SWEET MAY.
[D. F. MCCARTHY.]
"The summer is come! the summer is come!
With its flowers and its branches green,
Where the young birds chirp on the blossoming boughs,
And the sun-light struggles between;
And like children over the earth and sky,
The flowers and the light clouds play;
But never before to my heart or eye
Came there ever so sweet a May
Sweet May! sweet May!
Oh! many a time have I wander'd out
In the youth of the opening year,
When Nature's face was fair to my eye,
And her voice was sweet to my ear!
When I number'd the daisies, so few and shy,
That I met in my lonely way;
But never before to my heart or eye
Came there ever so sweet a May
Sweet May! sweet May!
If the flowers delay'd, or the beams were cold,
Or the blossoming trees were bare,
I had but to look in the poet's book,
For the summer is always there!
But the sunny page I now put by,
And joy in the darkest day!
For never before, to my heart or eye,
Came there ever so sweet a May
Sweet May! sweet May!
For, ah! the beloved at length has come,
Like the breath of May from afar;
And my heart is lit with her gentle eyes,
As the heavens by the evening star.
"Tis this that brightens the darkest sky,
And lengthens the faintest ray,
And makes me feel that to heart or eye
There was never so sweet a May
I HAVE LISTENED TO YOUR SONG.
I have listen'd to your song
Till my heart was like to break,
But they knew not, 'mid the throng,
That you sung it for my sake,
When we did not dare to speak
What in song we could impart,
And when words seem'd all too weak
For the language of the heart.
I have listen'd, &c.
I have listen'd to your song
Since then, in happier days,
When the winter nights were long,
By our own fire's cheerful blaze;
And no other voice or tone
Can for me such music make,
Now your songs are all mine own,
And you sing them for my sake.
I have listen'd, &c.
To arms, once more, to arms! the cry
Throughout the list'ning land is heard;
It sweeps the sea-it rends the sky,
And Britain's mighty soul is stirr'd.
O not for conquest or for gain
We draw to-day the glittering blade ;
But when did justice call in vain
For English hearts and English aid?
Long, long has peace our people blest,
And smiled upon our happy shore;
And if the sword no more may rest,
If drums must beat, and cannon roar-
Woe, woe to him whose maniac pride
The dogs of war has loosed again!
May shame his crafty arts betide,
And ruin with his flag remain.
To arms, to arms! come forth in might,
The stirring call our hearts obey;
For freedom and for peace we fight,
For these we hasten to the fray.
Then forward with the true and brave!
We go to seek a field of fame;
Prepared to find a warrior's grave,
Or bear through life a glorious name.
The red moon is up o'er the moss-cover'd mountain,
The hour is at hand when I promised to rove
With the turf-cutter's daughter, by Logan's bright water,
And tell her how truly her Donald can love.
I ken there's the miller, wi' plenty o' siller,
Would fain win a glance from her beautiful ee;
But my ain bonnie Mary, the star of Glengary,
Keeps a' her sweet smiles and saft kisses for me
'Tis lang sin' we first trod the Highlands togither,
Twa frolicsome bairns gaily starting the deer;
When I ca'd her my life, my ain bonnie wee wife!
And ne'er knew sic joy as when Mary was near;
And still she's the blossom I wear in my bosom→→
A blossom I'll cherish and wear till I dee!
For my ain bonnie Mary, the star of Glengary,
She's health, and she's wealth, and she's a good to me.
THE BANKS OF DOON.
[ROBERT BURNS.]
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fou o' care!
Ye'll break my heart, ye little birds,
That wanton through the flowery thorn;
Ye mind me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
While ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' heartsome glee I pu'd a rose,
The sweetest on its thorny tree;
But my fawse love has stown the rose,
And left the thorn behind wi' me.
FAIR IS THE MILLER'S MAID.
[Music by T. W. PARKE,
Fair is the miller's maid,
And crimson red her cheek;
Black are her sparkling eyes,
And sweetly do they speak.
"Oh yes, dear lad!" she cries to me,
"In willow grove I'll come to thee
Soon as the moon is up
And all the village still,
While round, round, round goes the mill !"
Fair is the miller's maid,
Her tresses auburn bright;
Soft are her coral lips,
Her bosom snowy white.
"Oh yes," &c.
Fair is the miller's maid,
And dulcet is her song;
Dear is she to my heart,
And we shall wed ere long.
"Oh yes," &c.
[Music by N. J. SPORLE. List! list to the storm! see the dark frowning sky, The breakers are foaming, the billows run high. Hark! hark how the minute gun booms o'er the wave! "Tis a signal for help from the bold and the brave. Bear a hand, my brisk lads! see a sail through the mist, Standing up 'gainst a sea she can never resist; The gale is o'erwhelming-her storm-beaten crew Can ne'er keep her off, boys!—there's work now for you!
Still wilder the blast, and the sea mountains high-
She strikes!-my brave hearts, to our lugger we fly!
Heave-a-ho! we're afloat-trust your skipper's tried
skill;
His heart knows no danger, and yours fear no ill.
Pull away! pull away!-o'er the breakers we ride,
Our arms full of strength and our hearts full of pride.
Pull, pull, boys, together! she'll soon make the wreck,
And cheer ev'ry heart on that storm-stricken deck.
See, see! now her mainmast is gone by the boardShe rights!-pull away, boys! our help quick afford. Now, now every hand, every heart do its best,
And Heaven will be with us-our toil shall be blest!
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