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You know not what it is to pine

With ceaseless vain regret;
You never felt a love like mine

You never knew Annette.

For everchanging, still you rove

As I in boyhood roved;
But when you tell me this is love,

It proves you never loved ;
To many idols you have knelt,

And therefore sod orget ;
But what I feel, you never felt-

You never knew Annette.

YOU AND I. CLARIBEL.]

[Music by CLARIBEL. We sat by the river, you and I,

In the sweet summer-time long ago,
So smoothly the water glided by,

Making music in its tranquil flow.
We threw two leaflets, you and I,

To the river as it glided on;
And one was rent and left to die,

And the other floated forward all alone.
And oh, we were saddened, you and I,

For we felt that our youth's golden prime
Might fade, and our lives be severed soon,

As the two leaves were parted in the stream.

'Tis

years since we parted, you and I,
In that sweet summer-time long ago,
And I smile as I pass the river by,

And I gaze into the shadow depths below.
I look on the grass and bending reeds,

And I listen to the soothing song,
And I envy the calm and happy life

Of the river, as it sings and flows along.

For oh! how its song brings back to me

The shade of our youth's golden dream, In the days ere we parted, you and I,

As the two leaves were parted in the stream.

OH, TAKE ME BACK TO SWITZER

LAND!

Music by the Hon. HON. MRS. NORTON.]

MRS, NORTON By the dark waves of the rolling sea, Where the white sailed ships are tossing free,

Came a youthful maiden,

Pale and sorrow laden,
With a mournful voice sang she.
Oh! take me back to Switzerland,
My own, my dear, my native land !
I'll brave all dangers of the main
To see my own dear land again.
I see its hills, I see its streams,
Its blue lakes haunt my restless dreams;

When the day declineth,

Or the bright sun shineth,
Present still its beauty seems.
Oh! take me back to Switzerland,
Upon the mountains let me stand,
Where flowers are bright, where skies are clear,
For oh! I pine, I perish here!

For months along that gloomy shore, 'Mid sea-birds' cry and ocean roar,

Sang that mournful maiden,

Pale and sorrow laden ;
Then her voice was heard no more,
For far away from Switzerland,
From home, from friends, from native land,
Where foreign wild-flowers coldly wave,
The broken-hearted found a grave.

SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A

SUMMER'S DAY?

[SHAKSPEARE.] SHALL I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d: And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course, untrium'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

THE SKIPPER AND HIS BOY. H. AIDE.]

[Music by V. GABRIEL. The sea ran high, and the wind was wild, When the skipper call'd to his only child, “My boy, if fears assail thee now, Go, pray, in silence down below!" “ Fear !” cried the boy, “I know not fear, Father, when thy right hand is near; But merry it is o'er the waves so high, To ride together, my father and I.

Mother will watch from the door and pray For us both, dear father, till break of day, And she'll be the first, when the pray’r is done, To catch sight of our sail, 'neath the morning sun."

“Yes, yes !"-quoth the skipper, brief and stern,
6. To-morrow shall see our bark return
O'er the green waves, 'neath the morning sky,
We'll ride together, my boy and I."
She is watching, watching, but never more
Will that gallant skipper return to shore,
The boy's black handkerchief lies on the sand
It was tied round his neck with her parting hand.
And all that doth of the skipper remain,
Is the compass he never shall use again,
But she knows that now, on the jasper sea,
They ride together, his father and he.

THE BROTHER'S DIRGE. MRS. HEMANS.]

[Music by Mrs. OWEN. In the proud old fanes of England

My warrior fathers lie,
Banners hang drooping o'er their dust

With gorgeous blazonry.
But thou, but thou, my brother!

O'er the dark billows sweep,
The best and bravest heart of all

Is shrouded by the deep.
In the old high wars of England

My noble fathers bled ;
For her lion-kings of lance and spear,

They went down to the dead.
But thou, but thou, my brother!

Thy life-drops flowed for me-
Would I were with thee in thy rest,

Young sleeper of the sea.
In a shelter'd home of England

Our sister dwells alone,
With quick heart listening for the sound

Of footsteps that are gone.

She little dreams, my brother !

Of the wild fate we have found ;
I, 'midst the Afric sands, a slave,

Thou, by the dark sea's bound.

THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER. J. E, CARPENTER.]

[Music by Franz ABT. HEAVENLY Father! King of might!

Place thy guardian angels o'er me;

Once again from sleep restore me;
Guard me through the coming night!
None but thee, O Lord! can guide me;
Earthly father is denied me;
Hear, oh hear, the orphan's prayer,

Heavenly Father!
Heavenly Father! King of kings !

Take my spirit to thy keeping !

O'er my couch while I am sleeping,
Let thine angels spread their wings;
In the world a pilgrim lonely,
Trusting to Thy goodness only;
Thou wilt bear the orphan's prayer,

Heavenly Father!

ONE MORN I LEFT MY BOAT. T. HAYNES BAYLY.]

[Music by A. LEE. ONE morn I left my boat, to stray

In yon island's dewy bowers ;
I culled its sweets, and sailed away

With my stolen store of flowers ;
The west wind bore me o'er the flood,

My prize from the sun I shaded ;
But, ere evening came, the fairest bud

In my lonely wreath was faded.

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