WHEN THEY TOLD ME HE WAS J. E. CARPENTER.] MARRIED. [Music by J. P. KNIGHT. WHEN they told me he was married, How I wept to hear his name! Had he spared my aching brow, It is true no vows were spoken, But his words were soft and kind; That he strove our love to bind ; There are hearts, where truth ne'er enter'd, They deem not when they name him CUPID'S GOLDEN ARROW. ELIZA COOK.] [Music by H. C. GRIFFITHS. YOUNG Cupid went storming to Vulcan one day And besought him to look at his arrow; "Tis useless, he cried, you must mend it, I say, "Tis not fit to let fly at a sparrow. There's something that's wrong in the shaft or the dart, For it flutters quite false to my aim, "Tis an age since it fairly went home to the heart, And the world really laughs at my name. I've straighten'd, I've bent, I've tried all I declare, I've perfumed it with sweetest of sighs, 'Tis feather'd with ringlets that Venus might wear, And the barb gleams with light from young eyes; But it falls without touching, I'll break it, I vow, For there's Hyinen beginning to pout, He's complaining his torch burns so dull and so low, Little Cupid went on with his pitiful tale, There, take it, young Sir, try it now, if it fail You shall grant me no fee or reward. The u chin shot out and rare havoc he wrought, But no wonder the boy had such slaughtering sport, THEY CHIDE ME FOR REPINING. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by E. L. HIME. THEY chide me for repining, They mark my altered brow, This stern, cold world can give : His home was with the stranger, Oh, had I shar'd bis danger, He could not have lov'd me more. His grave no stone revealing, AS I WALKED FORTH ONE SUMMER'S ANONYMOUS.] DAY. [Music by PLAYFORD, 1676, As I walk'd forth one summer's day Where oft in tears a maid would cry, Then o'er the grassy fields she'd walk, 66 Such flowers as gave the sweetest scent When she had fill'd her apron full Then down she laid, nor sigh'd, nor spake, With love her gentle heart did break. THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. T. MOORE.] [Air-" Gang fane." "TIS believ'd that this harp which I now wake for thee, Was a syren of old who sung under the sea, And who often at eve through the bright billow rov'd, To meet on the green shore a youth whom she lov'd. But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep, Still her bosom rose fair-still her cheeks smil'd the same While her sea-beauties gracefully curl'd round the frame; And her hair, shedding tear-drops from all its bright rings, Fell over her white arms, to make the gold strings! Hence it came that this soft harp so long hath been known To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone; BEGONE, DULL CARE. BEGONE, dull Care,-I prithee begone from me; But i'faith, dull Care, Thou never shalt have thy will. Too much care will make a young man grey; So merrily pass the day; For I hold it still the wisest thing IF 'TIS LOVE TO WISH YOU NEAR. CHARLES DIBDIN.] [Music by CHARLES DIBDIN. IF 'tis love to wish you near, To tremble when the wind I hear, If of you to dream at night, To languish when you're out of sight,— If, when you're gone, to count each hour, That you may kind and faithful prove; To wish your fortune to partake, Though low in poverty we strove; T. MOORE.] If this be loving, then I love. ILL OMENS. [Air-"Paddy's resource." WHEN daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, The last time she e'er was to press it alone. |