On the green banks of Shannon, &c. . 139 76 124 O think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy'd 26 O where, tell me where is your, &c. Poor orphan am 1, scarcely turn'd, &c. Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled Shall all the hues of morn decay Should auld acquaintance be forgot Should auld acquaintance be forgot Smile again, my bonnie lassie Stay, sweet enchanter of the grove 28 32 9 151 46 142 61 114 54 The moon had climb'd the highest hill The lawland lads think they are fine The turf shall be my fragrant shrine The sun sets at night, and the stars, &c. The shepherds call me little Sue The sea was calm, the sky serene The last, the fatal hour is come The water roll'd, the water swell'd The wealthy fool, with gold in store There came to the beach a poor exile, &c. There's news from Moidart cam' yestreen 79 Toll not the bell of death for me 'Twas on the morn of sweet May day Wake, maid of Lorn, the moments fly Were not the sinful Mary's tears When wild war's deadly blast was o'er When William Tell was doom'd to die When night had thrown her mantle, &c. When the low heart is sad and deep When Steerwell heard me first impart When absent from her my soul holds, &c. 13 When wand'ring far on distant soil Whene'er with haggard eyes I view Why should we at our lots complain Why, fair maid in every feature Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon 121 New-England SONGSTER. THE FISHERMAN'S ORPHAN. PоOR Orphan am I, scarcely turn'd of twelve years, And Mary a begging must go: My father, a fisherman void of all fears, On the rude billows foss'd to and fro One night as he braved alone the rough ocean, My mother, heart-broken, to heaven is gone, And now through this wide world I wander forlorn, Though thinly I'm clad, and with cold I now shiver, The sky is my covering, the cold earth my bed, And on the pale primrose I pillow my head, Then I see in my dreams, my dear father returning, Oh! had I but wealth, what a tomb would I rear, O'er my mother's low hillock, drop many a tear- The wild birds of ocean, as through the air sailing, FALL'N IS THY THRONE! AIR-Martini. FALL'N is thy throne, oh Israel! Where are the dews that fed thee Lord! thou didst love Jerusalem ;- Then sunk the star of Solyma; |