WHY SHOULD WE SIGH.

Air-"Good Night and Joy."

WHY should we sigh though Fortune frown? What is it that we toil for here?

It's but the belly and the back

That causes all our pain and fear!
The rich man dies, and leaves behind
His gold, with his departed breath;
No gains can then give peace of mind,
Nor bribe the icy hand of death.
So why should we sigh? &c.

The miser has no other joy

Than to augment his sordid store; And if the poor should him annoy,

He turns them almless from his door. The latest, heartless, vain display, Bestow'd by minions insincere, Is on the wretch's funeral dayThe gilded hearse and mimic-tear. So why should we sigh? &c.

The middle state is sure the best, Where one is neither rich nor poor; For riches can but steal our rest;

And poverty none can endure!

If rich, our friends would wish us dead,
That they our money might secure;
And wish the green turf o'er our head,
If we are old, and weak, and poor.
So why should we sigh? &c.

MATRIMONIAL SONG.

London: Davidson.

Tune-"Woo'd an' married, an' a'."

LANG time I was doited and single,
An' felt mysel' weary an' lorn;
Nae lady to sit by my ingle,

To cheer me at night or at morn.

I stoiter'd hame waefu' an' weary,

An' scarce kent my lodgings by name; For a' things look'd dolefu' an' dreary: But noo my gudewife has come hame.

For I'm woo'd, and married, an' a'.

I ance was a bachlor fusty,

The laugh an' the joke o' the town; My joints were baith rattling an' rusty; My heart it hung woefully down. A pipe an' a wee drap o' toddy

Were a' that I cared for a flee; But noo I hae got a bit bodie That's wonderfu' happy wi' me. For I'm woo'd, &c.

MORAL.

Now though my bit sang be fu' happy-
A thing that I made in a trice-
Leave aff a' your clubs an' your drappie,
An' list to my honest advice-
Nae langer in singleness linger,

An' lose the best blessing o' life;
But follow the steps o' the singer,
An' tak' to your arms a gudewife.
For I'm woo'd, and married, an' a'.

ODE FOR MUSIC.

ON QUEEN VICTORIA'S VISIT TO THE CLYDE AND WEST HIGHLANDS.

WELCOME! thrice welcome to our noble Clyde,
Britannia's Queen-her solace and her pride-
First of thy regal race that ever came

To give our stream a more enduring fame.
In
peace and love, and not in war's alarm,
Thou com'st to give our hills a double charm;
And loyal hearts and eyes of rapturous pride
Hail thee, Victoria, to the rock-strewn Clyde !

Loved one! we bid thee welcome, thee and thine;
Sweet English Rose !-the fairest of thy line!—
Thou com'st to see our mountain-thistle grow
O'er heroes' graves, who softly rest below-
To see those scenes where Ossian dwelt of old,
And struck his lyre in Celtic cadence bold-
Where Fingal trod-and Wallace, ever brave,
In triumph swept, and scorn'd to be a slave!
And bold Rob Roy-our Scottish Robin Hood-
Made caves his home beside the wave and wood,
Welcome! thrice welcome, to our noble Clyde,
Britannia's Queen-her hope, her joy, her pride!

Behold the sight-say is a scene more grand?
Look to those hills that dignify the land:
Freedom and lofty grandeur all around-
Blue peaks that rise in solitude profound;
From Ailsa's rock-that Titan of the sea!
To old Dumbarton, now be-deck'd for thee;
On either side our wide-expanding Firth,
Eternal peaks, rear'd at creation's birth!
Like rocky pathways leading to the sky,
Sublime amid the sea majestic lie.

While lakes meander through their rocky way,
And into sparkling streamlets melt away,
And foaming cascades dash in madness down,
'Mong heath-clad glens with mossy borders brown,
And curling vapours round each summit proud,
Now light and pale-now like the thunder-cloud-
Draw their soft curtains-floating amply free,
Like grand proscenium opening wide to thee!

Now gilt with sunshine, Goatfell rises grand,
Looking in pride from Arran's rock-ribb'd land-
Now 'mid the blue the Cobbler's Crown is seen,
Capp'd with a cloud; while lovely and serene,
Sweet Ardenteeny's sloping hills are near,
In noon-day splendour 'mong the zephyrs clear:
Then famed Benlomond lifts his head on high,
Like mighty giant standing in the sky:
Around whose feet the queen of lakes is spread-
And mirrors heaven from its pristine bed-
Studded with fairy islands, clad in trees,
Whose varying fruits and blossoms scent the
breeze;

With snow-white cots reflected in the stream;
All like enchantment in a poet's dream!

