THE MAY-QUEEN,-PART I.

The Poetry by Alfred Tennyson, Esq.; the Music by W. Dempster.-Published by permission by Davidson. Allegretto con Vivace.

o' the May, Mo-ther,—I'm to be Queen o' the May! The shepherd lads on every side 'll come from far away,

For I'mto be Queen o' the May, Mother,-I'm to
be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, Mother, will be fresh & green & still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the
hill,
[and play:
And the violet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glanee
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, Mother,-I'm to
be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early,
Mother dear,-
[New Year;
To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad
To-morrow'll be of all the year the maddest,
merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, Mother,-I'm
to be Queen o' the May

THE MAX-QUEEN,-PART II.

The Poetry by Alfred Tennyson, Esq.; the Music by W. Dempster.-Published by permission by Davidson.

Andante.

If you're wak-ing, call me ear-ly, call me ear-ly, Mo-ther dear, For

would see the

e-ver I shall see; Then you may lay me To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good Old Year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;

And the New Year's coming up, Mother, but I
shall never see
[tree.

The blossom on the black-thorn, the leaf upon the
Last May we made a crown of flow'rs; we had a
merry day :

Beneath the hawthorn on the green, they made me Queen of May;

And we danc'd about the may-pole, and in the hazel copse,

Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.

There's not a flow'r on all the hills; the frost is

WHERE'S THE HEART SO COLD?

The Words by Miss M. L. Rede, to an Irish Melody, Moore's 'All that's Bright must fade.'

woe and Then let sighs less deep,

O'er thy lip come stealing;

Be the tear you weep

Fraught with balmier healing!

Mem'ry vainly tries

To speak to thee of error,-
Hope beyond the skies

Hushes every terror.

All thy many woes

To thee were only given,

To prove how purely glows

The flame that mounts to Heaven.

FORGIVE THE MUSE THAT SLUMBER'D.

Irish Melody; Poetry by Leman Rede to Moore's Air 'd Mourn the Hopes,' &c.
Allegretto.

give the muse that slumber'd Up on thy dear, thy na- tal day, Nor

think that 'tis un-number'd Among the first that claim her lay;

Aud

though she wants the fra -grance Of glowing fancy's beam di-vine,

Af

life and human folly, But mer-ri-ly, merri-ly sing, fal la!

Come on, ve ro-sy

hours, Gay smil-ing mo-ments bring:

We'll strew the path with flowers, And

mer-ri-ly, mer-ri-ly sing, fal-la! For what's the use of sighing While Time is on the

wing Can we prevent his fly-ing? Then mer-ri-ly, mer -ri - ly

sing falla!

HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN. Written and Composed by Richard Brinslev Sheridan.-Published as Song and Chorus by Davidson. With Spirit.

I AM A YOUNG MAN THAT'S MOST HIGHLY RESPECTABLE. Words by Leman Rede, Esq., to the Air of The Irish Washerwoman.'

am a young man that's most highly re- spec ta - ble; My na- ture's gen

teel, and my feel-ings sus-cep-ti- ble: I want a father, a mother, an aunt,-In Fine.

short, I can't tell what relations I want.

lor to find me in frip- pe- ry; I want parks and Da capo al Fine.

O! IT WASN'T FOR ME THAT I HEARD THE BELLS RINGING. Composed by Whitaker.

me that I heard the bells ring-ing; Sing, hey down, ho down, der-ry down dee. O! it

was'nt for me that I heard the bells ring-ing;
I found she was false, tho' she promised me fairly,
Sing hey down, ho down, derry down dee;
But women, I trow, are like weathercocks, rarely
Ne're fix'd to one point, so coquettish they be.