Every leaping billow gleams Through the midnight's parting gloom; Father low on bended knee, OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF OUR OWN. T. MOORE.] [Air-" Sheela Na Guira." OH! had we some bright little isle of our own, In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone; Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming bow'rs, And the bee banquets on thro' a whole year of flow'rs; Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, A thin veil o'er the day; Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, s worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. here, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime From decline as the bowers; r life should resemble a long day of light, UP, QUIT THY BOWER. UP! quit thy bower, late wears the hour; Up! lady fair, and braid thy hair, BOATMAN'S SONG. [ANNA BLACKWELL.] SOFTLY, oh, softly the shadows are falling Over the stream as our bark glides along ; Sweetly, oh, sweetly the echoes are calling, Around us, above us, repeating our song. "Daylight is ending, our labour is o'er; Our homes and our loved ones we seek on the shore ; Even and strong be the sweep of our oar! Our homes and our loved ones we'll find on the shore !" Brightly, oh, brightly, the silver stars gleaming, And light are our hearts as we leap on the shore ! THE MATIN CALL. G. LINLEY.] [Music by G. LINLEY. AH! is it not the matin bell, dear mother, that I hear? Yes, hark, it sweetly sounds again, now louder and more clear. Ope wide the window, for I love each soft and soothing tone, It minds me of a joyous time, alas! for ever gone. Draw back the curtain, let me see the green and waving trees, My heart will be revived to share the sunshine and the breeze. I heard the sound of rustling leaves, and wild birds gaily sing; I feel the breath of op'ning flow'rs a fragrance round me fling: But I must part from all I love, this pain will soon be past. Ob, kneel beside me, mother dear, and let me look my last! When next you hear the matin bell, this heart at peace will be ; Then listen to its solemn chime, and breathe a pray'r for me. OH! WHEN THE TIDE WAS OUT. T. HAYNES BAYLY.] [Music by SIR H. R. BISHOP. OH! when the tide was out last night In yonder bay we roved, We gather'd shells, and on the sand We wrote the names we loved; 'Tis thus with all whose glory rests OUR SAILORS AND OUR SHIPS. [ELIZA COOK.] How dashingly in sun and light the frigate makes her way; Her white sails spreading full and bright beneath the gleaming ray! The gale may wake, but she will take whatever wind may come; Fit car to bear the ocean god upon his crystal home. She cleaves the tide with might and pride, like warhorse freed from rein; She treats the wave like abject slave-the empress of the main ; All, all shall mark the gallant bark, their hearts upon their lips; And cry "Old England, who shall match thy sailors and thy ships?" Stout forms, strong arms, and dauntless spirits dwell upon the deck; True to their cause in calm or storm, in battle or in wreck. No foe will meet a coward hand, faint heart or quailing eye : They only know to fall or stand, to live the brave or die. The flag that carries round the world a Nelson's victor name Must never shield a dastard knave or strike in craven shame. Let triumph scan her blazing page, no record shall eclipse The glory of old England's Cross, her sailors and her ships. The tempest breath sweeps o'er the sea with howlings of despair, Death walks upon the waters, but the tar must face and bear: The bullets hiss, the broadside pours, 'mid sulphur, blood, and smoke, And prove a British crew and craft alike are hearts of oak. Oh! ye who live 'mid fruit and flowers-the peaceful, safe, and free Yield up a prayer for those who dare the perils of the sea. "God and our Right!" those are the words e'er first upon our lips; But next shall be, "Old England's flag, our sailors and our ships!" TELL ME NO MORE. T. HAYNES BAYLY.] [Music by JOHN BRAHAM. TELL me no more that hearts less warm, Mine be the heart which feeling sways; |