Happy and gay with his boat in the bay,
The storm and the danger forgot;

The wealthy and great may repine at their state,
And envy the fisher boy's lot.

Merrily oh! inerrily oh!

This is the burden he gives :

"Cheerily oh! though the blast may blow, The fisher boy jollily lives!"

Merrily oh! merrily oh!

He sleeps till the morning breaks ;
Merrily oh! at the seagull's scream

The fisher boy quickly awakes:
Down on the strand he is plying his hand,
His shouting is heard again;

The clouds are dark but he springs to his bark,
With the same light-hearted strain.
Merrily oh, &c.

SAFELY FOLLOW HIM.

D. TERRY.]

[Music by T. COOKE.

FOLLOW him, nor fearful deem

Danger lurks in gipsy guile;
Rude and lawless though we seem,
Simple hearts we bear the while.
Then, no robber fierce nor thief we fear,
Who's roused by night in savage den ;

Fearless, then, o'er mosses drear,
Barren wilds, and lonesome glen,
Safely follow him, safely follow him,
Safely, safely follow him.

From rustic swains the petty bribe,
Petty spoil from cot or farm,
Content the wandering gipsy tribe,
Who the traveller never harm.
Then, no robber fierce, &c.

D. TERRY.]

THE WOLF IS OUT.

[Music by T. COOKE.
ARM, brothers, arm! the wolf is out,
The country's up and the bowmen shout!
The shepherd leaves his fleecy care,
The glorious sport of the day to share;
Night is fled, and the morn is grey-

Arm, brothers, arm, to the chase away!
Arm, brothers, arm, to the chase away!

In yonder thicket, close and dark,
Softly tread, and careful mark :
'Tis there the wolf is wont to prowl-
And, hark, I hear the savage howl!
Often, in the dead of night,
When to sleep our toils invite,
His horrid yell fond mothers hear,
And closer press their infants dear.

Hence to the field, and the savage soon
Shall cease to bay the cloudless moon;
No more to range our fields for food,
Or welter in the trav'ller's blood.

No more to range, &c.

THE YEOMEN OF ENGLAND.

C. JEFFERYS.]

[Air-Old English.

In England, when the curfew bell
Proclaim'd the Norman sway,
Oh, then it rang the parting knell
Óf freedom pass'd away.

For the yeoman then,
With his trusty men,
Oft ploughed the battle-plain;
And his flocks were kept
Where the warrior slept-
May we ne'er see the like again!

Those iron days are past and gone ;
Then came the sunny days,
When all the royal favour shone
On good old English ways.
Then the days were blest,
For the land had rest,
Nor labour toil'd in vain:
Both in cot and hall,
They were merry all-
May we soon see the like again!

Then hope the farmer's cares beguiled,
His flocks were on the hill,
His crops around the valley smiled,
And merry went the mill.

Then the peasant sang,
Till the echoes rang,

As he reap'd the golden grain;
For a feast to come

Was the harvest-home

May we soon see the like again!

May peace be still the yeoman's lot,
His garners well be stored;
May peace be in the peasant's cot,
And plenty crown his board.
May England flourish great and free,
Her commerce long maintain ;
And the good old ways

Of the bygone days,

May we soon see the like again!

OUR BONNY ENGLISH ROSE.

C. JEFFERYS.]

[Music by S. NELSON

OLD England's emblem is the rose:

There is no other flower

Hath half the graces that adorn

This beauty of the bower;

And England's daughters are as fair
As any bud that blows:

What son of hers who has not lov'd
Some bonny English Rose?

Who hath not heard of one sweet flower,

The first among the fair,
For whose welfare a British heart
Hath breath'd a fervent prayer?
Oh, may it never be her lot

To lose that sweet repose,
That peace of mind, which blesses now
The bonny English Rose !

If any bold enough there be

To war 'gainst England's isle,
They soon shall find, for British hearts,
What charms hath woman's smile!
Thus nerv'd, the thunder of their arms
Would teach aspiring foes

How vain the power that defies
The bonny English Rose!

Now heaven decrees her to the throne; "Twill be the nation's prayer

That in each joy she hath not known,
Her heart may ever share;
That health may long light up her brow,
And, as time onward flows,
It still may be our pride to sing,
"The bonny English Rose !"

Beneath her sway may every land,

Where she dominion holds,

Be happy as the glorious isle
Where freedom's flag unfolds;
From sea to shore, from shore to sea,
The song of gladness flows:

And oh, may heaven for ever bless

The bonny English Rose!

WE MAY ROAM THRO' THIS WORLD.
T. MOORE.]
[Air-" Garryowen."
WE may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast,
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest;
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,
We may order our wings, and be off to the west;
But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,

Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies,
We need never leave our native isle,

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

In England, the garden of beauty is kept

By a dragon of prudery, placed within call; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all. Oh! they want the wild sweetbriary fence Which round the flower of Erin dwells; Which warms the touch, while winning the sense, Nor charms us least when it most repels

Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail
On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try,
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye, While the daughters of Erin keep the boy,

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar,

Through billows of woe and beams of joy,

The same as he look'd when he left the shore.