Then mark the gallant fleet that hovers nigh,
Like sea-birds flitting through the summer-sky!
The mountain-tops with banners flying fair;
The merchant-ships, whose pennons sweep the air.
The fairest women and the noblest men,
Come forth from city, borough, hill, and glen!
Long live the Queen! they all at once exclaim;
The Scottish hills re-echo back the same;
The booming cannon opes its lips of fire:
Harmonious music swells in transports higher--
Joyous hurrahs, and kerchiefs waving white,
Complete a picture beautiful and bright;
And nought but love and loyalty are seen,
While men and mountains cry-"GOD SAVE THE
QUEEN!"

MONODY.

THE Cauld, cauld grave is Helen's hame,
The cauld, forgotten grave!
And a' that's left is but her name

On memory's fickle wave.
Her sicken'd heart not tastes repose
Beneath the turf sae green;
For death has chased awa her woes,
And closed her weary e'en.

She faded as the lily fades,

When chilly breezes blawWhen mountain heights and lowly glades Are cover'd o'er with snaw. And nane shall mourn her loss like meNane mind her glance sae weel, For she was all that maid could beFond, faithfu', true, and leal.

WRITTEN BY THE SEASIDE.

察

Nor a cloud in the sky, not a voice on the breeze,

Not a wave on the far-spreading breast of the seas;

Each edge of the moon, like the sun in his might, Is wrapp'd in a belt of the fullest-orb'd light: While the vessels that sit on the face of the

stream,

Seem fixed to the waters in motionless dream"Tis the full harvest moon-what a heavenly night! All nature reposes in silvery light.

Though the world were mine own, and its vallies and hills,

And I ruled into silence its myriad of rills; What more could I feel of sweet solitude here? What more of enjoyment in owning a sphere? While man is asleep, and the pure azure skies Has opened its millions of diamond-like eyes, And yon bright little star that the moon claims

her own,

Is abroad with its mistress as star never shone.

All is love, all is beauty, all hush'd into rest-
O God! that man's heart should be ever op-

pressed

Hark! a voice by the shore, and a plash on the sea, 'Tis some fleet tiny bark now that skims o'er it free,

And a song like a spirit's comes softly and low,
And keeps a sweet chord with the beings who row,
And it dies on the waters as liquid and clear
As if heaven had opened to ravish the ear!
"Tis enough! I'll to rest, and reflect on the scene,
And my heart shall improve by a sight so serene!

THE JOLLY YOUNG BACHELOR.

Tune-"The Jolly Young Waterman."

DID ye ever hear tell of the jolly young bachelor?
He was the boy that loved company and wine;
And never a week but this jolly young bachelor
Dress'd after mid-day to go out to dine.
He went so neat, and he walk'd so handsomely,
Each lady would look after him with a longing
eye;

And he smiled and he talk'd with so graceful an air,

And he smiled and he talk'd with so graceful an air,

That this bachelor ne'er was in want of his fair.

At parties where tea-and-turn-out were the fashion too,

And no ruder gentleman offered to go! To these with a relish you'd see him go dashing to, Serving the toast, a la français, tiptoe.

He did it so neat, and smiled too all the time, That though partly grey he look'd like a youth

in prime;

And he smiled and he talk'd with so winning an

air,

And he smiled and he talk'd with so winning an air,

That this bachelor ne'er was in want of a fair.

At routes and gay balls he outrivall'd his cronies, At waltze, pirouette, or in graceful quadrille, And always was made master of ceremonies,

For lightness of heart gives a lightness of heel! His solo was danced so well and so dextrously, And then he could set so neat and so famously, And smiled with so sweet and enticing an air, And smiled with so sweet and enticing an air, That this bachelor ne'er was in want of a fair.

SONGS FOR CHILDREN.

[The six following Songs, for children, are the copyright of Messrs. D'ALMAINE & Co., London.]

THE BLACKBIRD.

Music composed by W. H. Montgomery.

O! PRETTY blackbird on the tree,
What say ye to your charming spouse,
With notes so frank, and full, and free,
That ring among the verdant boughs?
Do ye repeat your am'rous vows,
When first-at sainted Valentine-
Ye woo'd her to your cozy-house

And said, My bonnie bird! be mine?

Your sweet and joyous song I hear, There's freedom in its manly sound; It falls in rapture on the ear

And echoes from the hills around. I hear your mate, with love profound, From yonder thicket answer thee, While, with bright eye and merry bound, Ye tip the branches of the tree.

"'Tis thus"-the noble bird replied—
"We cheer each other ere we rest;
Then, free of sorrow, care or pride,
We creep into our cozy nest."
O! that mankind could ease their breast,
And go to rest with conscience free;
Then life and love would be a jest,
O'er which they'd sing as merrily!

THE BEE.

Music composed by W. H. Montgomery.

THE Bee he is a gentleman,

With pretty sparkling active wings; And, as he flies from flower to flower,

How happily he sings.

He dips his horn in every bloom,

To see where honey lies;
And then, at eve, he hurries home,
With store upon his thighs.

He cares not for the little Ant,

That crawls upon the earth; The only joys he seems to want, Are industry and mirth.