And the angels of our youth, That so long in death are cold, They are calling us again With their voices mild and low, Till our minds refuse to dwell By the coffin in the mould, And arise with them to heaven, Where in glory they are now-- And arise with them to heaven. Then with thoughts at rest at eve, Be so ever hard the day, On our spirits cometh down, A contentment calm and deep, A better than the joys Of the noisy and the gay, Is our quiet hour of dreams, When the children are asleep. SOLO.--"CONTRA BASSO."--BOTTESSINI. SONG.--"THE STANDARD BEARER."--LINDPAINTER. HERR PISCHEK. Where floats the standard o'er the tented plain, His lonely watch the minstrel knight is keeping, And thus beguiles the time with tuneful strain, His silver lute with mailed finger sweeping, The lady of my love I do not name, I dare not hope my love can be requited; Yet I will fight for liberty and fame, Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted, Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted. The night is gone, the battle comes with day,-- Behold the bard, surrounding foes defying; Red carnage marks his presence in the fray, While still he sings, amid the dead and dying, The lady of my love I may not name, I dare not hope my love can be requited; Then let me die for liberty and fame, Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted, Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted. The fight is won; death sated quits the field,-- Yet still the faithful bard, while life is fleeting, Expiring, lies upon his gory shield, This dying note with feeble voice repeating, The lady of my love I do not name, In heaven above we yet may be united; I fought and fell for liberty and fame, Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted, Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted. SCOTCH SONG.--"HEIGH HO, JANET."--DOLBY. MISS DOLBY. They're wild with joy in Edinbro', they're feastin' in Dundee, And a' because my bonnie lad is coming hame to me; He's coming o'er the salt sea, with a' his noble train, And Royal Charlie sure shall hae the throne again. Heigh ho! Janet go, pit your wheelie past; The lad we dearly luve is coming hame at last. Oh! gin I had in Scotland's bank twalve hunderd thousand poun's, I gie it all to see my Charlie marching through the town; Wi' pibrochs loudly sounding, and banners waving high, All hearts resolved to conquer in his cause or die. Heigh ho! Janet go, spin na mair the day; He's coming that's mair welcome than the flowers in May. Heigh ho! Janet go, pit your wheelie past; The bonnie lad we luve is coming hame at last. SONG.--"WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKY."