In virtues great and strong,
May ALBERT's name be long,
The theme of Britain's song,
God save the Queen!

Oh! whilst the nation hails,
Our true-born prince of Wales,
May it be seen,

On Brunswick's royal line,
That still thy light divine,
Its radiance sheds benign,
God save the Queen!

AWAY, AWAY, TO THE MOUNTAIN'S BROW.

AWAY, away, to the mountain's brow, Where the trees are gently waving; Away, away, to the mountain's brow, Where the stream is gently laving; And beauty, my love, on thy cheek shall dwell,

Like the rose as it opes to the day; While the zephyr that breathes through the flow'ry dell

Shakes the sparkling dew-drops

away.

Away, away, to the mountain's brow, Where the trees are gently waving Away, away, &c.

Away, away, to the rocky glen,

Where the deer are wildly bounding; And the hills shall echo in gladness again,

To the hunter's bugle sounding; While beauty, my love, on thy cheek shall dwell,

Like the rose as it opes to the day; While the zephyr that breathes through the flow'ry dell

Shakes the sparkling dew-drops

away.

Away, away, &c.

OH, I SHOULD LIKE TO MARRY

OH, I should like to marry,
If that I could find
Any handsome fellow
Suited to my mind!

Oh, I should like him dashing!

Oh, I should like him gay!

The leader of the fashion,

And dandy of the day!

Oh, I should like, &c.

Oh, I should like his hair,
As Truefit's wigs, divine;
The sort of thing each fair

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Would envy being mine!
He mustn't be too short,
He mustn't be too burly;
But slim, and tall, and straight,
Moustache and whiskers curly.
Oh, I should like, &c

His cab, too, he must drive,
With a tiny tiger dear;
And a phaton, and a Brougham,
And ten thousand pounds-a-year.
He mustn't wish to have

All things just his own way;
He must mope when I am grave,
And be gay when I am gay.
Oh, I should like, &c.

I'm sure he'll never grumble,
But live a life of ease,
That is, on one condition—
I'm to do whate'er I please!
Now isn't this good-natured?
And don't you all agree
This little tiny privilege
Is not too much for me?

Oh, I should like, &o

THE OAK AND THE IVY.

In the depth of the forest an old oak grew,

The pride of the greenwood there, O'er its branches the ivy her mantle threw,

When the forest boughs were bare;
She clung like a bride
To his sturdy side,

And her shining leaves so green
Made him blythe and gay
Through the live-long day

In the midst of a winter scene.
Oh, long may the oak and the ivy

stand

The pride and the boast of our native

land!

Oh, the oak of the forest told me true, And I echo the tale in song,

That the ivy its branches made fair to view,

While the oak made the ivy strong. 'Twas a union good,

In the old deep wood

Had each for itself grown there,

The plant alone

Had no beauty shown,

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And the boughs of the tree been bare!

Then long may the oak and the ivy

stand

The pride and the boast of our native land!

May we copy the oak and the ivy

green,

And, like Britons, go hand in hand; As firm as the oaks, may our sons be

séen,

In the cause of their native land.
May our daughters fair,

Like the ivy, share

The arms of the parent tree:
While we all unite,

In our strength and might,
For our homes and our liberty-
As long as the oak and the ivy stand
The pride and the boast of our native
land!