Music-at Z. T. Purday's, Holborn.
HARK! the hollow woods resounding
With the joyful hunter's cry,
See the stag o'er hedges bounding
Now proclaims that they are nigh.
Now the hounds the stag approaching,
Now the huntsmen doth appear,
On his swiftness they're encroaching,
He distracted runs with fear.
Now the stag himself defending
With his antlers, but in vain,
For his trembling limbs are bending,
Weakened with distracting pain.
Now their pleasure it is ending,
And the tears flow from his eyes;
Now no more for life contending,
Plunging forward, falls and dies.
Music-at Messrs. Monro and May's
Home of Childhood! tho' I leave thee
Thoughts of thee will haunt me still,
Scene of former peace and pleasure,
Thou'lt be dear, roam where I will.
I shall see thy wild woods waving,
Tread thy verdant vale once more;
All that binds my heart unto thee,
Mem'ry can and will restore.
Home of Childhood, &c.
Still sweet spot I linger near thee,
Tracing ev'ry path I lov'd;
When in life's glad rosy morning,
Full of hope and joy I rov'd.
Now farewell, wild wood and valley,
All that first my fancy knew;
Home of Childhool! thus I bless thee,
Take with tears my last adieu.
Home of Childhood, tho' &c.
REST, WARRIOR REST.
Music-at Leoni Lee's, Albemarle Street.
HE comes from the wars, from the red field of fight,
He comes thro' the storm, and the darkness of night.
For rest and for refuge now fain to implore,
The warrior bends low at the cottager's door;
Pale, pale, is his cheek, there's a gash on his brow,
His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow;
And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye,
Like a languishing lamp, that just flashes to die.
Rest, warrior, rest.
Sunk in silence and sleep, in the cottager's bed,
Oblivion shall visit the war-weary head;
Perchance he may dream, but the vision shall tell
Of his lady-love's bow'r, and her latest farewell;
Illusion and love chase the battle's alarms,
He shall dream that his mistress lies lock'd in his arms;
He shall feel on his lips the sweet warmth of her kiss,
Ah! warrior, wake not! such slumber is bliss
Rest, warrior, rest.
THE GIPSY CHILD.
Poetry by ELIZA COOK.-Music by E. J. LODER. Music-at Prowse's, 13, Hanway Street.
He grows like the young oak, healthy and broad, With no home but the forest, no bed but the sward,
Half naked he wades in the limped stream
Or dances about in the scorching beam.
The dazzling glare of the banquet sheen,
Hath never fall'n on him I ween;
But the fragments are spread and the wood fire pil'd,
And sweet is the meal of the Gipsy Child.
He wanders at large, while maidens admire,
His raven hair and his eyes of fire;
They mark his cheek's rich tawny hue,
With the deep carnation flushing thro'.
He laughs aloud, and they covet his teeth,
All pure and white as their own pearl wreath;
But the courtly dame, and the maiden mild,
Will turn to gaze on the Gipsy Child
Up with the sun, he is roving along,
Whistling to mimic the blackbird's song;
He wanders at nightfall to startle the owl,
And is baying again to the watch-dog's howl.
His limbs are unshackled, his spirit is bold;
He is free from the evils of fashion and gold;
His dower is scant, and his life is wild;
But kings might envy the Gipsy Child.
THE SAILOR'S TEAR.
Music-at Wybrow's, Rathbone Place.
HE leap'd into his boat, as it lay upon the strand,But, oh, his heart was far away with friends upon the
He thought of those he lov'd the best-a wife an infant dear,
And feeling filled the sailor's breast, the sailor's eye, 1 tear.
They stood upon the far-off cliff, and wav'd a kerchief
And gazed upon his gallant bark till she was out of
The sailor cast a look behind, no longer they were near, Then raised the canvass to his eye, and wiped away a
Ere long the ocean's blue expanse his sturdy bark has sped,
The gallant sailor from her prow descries a sail
And thus he raised his mighty arm, for Britain's foe
Ay, then he rais'd his arm-but not to wipe a tear.
HERE'S A HEALTH.
Music-at Z. T. Purday's, Holborn.
HERE'S a health to all good lasses,
Pledge it merrily, fill your glasses,
Let the bumper toast go round.
May they live a life of pleasure,
Without mixture, without measure,
For with them true joys are found.
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN.
Music-at Chappell's, Bond Street
HERE'S a health to the Queen, and a lasting peace,
To faction an end, to wealth increase;
Come let's drink it while 'tis rife,
But let not drinking lead to strife;
And he that will this health deny,
Down among the dead men let him lye. Let charming beauty's health go round, With whom the purest joys are found, And may confusion still pursue,
The senseless woman-hating crew And they that woman's health deny, Down among the dead men let them
To Bacchus' I'll give no control,
Deny no pleasure to my soul;
Let Bacchus' health round briskly move
For Bacchus is a friend to Love.
And he that will this health deny,
Down among the dead men let him lye
May love and wine their rights maintain,
And their united pleasures reign,
While Bacchus' treasure crown the board,
We'll sing the joys that both afford
And they that wont with us comply,
Down among the dead men let them lye.
Music-at Duff and Hodgson's, Oxford Street.
HERE in cool grot, and mossy cell,
We, rural fays and fairies dwell:
Though rarely seen by mortal eye,
When the pale moon, ascending high,
Darts through yon limes her quivering beams,
We frisk it near those crystal streams:
Her beams reflected by the wave,
Afford the light our revels crave:
The turf, with daisies bordered o'er,
Excels we wot the Peerian floor:
Nor yet for artful strains we call,
But listen to the waterfall.
TOM BOWLING.
Music-at D'Almain's, Soho Square.
HERE a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling
The darling of our crew;
No move he'll hear the tempest howling
Por death has brought him to.
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