THE BRITISH ANCHOR. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by E. J. LODER. Fill up, fill up your mystic fires, A noble work is thine No sound is in the old dockyard- The signal's given-strike! stalwart men, Hurrah! they've forged the anchor- They've launch'd a huge and mighty hull And with many a gallant struggle now Oh! the anchors of our navy are They guard our giant ships from wreck They tell the brave and gallant hearts What joys shall greet them when they sleep Then honour to the anchor! I DREAMT I DWELT IN MARBLE HALLS. A. BUNN.] [Music by M, W. BALFE. I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs at my side, And of all who assembled within those walls, I had riches too great to count-could boast But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, I dreamt that suitors sought my hand, And with vows no maiden heart could withstand, And I dreamt that one of that noble host Came forth my hand to claim; But I also dreamt, which charm'd me most, Trust no future, howe'er pleasant; ONE SWEET HOUR. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by E. L. HIME. The mist is on the mountain, The moon's in splendour riding, The river onward gliding, The stars their midwatch keeping, All, all, &c. WOULD YOU BE HAPPY? R. BENNETT.] [Music by S. GLOVER. Oh! would you be happy, to others be kind, In the time of your sadness, the day of your grief, That by word or by deed you have given relief Oh! would you be happy, think kindly of all, The great have their follies as well as the small, Take the world as it is, and help all that you can, The thought that you've been of some service to man, Will give comfort and peace to your heart. THE GIFT FROM O'ER THE SEA. J. E. CARPENTER.] [Music by S. GLOVER. "What shall I bring thee, maiden, say— What gift from o'er the sea, To prove, when I am far away, A costly gem, a pearly shell, A bird of plumage rare, Or flower unknown to us who dwell Where blossom none so fair ?" "I ask no gem, no pearl I crave," " Thy bird would only find a grave, A COURSING SONG. EDWARD FARMER.] [English Air. Let dukes keep their racers, my lord have his stud, And the 'squire sport his pack, and his prime bit of blood; Give me a good kennel of greyhounds, and let The BEST dog always win, when for coursing we're met. Singing, gently, so ho! halloo, let 'em go, They're off like gun-shot, how like racing they go! See stripped of their clothing,-look, look! what a treat What muscular haunches, what small cat-like feet; They're beautiful creatures,-I'll pound 'em to go. Come, where is your starter, your judge, where is he? Put a brace into slips, and some sport you shall see; Hold hard there, you horsemen don't ride o'er the ground; I ne'er saw this beaten but "pussy" was found. We're sure of a find in this stubble, I know. So ho, there! I told you;-now give her fair play; |