We threw him over our shoulders, and wander'd through the town,

Call'd into a neighbour's house and sold him for a crown;

We sold him for a crown, my boys, but I did not tell you where,

For it is my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.

Well, here's success to poaching, for I do think it fair,

Bad luck to every gamekeeper that would not sell his deer;

Good luck to every gamekeeper that wants to buy a hare,

For it is my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.

MY BOYHOOD'S HOME.

My boyhood's home, I see thy hills,
I see thy valley's changeful green,
And manhood's eye a tear-drop fills,
Tho' years
have rolled since thee

I've seen.

I come to thee from war's dread school,
A warrior stern o'er thee to rule;
But while I gaze on each lov'd plain,
I feel I am a boy again

To the war steed adieu-to the trumpet farewell

To the pomp of the palace-the proud gilded dome;

For the green scenes of childhood, I bid ye farewell;

The soldier returns to his boyhood's home.

My boyhood's home, &c.

THE GRAVE OF WASHINGTON

DISTURB not his slumbers, let Washington sleep

'Neath the boughs of the willow that over him weep;

His arm is unnerved, but his deeds remain bright,

As the stars in the dark vaulted heaven at night.

Oh! wake not the hero, his battles are

o'er,

Let him rest undisturbed on Potomac's fair shore

On the river's green border so flowery

drest, With the hearts he loved fondly let Washington rest.

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Awake not his slumbers, tread lightly

around,

Tis the grave of the Freeman, 'tis Liberty's mould:

Thy name is immortal, our freedom ye

won,

Brave sire of Columbia, our own Washington.

Oh! wake not the hero, his battles are

o'er,

Let him rest, calmly rest, on his dear native shore,

While the stars and the stripes of our country shall wave,

O'er the land that can boast of a Washington's grave.

THE AMERICAN GIRL

TUNE.-March to the Battle Field

OUR hearts are with our native land,
Our songs are for her glory;
Her warrior's wreath is in our hand,
Our lips breathe out her story.
Her lofty hills and valleys green,
Are shining bright before us;
And like a rainbow sign is seen
Her proud flag waving o'er us.

And there are smiles upon our lips
For those who meet her foemen,
For glory's star knows no eclipse,
When smiled upon by women.
For those who brave the mighty deep,
And scorn the threat of danger,
We've smiles to cheer-and tears to
weep

For every ocean ranger.

Our hearts are with our native land,
Our songs are for her freedom;
Our prayers are for the gallant band

Who strike where honour leads them.
We love the taintless air we breathe,
'Tis freedom's endless power,
We'll twine for him an endless wreath
Who scorns a tyrant's power.

They tell of France's beauties fair,
Of Italy's proud daughters;
Of Scotland's lassies-England's fair,
And nymphs of Shannon's waters.
We need not boast their haughty charms,
Though lords around them hover,
Our glory lies in freedom's arms—
A Freeman for a lover'

THE ROVER'S SONG.

TUNE.-Bonny Boat.

UP, rovers, up, with sword and sail,
True pirates, we ne'er will lag,-
Arouse, and to the wooing gale,
Spread out our blood red flag.
A gallant bark rides on our lee,
With gold and merchandise;
Stand to your guns, and soon she'll be
The gallant rover's prize.
Then, rover's up, with sword and sail,
The pirate's ne'er will lag,
On deck and to the wooing gale,
Spread forth our blood red flag.

See now, within gun-shot she draws,
Blaze in upon her lee-

She feels our light'ning, lads, huzza!
Her mizzen swabs the sea.

On, boarders, on, for victory,
Free her decks we stride,

Her treasures now our prize shall be,
Her maids each rover's bride.

Then, rovers, up, &c.