Davidson's Universal Melodist: Consisting of the Music and Words of Popular ...

MARGARET'S BOWER.

The Poetry by J. W. Leslie; the Music by J. M. Jolly.-Published by Davidson. Andante Affetuoso.

Near the hill where in ru-ins Dol-forwyn's gray tow-er Lies mou'd'ring, where flows Severn s

wreathing Their tur-bans of mist from each hill's lof - ty brow-The morn from the bri-er its

per-fume was breath-ing, And the hea-vens were ting'd with the

No parting farewell we exchanged, nor a token
To soften my exile or lighten my care;
But the bond that enslaved me remains stili un-
broken,

And I sigh for the scenes to fond memory dear!
Should I ever return, then woe to the scorner
Who branded my truth with dishonour's dark

name;

I'll turn his false yell to the wail of the mourner, And expunge the foul blot that has sullied my fame,

sun's purple glow.

Ah! where are my hopes? They like shadows have vanish'd;

And the star of my happiness darkly hath set: Heart-broken and wretched, distracted and banish'd,

I weep o'er the hours I can never forget! When death's fatal arrow is drawn from the quiver, And my soul wings her flight to the regions above, [river, Lay my form 'neath the tow'r near the beautiful Near Margaret's bower, the home of my love.

When I was bound p-pren-tice, in fam'd Žum-mer - set - shire. I sarv'd my mas-ter

truly, for nearly seven year;

Till took up

to poach-ing, As you shall

quickly hear, For it's my de-light of a shi-ny night, In the season of the year!

As me and my companions were setting of a snare, The gamekeeper was a watching us,-for him we did not care;

[where,

For we can wrestle, fight, my boys, jump over any For it's my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year!

As me and my companions were setting four and five,

[live;

And taking of them up again, we took the hare aWe popp'd her into a bag, my boys, and thro' the wood did steer,

For it's my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year!

We threw her o'er our shoulders, and wander'd through the town,

crown ;

Call'd into a neighbour's house, and sold her for a
[you where,-
We sold her for a crown, my boys, but dare not tell
But it's my delight of a shiny night, in the season
of the year.

Well, here's success to Poaching, for I do think it
fair;
[his deer;
Bad luck to ev'ry housekeeper that would not sell
Good luck to ev'ry gamekeeper that wants to buy
a hare,-
[of the year!
For it's my delight of a shiny night, in the season

DE MERRY SHOE-BLACK.

Negro Melody.--Published in Davidson's Cheap and Uniform Edition of the Songs of Henry Russell. Allegro Moderato.

gwine down to New Or-leans, I ax myself a ques - tin: I go to yearn a

great man Howard! Ro, re, ri, I tink ob dis, I tink ob dat, but nothink suit my view, sir; [shoe, sir;

At last I set me up in trade to clean de boot and Wid Day and Martin, brush and pot, to be a shining man, sir:

Ambition am my only fault, so I do all I can, sir, A man, sir, a man, sir, a berry shining man, sir; Lord Wellington and Bobby Peel dey follow out my plan, sir;

sir.

Plan, sir, plan, sir, ambition's plan, sir,Ro, re, ri, ro,-Jim berry shining man, When Kentucks come up to my stall, dere rudeness I abolish, [de polish;

And tho' no manners dey can boast, I tip 'em soon De white-wash womans larf at me, and cock dem ugly nose up, [toes up; But when it muddy, gorry den I brush dere little Dere toes, up, dere toes up, dere natty little toes up, [it grows up, Dere's nothink ever made but has some use in't as Grows up, grows up, it useful grows up,Ro, re, ri, ro,-den why dey cock de nose up?

way,

ro-- I'm ber ry shocking cow - - ard! My blacking-pot am like meself, a handsom' standin' colour: [duller;

So, on my life, I get a wife, 'cos I find de days grow She's washerwomans, scrubs all day, gibs dirty tings [ing:

a racking, She flourish in de whiting trade as I do in de blackDe blacking, de blacking, de whiting and de blacking,[Blacking; So we set up in partnership, de firm of Whiting Blacking, blacking, de whiting blacking,

Ro, re, ri, ro, whiting and de blacking. My Dinah she get in de suds-I work away and grinny,

And berry soon, a happy Nig, I dandle piccaninny;
Him bootiful as am meself, fine colour but not too
black,
[shoeblack;
And berry certain sure I am he'll make a hansom'
A shoeblack, a shoeblack, rale mulatto shoeblack;
So all my gals shall larn to wash-each boy shall be
a shoeblack,

Shoeblock, shoeblack, shall be a shoeblack,
Ro, re, ri, ro a merry, merry shoeblack!

