IN DAYS OF OLD.

W. H. BELLAMY.]

[Music by J. L. HATTON.

IN days of old, the monks, we're told,
Would have it understood,

That every night, by dim lamp-light,
They studied in solitude;

Each one to his book, in his own cell nook,

However the night was cold,

They'd no desire for fuel or fire,

But ever their beads they told.

But, alack! and alas! for these holy men!
The world it was scandalous even then,
For many there were who said

That as soon as they heard the midnight bell
They closed the book and left the cell,

And to supper they all rushed in pell-mell,
And a regular night they made.

They'd "haunch" and "ham," and "cheek" and "chine,"

They'd cream

"pine,"

" and "custard," "peach" and

And they gargled their throats with right good wine, Till the Abbot his nose grew red!

No "de profundis" then they sang,

But a roystering catch to the rafters rang!
And the bell for matins it went " ting tang,"
Ere the last of them rolled to bed.

THE POWER OF MUSIC.

From the German.]

[Music by BEETHOVEN.

Oн, how great the power of music
O'er the tumults of the soul!
Art divine from heaven descended,
Lawless passion's sweet control !

At its voice the storms of anger
Soft and smoothly die away;
Soon the waves of jealous frenzy
Calm as summer waters play.
O'er the dull and barren spirit,
Where no native fancy dwells,
Oft it spreads a sweet delusion,
Stagnant thought to passion swells;
But where bold imagination

Kindles with creative fire,

Oh, what high and rapt'rous feelings
Music's varied charms inspire!

MRS. HEMANS.]

THE INVOCATION.

[Music by MRS. OWEN.

OH! art thou still on earth, my love?

My only love!

Or smiling in a brighter home

Far, far above?

Oh! is thy sweet voice fled, my love?
Thy light step gone?

And art thou not, in earth or heaven,

Still, still my own?

I see thee with thy gleaming hair,
In midnight dreams!

But cold, and clear, and spirit-like,

Thy soft eye seems.

Peace in thy saddest hour, my love!

But something

Dwelt on thy brow; mournfully divine There shineth now!

And silent ever is thy lip,

And pale thy cheek ;

Oh! art thou earth's, or art thou heaven's?

Speak to me, speak!

I NEVER LOVED BUT THEE.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by SIGNOR POZNANSKI,

DEAREST, I never loved but thee,

The image of thy gentle face,

Though lost for aye, each charm to me
Nor time nor sorrow can efface;
Unkind, ungenerous as thou art,

Though thou may'st teach me to reprove,
Though youth decay, and hopes depart,
Thou canst not teach me not to love.

I've listened to another's voice,

I've bow'd before another shrine,
They only made my heart rejoice,
The nearer they resembled thine:
I've striven my passion to conceal,
To think my heart again was free,
But oh! I only know and feel,
Dearest, I never loved but thee.

W. F. VANDERVELL.]

SIGHED.

[Music by WILLEM VANDERvell.

FAIR Gertrude at her lattice sighed,

And silvery echoes they replied,

Well-a-day,

Well-a-day;

Young Rudolph had to battle gone,

Well-a-day;

And left her lonely and forlorn,

Well-a-day;

And there beneath the moon's pale ray,
She sat and watched till break of day,
The path that threads the flowery dell,
For him she loved so well;

And thus she watched, and thus she sighed,

Well-a-day,

Whilst silvery echoes they replied,

Well-a-day.

But Rudolph ne'er returned again,

For he was in the battle slain,

Well-a-day,

Well-a-day;

Well-a-day,

Well-a-day.

And 'midst the dying and the dead,

His noble spirit upward fled,

The red sun set, the moonbeams played,

But no one to that lattice strayed,

For she had gone to join her love

In realms of peace above;

And through the air the night-bird sighed,

Well-a-day,

Whilst silvery echoes they replied,

Fair Gertrude, well-a-day.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE ABBOT.

G. SOANE, B.A.]

[Music by J. L. HATTON.

ROBIN HOOD is forth at break of day,
When he meets a priest in proud array;
"Ho! ho father mine, you're ill I see,
But I for the nonce your leech will be;"
The monk lik'd it not; the monk said "No,"
But Robin he swore it should be so.