They may talk as they please of their far-spreading

waters,

Their lakes and their prairies, majestic and grand, There is not a spot that fair Cambria's daughters

Would love half so well as their own native land; "Tis there, when the goats on the hill-side are browsing, We sit round the harper and list to his tales, While the song that he sings, ev'ry feeling arousing, Tells of deeds that were done in our own flow'ry vales.

Our sons may be rough as the crags of the mountain, But, look you, they've hearts that are tender and true,

Their silver songs flow like the voice of the fountain, Then what can the poor maids of Cambria do ? From market and fair when at eve we're returning, Perchance o'er the heart some soft accent prevails; Then our wants are but few, so all bashfulness spurning, We soon find a home in our own flow'ry vales.

J. H. DUFFY.]

HERMINE.

[Music by T. C. REYNOLDS.

Fast and fair the stars were springing

In the deep calm summer sky,

Soft the bulbul bird was singing

To a clump of roses nigh;

And through the grass a little stream
Went murmuring in a happy dream,
While, leaning on my breast, Hermine
Sigh'd low "
My heart for aye is thine !"

But e'er since grey-beard Time was young,
Love 'gainst the yellow gold was weak,

And oft for this hath woman flung

True hearts away to live or break;

So now with one who loved not more,
Who won her with the glittering ore,
Dwells in the summer land of Rhine,
My life's lost Pleiad-false Hermine!

OLD FRIENDS MET TOGETHER.

C. SWAIN.]

[Music by E. J. LODER. Oh! Time is sweet when roses meet,

With spring's sweet breath around them;
And sweet the cost when hearts are lost,
If those we love have found them;
And sweet the mind that still can find
A star in darkest weather;

But nought can be so sweet to see,
As old friends met together.

Those days of old when youth was bold,
And Time stole wings to speed it,
And youth ne'er knew how fast they flew,
Or knowing, did not heed it;

Though grey each brow that meet us now,
For age brings wintry weather,
Yet nought can be so sweet to see
As old friends met together.

The few long known that years have shown
With hearts that friendship blesses,
A hand to cheer-perchance, a tear
To sooth a friend's distresses!
That helped and tried, still side by side,
A friend to face hard weather,

Oh! thus may we yet joy to see
Our old friends met together.

THE GLORIOUS BRITISH OAK!

B. GOUGH.]

[Music by W. GRANTHAM.

Fill a goblet, merry folk,

And quaff a toast with me,

Here's the glorious British oak,
Old England's lordly tree!

The oak, the monarch oak,
Is ours o'er hill and lea,
Beneath the woodman's stroke,
Or sweeping o'er the sea.

Then fill a goblet, &c.

The oak it is a noble tree,
It hath no living peers,
For it reigneth firm and free
A thousand rolling years;
'Twas made for British land,
Where every man is free!
What tree can foes withstand,
Or age, old oak, like thee?

Then fill a goblet, &c.

Fill a goblet, merry folk,

And be a bumper thine,
Who would toast the British oak
Should drink the best of wine;
Our fathers loved its shade,

Our kings have climb'd its boughs;
Huzza! the garland cannot fade
That wreathes around its brows!
Then fill a goblet, &c.

J. W. LAKE.]

NEVER DESPAIR.

[Music by J. BRAHAM,

Never despair!--let the feeble in spirit,

Bow like the willow that stoops to the blast; Droop not in peril-'tis manhood's true merit Nobly to struggle and hope to the last. When, by the sunshine of fortune forsaken, Faint sinks the heart of the feeble with fear, Stand like the oak of the forest unshaken, Never despair, boys! never despair!

Never despair, though adversity rages
Fiercely and fell as the surge on the shore;
Firm as the rock in the ocean for ages,

Stem the rude torrent till danger is o'er! Fate, with its whirlwind, our joys may all sever, True to ourselves we have nothing to fear, This be our hope and our anchor for ever:Never despair, boys! never despair!

SOME POETS PRAISE.
[ANONYMOUS.]

Some poets praise the violet's hue,
And some the lily's whiteness,
Some Scotland's bells of bonny blue,
And some the rose's brightness.
But oh! give me the heather bloom,
In simple beauty blowing,-
So sweet it scatters its perfume,
Upon the wild heath growing.

Some poets praise the mignonette,
And some the honey-flower;
But there's a sweeter fragrance yet
Within a jasmine bower;

That flower it blooms alone for me,
Though gazed upon by many,
In all the world they ne'er could see
So sweet a flower as Annie!

MERRILY GOES THE MILL.

C. JEFFERYS.]

[Music by S. NELSON.

Merrily rolls the mill-stream on,

Merrily goes the mill,

And merry to-night shall be my song
As ever the gay lark's trill.

L