The
sage
look'd
grave,

the maiden shy,—
When Lubin jump'd o'er the style hard by ;
The
sage

look'd graver, the maid more glum,
Lubin, he twiddled his finger and thumb:
“ Fie, fie!” was the old man's cry;

Poppies like these I own are rare,
“And of such nightingales' songs beware."

66

SALLY.

Words and Music by SAMUEL LOVER.

SALLY, Sally, 'shilly shally! Sally, why not name the day ?” " Harry, Harry! I will tarry longer in love's flow'ry way.” "Sally, why not make your mind up? why embitter thus my “Harry, I've so great a mind, it takes a long time making up."

cup?"

66

“Sally, Sally! in the valley you have promis'd many a time, On the summer Sunday morning, as we heard the matin chime; Listening to those sweet bells ringing, calling grateful hearts to

pray, I have whisper'd, 'Oh, how sweetly they'll proclaim our

wedding-day!""

6

“ Harry, Harry! I'll not marry, till I find your eyes don't stray: At Kate Riley, you so slily, stole a wink the other day.” “But Kate Riley, she's my cousin.”—“ Harry, I have cousins

too; If you will have close relations, I have cousins close as you.”

“Sally, Sally! do not rally, do not mock my tender woe:
Play me not thus shilly shally ; Sally, do not tease me so;
Whilst you're smiling, hearts beguiling, doing all a woman can,
Think, though you're almost an angel, I am but a mortal man.”

ADIEU, ADIEU, OUR DREAM OF LOVE !

THOMAS K. HERVEY. From the “Poetical Sketch-Book,” 1829.

ADIEU, adieu !-our dream of love

Was far too sweet to linger long;
Such hopes may bloom in bowers above,

But here they mock the fond and young.

We met in hope, we part in tears !

Yet, oh, 'tis sadly sweet to know
That life, in all its future years,

Can reach us with no heavier blow!

Our souls have drunk in early youth

The bitter dregs of earthly ill;
Our bosoms, blighted in their truth,

Have learn'd to suffer and be still !

The hour is come, the spell is past;

Far, far from thee, my only love,
Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last,

My darken'd spirit turns to rove.

Adieu, adieu ! oh, dull and dread

Sinks on the ear that parting knell !
Hope and the dreams of hope, lie dead, -

To them and thee-farewell, farewell !

I THINK ON THEE IN THE NIGHT.

THOMAS K. HERVEY.

I THINK on thee in the night,

When all beside is still,
And the moon comes out, with her pale, sad light,

To sit on the lonely hill ;
When the stars are all like dreams,

And the breezes all like sighs,
And there comes a voice from the far-off streams,

Like thy spirit's low replies.

I think on thee by day,

'Mid the cold and busy crowd, When the laughter of the young

and gay Is far too glad and loud! I hear thy soft, sad tone,

And thy young sweet smile I see: My heart, -my heart were all alone,

But for its dreams of thee!

THE SECRETS OF THE HAWTHORN.

By CHARLES MACKAY. From "Songs for Music,” 1856.

No one knows what tender secrets

Quiver from thy tender leaves : No one knows what thoughts between us,

Pass in dewy moonlight eves. Roving memories and fancies,

Travellers upon Thought's deep sea, Haunt the gay time of our May-time,

O thou snow-white hawthorn tree!

Lovely was she, bright as sunlight,

Pure and kind, and good and fair !
When she laughed the ringing music

Rippled through the summer air.
If

you love me, shake the blossoms !”
Thus I said too bold and free;
Down they came in showers of beauty,

Thou beloved hawthorn tree!

Sitting on the grass, the maiden

Vowed the vow, to love me well.
Vowed the vow; and oh! how truly,

No one but myself can tell.
Widely spreads the smiling woodland,

Elm and beech are fair to see :
But thy charms they cannot equal,

O thou happy hawthorn tree!

EARL NORMAN AND JOHN TRUMAN.

CHARLES Mackay. From the “Lump of Gold,” 1856. The Music by CHARLES MACKAT.

THROUGH great Earl Norman's acres wide,

A prosperous and a good land,
'Twill take you fifty miles to ride
O'er
grass,

and corn, and woodland.
His age is sixty-nine, or near,

And I'm scarce twenty-two, man,
And have but fifty pounds a year,-

Poor John Truman !
But would I change? I faith! not I,-
Oh no! not I, says

Truman !

Earl Norman dwells in halls of state,

The grandest in the county ;
Has forty cousins at his gate,

To feed upon his bounty.
But then he's deaf; the doctors' care,

While I in whispers woo man;
And find my physic in the air,-

Stout John Truman !
D'ye think I'd change for thrice his gold ?

Oh no! not I, says Truman !

BROKEN SILENCE.

By J. WESTLAND MARSTON, author of the "Patrician's Daughter." Oh, break not her silence !-she listens to voices

Whose tones are a feeling, whose echoes a thrill ; And more than in aught that is real, she rejoices In dreams which presage what they ne'er can fulfil,—

The dreams, the first fond dreams of love!

Oh, break not her silence !-her heart is replying

To chords that are swept by a breeze from the past; No hymn in the present can match with that sighing O’er hopes which, though vanish’d, were dear to the last,

The hopes, the first bright hopes of youth !

Thou canst not break her silence !—no word that is spoken

Can now wound her ear, no regret dim her eyes ; Thou canst not break her silence; yet, hark! it is broken,“Come hither, come hither,”—a voice from the skies !

“Come hither,”—a voice from the skies !

BLUE IS THE SKY.

G. MEREDITH,

BLUE is the sky, blue is thine eye,

Which shall I call heaven?
Star is there, and soul is here,

Tell me which is heaven.
I cannot know unless thou say,
So kin are both in orb and ray,

So full of heavenly feature;
The fall of dews, the flush of hues,
The tenderness of soften’d views,
Lovely alike by night and day,

And both of heavenly nature.

Blue is the sky, blue is thine eye,

Both would image heaven;
Light is there, and love is here, -

Each the child of heaven.

F