LOVE THEE, DEAREST, LOVE THEE! [THOMAS MOORE.] LOVE thee, dearest, love thee! Though too oft dim With tears like him, Like him my truth will shine; Leave thee, dearest, leave thee! A cloud of night May veil his light, And death shall darken mine; BE KIND TO EACH OTHER. [CHARLES SWAIN.] BE kind to each other!- Then 'midst our dejection How sweet to have earned The blest recollection Of kindness-returned ! When day hath departed, Her watch, broken hearted, Let falsehood assail not, HOW PLEASANT IS THE FARMER'S W. C. BENNETT.] LIFE. [Air-"The British Grenadiers." How pleasant is the farmer's life! away from smoky towns He breathes the pleasant country air of meadows, hills, and downs, And with a hale, old hearty age a healthy life he crowns; And it's O, I'd be a farmer-a farmer I would be. No prison'd life the farmer lives, bent over desk and book, Or cribb'd within a shop all day, till white and wan's his look, Till less like to a man he grows, and weaker than our Suke; And it's O, I'd be a farmer—a farmer I would be. As to your white-faced tradesman who fawns and smirks and smiles, Who cannot whirl a flail, boys, or walk a score of miles, What is his life to ours, we who leap the gates and stiles, And it's O, I'd be a farmer--a farmer I would be. Our arms are strong with labour, our cheeks are red with health, We never gain a penny'sworth by lying, trick or stealth, Yet cowhouse, sty and stackyard, show we have our share of wealth; And it's O, I'd be a farmer-a farmer I would be. How pleasant is the spring-time ! 'tis then we plough and sow, And through the shining mornings, beside our teams we go, While in the fields the lambkins leap and frisk their joy to show; And it's O, I'd be a farmer-a farmer I would be. How pleasant is the summer-time! 'tis then we make our hay, And scythe and rake and fork and cart are busy al! the day, 'Tis then we shear our bleating sheep with laugh and joke and play; And it's O, I'd be a farmer—a farmer I would be. Then comes the pleasant autumn-time when sheaves are reap'd and bound. And, at our happy harvest-homes, the song and ale go round, And through the calm and quiet days our busy flails resound; And it's O, I'd be a farmer-a farmer I would be. And when our fields are stripp'd and bare, and white with sleet and snow, When work is done, beside the fire what merry nights we know, With Christmas cheer and New Year's games we set our hearts aglow; And it's O, I'd be a farmer- a farmer I would be. Then luck to all good farmers! God send them still, I say, Good seasons, plenteous harvests, and all they want each day, Full barns, and folds and stackyards, and thankful hearts, I pray; And its O, I'd be a farmer-a farmer I would be. THE BROKEN VOW. From the German.] { days shaded ?"-MOORE. Had smiled on the vows he gave. In the lands of the foe and stranger, When he thought on the maid he loved. She had broken the vow she plighted, For the dreams of his youth were o'er; CHARLES SWAIN.] HOME AND FRIENDS AROUND US. When youth's bright spell hath bound us; The friends that speed in time of need, MUSIC FOR MACBETH. THOMAS MIDDLETON and W. SHAKSPEARE. and} [Music by MATTHEW LOCKE. 1st Witch. SPEAK, sister, speak! is the deed done? 2nd Witch. Long ago, long ago; above twelve glasses since have run. Ill deeds are seldom slow or single, |