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E. FITZBALL.]

CHILD OF THE SUN.

[Music by BALFE.

CHILD of the sun, unhappy slave,

Thy spirit must not dare

To gaze on charms that Nature gave
So wonderfully fair!

With soul that is denied the free,

To feel, to weep, to sigh,

The only privilege can be

To worship, and to die!

Dark is thy hue, as that of night,
And yet with softened ray
There beams from heav'n itself a light
To waken night to day:
Thus, if the light so lov'd by thee,
Were only gleaming nigh,

How blest the privilege would be,

To worship, and to die!

SONG OF THE BELL.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.]

[Music by J. L. HATTON.

BELL! thou soundest merrily,
When the bridal party

To the church doth hie!
Bell, thou soundest solemnly,
When, on Sabbath morning,
Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest merrily:
Tellest thou at evening

Bed-time draweth nigh!

Bell! thou soundest mournfully:
Tellest thou the bitter

Parting hath gone by!

Say! how canst thou mourn?
How canst thou rejoice?

Thou art but metal dull!
And yet all our sorrowings,
And all our rejoicings,

Thou dost feel them all!
God hath wonders many,
Which we cannot fathom,
Placed within thy form!
When the heart is sinking,
Thou alone canst raise it,
Trembling in the storm!

THE BIRTHPLACE, THE HOME, AND THE GRAVE OF THE BARD.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. E. PERRING. ALL hail to the shrine, for the spot must be holy That cradled in infancy genius and worth; Oh! what though the roof may be humble and lowly, It shelter'd the gem that shone proudest on earth. 'Tis not mid the gay halls of riches and splendour The home of true genius alone can be found, But in dwellings like those, where our homage we render,

With heaven above them, and nature around.

Chorus.

Then hail to the shrine, be it hallowed, for never Shall we, who sweet Shakespeare have learnt to regard,

Forget the dear scene where the Avon runs ever— The birthplace-the home-and the grave of the bard.

That nation can ne'er be debased or degraded,

Whose people still cherish, with feelings of pride, The spots that the halo of Genius pervadedThe home where it dwelt, the place where it died.

Then perish the slave who with rude hands would sever
The relics of him who made language divine;
May they stand like his fame, which endureth for ever,
That millions unborn may still visit the shrine.

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LET my care be no man's sorrow,
We have all enough of grief;
Wherefore should I strive to borrow
Tears from those whose joy is brief!
Rather let me see around me

Smiles as bright as summer's day,
And the sorrow that has bound me
Sooner then will pass away.

As the stream in winter freezes,
So our spirits cease to glow;
Spring returns with southern breezes,
Then again the torrents flow;
So our hearts revive and lighten,

When some new-found pleasure beams,
Then the dullest eye will brighten,

As the sun sets free the streams.

HOW SWEET THE HOUR.

ROUND.

[Music by DR. HAYES.]

How sweet the hour of closing day,
When all is peaceful and serene,
And the broad sun's retiring ray
Sheds a mild lustre o'er the scene.

SISTER! SINCE I MET THEE LAST.

[Music by HERMANN.

since I met thee last,

MBS. HEMANS.]
SISTER
O'er thy brow a change hath past,
In the softness of thine eyes,
Deep and still a shadow lies;
From thy voice there thrills a tone,
Never to thy childhood known;
Through thy soul a storm hath moved,
Gentle sister, thou hast loved.

Yes! thy varying cheek hath caught
Hues too bright from troubled thought;
Far along the wandering stream,
Thou art followed by a dream :
In the woods and valleys lone
Music haunts thee, not thine own;
Wherefore fall thy tears like rain?
Sister, thou hast loved in vain.

Tell me not the tale, my flower!
On my bosom pour that shower!
Tell me not of kind thoughts wasted;
Tell me not of young hopes blasted;
Wring not forth one burning word,
Let thy heart no more be stirr'd!
Home alone can give thee rest,
Weep, sweet sister, on my breast.

OH, SWEET SIMPLICITY.

ROUND.

O SWEET simplicity flow in my veins,
Till their reflection unite in my heart;
Then may I warble thy natural strains
Greatly beyond all effusions of art.
Rivals in fashion their folly declare;
For 'tis thy modest robe which adds charms
to the fair.

LOVE SMILES BUT TO DECEIVE.

DESMOND RYAN.]

[Music by M. W. BALFE. 'Tis gone, the past was all a dream,

The light of life is o'er,

The hope that once so bright did seem,
Now shines for me no more.

Oh! foolish heart without a thought,
In joy that did'st believe,

Nor knew what many a tale has taught,
Love smiles but to deceive.

No more I'll join the dance and song,
Nor mingle with the gay,
And happy as the day is long
Beguile the hours away.

I'll seek me out some silent spot,
In solitude to grieve,

And learn what many a tale has taught,
Love smiles but to deceive.

THE STORMY PETREL.

PARK BENJAMIN.]

[Music by DWIGHT.

THIS is the bird that sweeps o'er the sea-
Fearless, and rapid, and strong is he
He never forsakes the billowy roar,

To dwell in calm on the tranquil shore,
Save when his mate from the tempest's shocks
Protects her young in the splinter'd rocks.

Birds of the sea, they rejoice in storms;
On the top of the wave you may see their forms;
They run and dive, and they whirl and fly,
Where the glittering foam-spray breaks on high;
And against the force of the strongest gale,
Like phantom ships they soar and sail.

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