MY BRIGHT SAVOY.

[SHIRLEY BROOKS.]

My bright Savoy, my bright Savoy,
Thy rills are leaping fresh and clear,
Undimm'd thy smile of tranquil joy;
But I am wandering lonely here.

With many a slighted tear to shed,
To toil through many a weary day,
To crave the chiding stranger's bread,
And sigh for those far, far away.

Oh, when to yonder distant cot,
Where mountain roses linger round,
Where streamlets creep through silent grot,
And spring in light with joyous bound;

Where loving faces round me smiled,
Oh, when shall I return to stay;
Renew thy course, poor wandering child,
And sigh for those far, far away.

COME O'ER THE MOONLIT SEA.

G. JEFFERYS.]

Come o'er the moonlit sea,

[Italian Air,

The waves are brightly glowing,

The winds have sunk to their evening rest,
And the waves are brightly glowing.

Yes, I'll roam o'er the moonlit sea,
For the waves are brightly glowing.
The winds have sunk to their evening rest,
And the tide is gently flowing.

My bark is in the bay, love,

And it only waits for thee;

When its silken sails will throw, love,

Their shadows o'er the sea.

All is still, save the echoed song
Of Italia's dark-eyed daughters,
Or the distant sound of the boatman's oar
As it dips in the sparkling waters.
For all is still, save the echoed song
Of Italia's dark-eyed daughters,

Or the distant sound of the boatman's oar
As it dips in the sparkling waters;
Though bright the morn may beam, love,
Along the smiling sea,

Oh! dearer far than morn, love,

Are moonlit waves to me.

THE DEEP, DEEP SEA.

Mrs. GEO. SHARPE.]

Oh! come and be my love,

[Music by C. HORN.

And our fairy home shall be
Where the water spirits rove
In the deep, deep sea.

In the deep, deep sea, in the deep, deep sea.
There are gems rich and rare

In the caverns of the deep,

And to braid thy raven hair

There the pearly treasures sleep.

In a tiny man-of-war

Thou shalt stem the ocean's tide,

Or in a crystal car,

Sit a queen in all her pride.
Oh, come and be my bride,
And our fairy home shall be
In the deep, deep sea, &c.

Ah, believe that love may dwell
Where the coral branches twine,
And that every wreathed shell
Breathes a tune as soft as thine
Hopes as fond as thou would prove,
Truth as bright as e'er was told,

Hearts as warm as those above,
Dwell under the waters cold.

Under the waters cold, under the waters cold,
Oh, come and be my love, &c.
Come and be my love,

And our fairy home shall be
Where the water spirits rove
In the deep, deep sea.
Come, come, &c.

I HEARD THY FATE WITHOUT A TEAR.

LORD BYRON.]

[Music by J. W. HOBBS.

I heard thy fate without a tear,
Thy loss with scarce a sigh;
And yet thou wert surpassing dear,
Too loved of all to die :

I know not what has sear'd mine eye,
The tears refuse to start;

But ev'ry drop its lids deny
Falls dreary on my heart.

Yes, deep and heavy, one by one,
They sink and turn to care;
As cavern'd waters wear the stone,
Yet, dropping, harden there:
They cannot petrify more fast
Than feelings sunk remain,
Which, coldly fix'd, regard the past,
But never melt again.

THE ENGLISH FIELDS.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by C. W. GLOVER,

A song for the fields, for the merry green fields,
Let who will praise bright Italy's sky,
Dear England alone is the land that I own;
And what spot can its beauties outvie?

How countless its flowers-through the long summer hours,

How sweet through the meadows to stray,

Where freedom and health may be found that the

wealth

Of the proud never gain'd far away!

Though others may roam from their own native home,

For me it still happiness yields,

And say what they will of each vine-cover'd hill,
Can they match me our merry green fields?
A song for the fields, for the merry green fields,
Though our skies oft are darken'd with showers;
If sunshine alone o'er our pathway were thrown,
Could we boast of such beautiful flowers?
Our hedgerows are green, and our meadows are seen
Fill'd with daisies and buttercups wild,

And to me they're as gay as on each sunny day
I gather'd them when but a child.

Though others may dream of the mountain and
stream,

While my wild harp its melody yields,

My song it shall be of the land of the free,
And the charms of its merry green fields!

THE SCOTTISH HEATH.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

Of all the spots sae bonnie,

[Music by C. W. Glover.

The sunny skies beneath,

The sweetest one of any

Is my ain dear Scottish heath;

There the wind blows fra' the north,

And the laverock wanders forth.

There's health in every blossom that scents the morning air,

But I hae nae cause to sigh,

If I tell the reason why

I loe the blooming heather-'tis my laddie meets me there!

'Tis ere the flocks are roaming
I loe to wander there,

'Tis often at the gloaming
That thither I repair;

For the heather's purple bloom
Sheds around such sweet perfume;

Beyond the rose I prize it, be the blossom e'er sae fair,
But for more than all the rest,

For the truth must be confess'd,

I loe the blooming heather-'tis my laddie meets me there!

THE IRISH LAKE.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by C. W. GLOVER.

One day by that lake I was straying
In whose waves, as they placidly flow,
"Tis said that the old towers of Erin

May be seen there reflected below;
I thought I might venture to peep in,
When what in the wave should I trace
But the form of that spalpeen Tim Doolan
Looking up like a thief in my face.

"Twas Tim looking over my shoulder,
Though I thought I was dreaming awake,
"Sure," said he, "there's no ghost of a creature
Save myself in your Irish lake."

Oh! it's sweet are the waters of Ireland,
Of many a minstrel the dream;
But I think that her bards have been given
To mingle romance with the theme;
The towers they speak of had vanish'd,
And, save for a trout or a perch,
There was nothing below I might fairly
Mistake for a house or a church!
Except as Tim looked o'er my shoulder,
And laughed at my little mistake,
He show'd me the steeple-inverted,
Of a church 'neath the Irish lake.