With thee fair sum-mer's joys ap-pearl-O! sweet Anne Page! Lat, thou a

dread win-ter's near-O! sweet Anne Page! And all a round is dark and drear: The

leaved look pale, and shepherds mourn: All nature droops till you return!-O! sweet Anne Page!

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ra-tion That in up-roar would set all the na-tion, You're a downright tool for the Law.

When a cause you have got coming on,
How the big-wigs will smile you upon,
And they'll beat you, ten to one,
While they make of you a cat's-paw,

And they lay on your sovereigns their claw,
Which into their fobs they draw.

Then they tip you a long oration,

With pomp and ostentation;
And leave you in consternation,
At there J, A, W, Jaw;
Which is all that you get for Law,
Excepting a Pish! or a Psha!

So if you, &c.
If in Chancery you'd be peeping,
The judge on your case is sleeping,
Or waking and sighing and weeping,
Instead of attending to Law;
Though of Equity he will jaw,
And, swinging his leg, see-saw,
Will puzzle yon early and late,
And doubt and procrastinate,
And ruin you, certain as fate,
Both in Equity and in Law:
L, A, W, Law,

Your estate will from you draw!--
So, if you, &c.

And should you be the Queen's Bench in,
Because you've been going a wenching,

A thing which I blush to mention,
For in character it is a flaw,—
Then the Judge lets loose his jaw,
And lays down what isn't Law.
His hopes are rotten, whose trust is
Plac'd upon getting cheap Justice;
For what they say must be, must is,-
'Tis always the maxim in Law.

L, A, W, Law:

Which seldom is worth a straw.
So if you, &c.

Then, while you're safely seated,
Never mind being cheated,-
'Tis better than being heated

In the terrible oven of Law:

If you wish to know what it's for,
It's like a game at taw;

And you'll be knock'd out of the centre,

If e'er you attempt to enter:

So take me for your Mentor,

And don't be quite so raw ;

R, A, W, Raw,

Is a quality known in Law;

So I'd advise you to take a station,
Where for cash you can have an oration,
That we are all of us tools for the Law.
And auricular demonst.ation!

O! LOVE IS JUST LIKE GAMING.

Poetry by Miss Mary Leman Rede, to Irish Melody, Moore's 'To Ladies' Eyes.'-Published by Davidson. Allegretto.

O! Love is just like gaming, The world the pack, the world the pack, The human

mind in flam-ing With tort'-ring rack, with tort'-ring rack: Some hearts, like dice too

truly, On no-thing fix, on no-thing fix, While hands are taken cooly, And

won by tricks, and won by tricks. O! Love is just like gaming, The world the pack, the

world the pack, The human mind in flaming, With tort'ring rack, with tort'-ring rack.

The men-O! who will doubt it?

Are oft the knaves, are oft the knaves;

But when we set about it,

We make them slaves, we make them slaves; But some are so unruly,

They will be kings, they will be kings, And kings of clubs too truly,

And such like things, and such like things.

The ladies all to Hymen's

Bright altars crowd, bright altars crowd,— Some to be queens of diamonds,

It is allow'd, it is allow'd;

THE OLD

But such soon change their billing,

And call in aids, and call in aids, And, while their spouses killing,

Prove queens of spades, prove queens of spades. But those who prize the winning Of real bliss, of real bliss, Despise such sordid sinning,

As much amiss, as much amiss; And seek those honours solely

That love imparts, that love impartsAnd then they are in verity

The queens of hearts, the queens of hearts!

FARM-GATE.

The Poetry by Eliza Cook; the Music by Henry Russell.-Published in Davidson's Cheap and Uniform Edition of his Compositions.

Andante.

Where, where is the gate that once serv'd to divide The elm shad-ed lane from the

dusty road-side? I like not this bar ri er gay ly bedight, With its glitter-ing

latch and its trellis of white: It is seem- ly, I own, yet, O! dear-er by far Was the

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