THE

AMUSING SONGSTER.

SILENT RIVER.

RIVER! that in silence windest
Thro' the meadows bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!
Oft in sadness and in illness,

I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflow'd me like a tide.

Ah! thou hast taught me, silent river!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a gen'rous giver,

I can give thee but a song.

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear,

Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,

And have made thy margin dear.

Friends with joy my soul remembers !
How like quiv'ring flames they start,
When I fan the living embers

On the hearth-stone of my heart!
Ah! 'tis for this, thou silent river!
That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a gen'rous giver,
Take this idle song from me.

I AM NOT WHAT I SEEM.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. P. KNIGHT,

You deem me cold and heartless,

You think I cannot feel,
Because with smiles I greet you,
And graver thoughts conceal;
But though I seem so happy,
And bask in pleasure's beam,
Ask those who know me better ;—
I am not what I seem.
'Tis not the gayest features

That marks the brightest lot;

The one you deem so happy
Has loved-and been forgot.

When no gay friends are near me
To praise my harp's sweet tone,
The eye you see so beaming

Oft weeps, and weeps alone;
'Tis pride that strives to conquer
That futile, idle dream;
"Tis scorn that makes me careless ;-
I am not what I seem.

I only strive to banish

The past-but I cannot ;

The one you deem so happy

Has loved-and been forgot.

THE BUTTERFLY WAS A GENTLE

T HAYNES BAYLY.]

MAN.

[Music by ALEX, LEE.

THE butterfly was a gentleman,

Of no very good repute;

And he roved in the sunshine all day long

In his scarlet and purple suit;

And he left his lady-wife at home

In her own secluded bower,
Whilst he, like a bachelor, flirted about
With a kiss for every flower.

His lady-wife was a poor glow-worm,
And seldom from home she'd stir;
She loved him better than all the world,
Though little he cared for her.

Unheeded she passed the day-she knew
Her lord was a rover then;

But, when night came on, she lighted her lamp
To guide him over the glen.

One night the wanderer homeward came,
But he saw not the glow-worm's ray;
Some wild bird saw the neglected one,
And flew with her far away;
Then beware, ye butterflies all, beware,
If to you such a time should come;
Forsaken by wandering lights, you'll wish
You had cherished the lamp at home.

GIVE ME A FACE THAT MAKES
SIMPLICITY A GRACE.
[BEN JONSON.]

STILL to be neat, still to be dressed
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed,
Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet-all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free,
Such sweet neglect more pleaseth me
Than all the adulteries of art,-
They strike my eye, but not my heart.

THE FARMER'S SON.

[ANONYMOUS, 1800.]

GOOD people, give attention, while I do sing in praise Of the happy situation we were in in former days; When my father kept a farm, and my mother milk'd her cow,

How happily we lived then to what we do now!

When my mother she was knitting, my sister she would spin,

And by their good industry they kept us neat and clean; I rose up in the morning, with my father went to plough,

How happily we lived then to what we do now!

My brother gave assistance in tending of the sheep; When tired with our labour, how contented we could sleep!

Then early in the morning we again set out to plough,— How happily we lived then to what we do now!

Then to market with the fleece, when the little herd were shorn,

And our neighbours we supplied with a quantity of

corn;

For half-a-crown a bushel we would sell it then, I vow,— How happily we lived then to what we do now!

I never knew at that time, go search the country round, That butter ever sold for more than four-pence per pound,

And a quart of new milk for a penny from the cow,How happily we lived then to what we do now!

How merry would the farmers then sing along the road,. When wheat was sold at market for five pounds a load! They'd drop into an alehouse, and drink "God speed the plough,"

How happily we lived then to what we do now!