GLEE. Masters TIDMAN and CARTER,

and Mr. LIDDELL.

Blow, warder, blow thy sounding horn,

And thy banner wave on high,

Callcott.

For the Christians have fought in the holy land,

And have won the victory.

Loud, loud the warder blew his horn,

And his banner wav'd on high:

Let the mass be sung, and the bells be rung,
And the feast eat merrily.

The warder look'd froin the tow'r on high,
As far as he could see;

I see a bold knight, and by his red cross,
He comes from the east country.
Then loud the warder blew his horn,
And call'd till he was hoarse,

I see a bold knight, and on his shield bright
He beareth a flaming cross.

Then down the lord of the castle came,

The red-cross knight to meet,

And when the red-cross knight he espied

Right loving he did him greet:

Thou'rt welcome here, dear red-cross knight,

For thy fame's well known to me,

And the mass shall be sung, and the bells shall be rung,
And we'll feast right merrily.

Oh, I am come from the holy land,
Where saints did live and die;

Behold the device I bear on my shield-
The red-cross knight am I;

And we have fought in the holy land,
And have won the victory;

For with valiant might did the Christians fight,
And made the proud Pagans fly.

Thou'rt welcome here, dear red-cross knight,

Come lay thy armour by ;

And for the good tidings thou dost bring

We'll feast us merrily.

For all in my castle shall rejoice

And the mass shall be sung, and the bells shall be rung, And the feast eat merrily.

SONG. Mifs WALKER.

Handel.

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade;
Where'er you tread the blushing flow'rs shall rife,
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

SYMPHONY.

Pleyel.

Spread thy white sails to the beam of the morning,
And retire to the echoing hill.

Bleft be thy soul, thou king of men;
In peace thou art the gale of spring,
In war the mountain storm.

Give us the song of former years,
Let the night pass away in the sound,
And the morning return with joy.

CONCERTO, with Clarionets obligato.

SONG. Miss WALKER.

Bach.

Arnold.

If 'tis joy to wound a lover,

How much more to give him ease?

When his passion we discover,
Oh, how pleafing 'tis to please!
The blifs returns, and we receive
Tranfports greater than we give.

FINALE.

Girovetz.

When storms the proud to terrors doom
He forms the dark majestic fcene;

He rolls his thunder thro' the gloom,

And on the whirlwind rides serene.

O Judah! boast his matchless law,
Pronounc'd with such tremendous awe.

SONG. Miss WALKER.

I wander'd once at break of day,
While yet upon the sunless sea,
In wanton sighs the breeze delay'd,
And o'er the wavy surface play'd:

Stevenson.

Then first the fairest face I knew,
First lov'd the eye of softest blue,
And ventur'd, fearful, first to sip
The sweets that hung upon the lip
Of faithless Emma.

So mix'd the rose and lily's white,
That nature seem'd uncertain quite,

To deck her cheek, what flower fhe'd choose,
The lily or the blushing rose!

I wish I ne'er had seen her eye,

Ne'er seen her cheek of doubtful dye,

And never, never dar'd to sip

The sweets that hung upon the lip
Of faithless Emma.

CONCERTO (Violin.) Mr. MARSHALL.

GLEE. Masters TIDMAN, and CARTER

and Mr. LIDDELL.

Hayes.

In April, when primroses paint the sweet plain,
And Summer approaching rejoiceth the swain,
The yellow-hair'd laddie wou'd oftentimes go
To wilds and deep glens, where the hawthorn trees grow,

There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn,
With freedom he sung his loves evening and morn;
He sung with so soft and enchanting a sound,
That silvans and fairies unseen danc'd around.