To all our haunts I will repair,
By greenwood shade or fountain,
Or where the summer day I'd share
With thee upon yon mountain;
There will I tell the trees and flowers,
From thoughts unfeigned and tender,
By vows you are mine,-by love is yours
A heart which ne'er can wander.
Danby's Collection, 3rd Book.
GLEE, for 5 Voices.-T. F. WALMISLEY.
(Alto, 2 Tenors, 2 Basses.)
Ar summer's eve, when heaven's aerial bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those hills of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
"T is distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain with its azure hue.
Thus with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus from afar each dim discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been
And every form that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion glows divinely there.
With thee, sweet hope, resides the heavenly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight.
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way,
That calls each slumbering passion into play.
Eternal hope! when yonder spheres sublime
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time
Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade :
When all the sister planets have decayed,
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow,
And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below,
Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile,
And light thy torch at nature's funeral pile.
Words by Campbell, from the Pleasures of Hope. This Glee gained the Prize given by the Glee Club, 1834. (Cramer and Co.)
GLEE, for 4 Voices.-H. R. BISHOP, Mus. Bac.
(Alto, 2 Tenors, Bass.)
Ar the voice of ocean's king,
From our rocky cave we spring,
To lash the deep from furious wing,
And bid the tempest rage;
For angry Venus now,
A victim to her slighted fires,
Her passion can assuage.
I to the Antarctic region fly,
And to the hyperborean, I;
Whilst we the equatorial sweep,
And thus enrage the mighty deep:
Till ocean with the sky confounded,
Within its yawning caverns dark,
With sights of horror first astounded,
Engulphed at length the shattered bark!
GLEE, for 3 Voices.-S. WEBBE.
(2 Tenors, Bass.)
ATTEND, ye sons of mirth,
Come let us drink and sing;
To Bacchus and Apollo
Now your offerings bring.
Jolly Bacchus does invite us,
Mirth and humour do unite us;
Joyful songs will merry make us,
Melancholy will forsake us.
Ladies' Catch-Book.
GLEE, for 3 Voices.-F. IRELAND.
(Alto, Tenor, Bass.)
AWAKE, my fair, awake!
Hark how from yonder grove
The birds sing forth their roundelays of love; For thee new flowers in garlands I will twine, Awake! and be mine own true valentine.
Bland's Collection, No. 18. (Mills.)
GLEE, for 5 Voices.-J. DANBY.
(2 Altos, 2 Tenors, Bass.)
AWAKE, my muse, awake, my lyre,
In Delia's praise; and may the lay,
Glowing with pure poetic fire,
Flow copious, elegant, and gay.
Her virtues and her charms proclaim
Her innocent of guile
And gentle, and transmit to fame
The power of her subduing smile.
Warren's Collection, No. 27.
GLEE, for 3 Voices.-S. WEBBE.
AWAKE, sweet muse, the breathing spring
With rapture warms, awake and sing;
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song.
To Nancy raise the cheerful lay,
Oh bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn.
Webbe's Collection, Vol. 3. (Lonsdale.)
GLEE, for 3 Voices.-GEORGE Holden.
AWAY, cold mortals, hence away,
Leave us this spot of earth,
Where we may build a temple up
To harmony and mirth.
The fire that on the fane shall burn
Shall be the light that flies
In glances from those liquid orbs,—
Sweet woman's tearful eyes
Bid wit attend, with laughing face,
About the glowing shrine;
And bring us golden chalices,
Of sparkling amber wine,
As clear and pure as gushing springs
Meandering Tempe o'er,
And odorous as the spicy breeze
That blows from Saba's shore.
See Time, how swift he wields his scythe,
Let Pleasure hold his hand;
While Joy shall snatch his glass away,
And empty out the sand;
That glass shall be a revelling bowl,
Filled high to exiled Mirth,
Since the gods have sent him out of heaven,
We'll fix his home on earth.
(Prize Glee, Liverpool, 1837.) Poetry by James Stonehouse. (Novello.)
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