may some kind, some gentle wave
"Waft him to this mournful shore,
"These tender arms should make his grave,
"And deck his corpse with flowers o'er!

I'd ever watch his mould'ring clay,
"And pray for his eternal rest;

"When Time his form had worn away,

"His dust I'd place within my breast!" While thus she mourn'd her Lubin lost, And Echo to her grief reply'd,

Lo! at her feet his corpse was tost!

DIGNUM.

She shriek'd, she clasp'd him, sigh'd, and dy'd!

JACKSON.

TIME HAS NOT THINN'D, ETC.

JACKSON. PRESTON, LONDON.---

Sung at the Public Concerts.

TIME has not thinn'd my flowing hair,
Nor bent me with his iron hand;
Ah! why so soon the blossom tear,
Ere Autumn yet the fruit demand.
Let me enjoy the chearful day,

Till many a year has o'er me roll'd;
Pleas'd, let me trifle life away,
And sing of love till I grow old.

ANONYMOUS.

MY MOTHER.

-GOULDING, LONDON.

--THOMPSON.

WHO fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My mother.

When sleep forsook my waking eye,
Who was it sung sweet lullaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry?
My mother.

Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle-bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?

My mother.