'Tis pleasant on a fine Spring morn to see the buds expand, 'Tis pleasant in the Summer time to view the teeming land; 'Tis pleasant on a Winter's night to crouch around the blaze,-- But what are joys like these, my boys, to Autumn's merry days! Then hail to merry Autumn days, when yellow corn-fields shine, Far brighter than the costly cup that holds the monarch's wine! And hail to merry harvest time, the gayest of the year, The time of rich and bounteous crops, rejoicing, and good cheer! LUCY'S SONG Love is not a feeling to pass away, Like the balmy breath of a summer day; It is not--it cannot be--laid aside; It is not a thing to forget or hide. It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me! As the ivy clings to the old oak tree. Love is not a passion of earthly mould, As a thirst for honour, or fame, or gold: For when all these wishes have died away, The deep strong love of a brighter day, Though nourished in secret, consumes the more, As the slow rust eats to the iron's core. SQUIRE NORTON'S SONG That very wise head, old Æsop, said, The bow should be sometimes loose; Keep it tight for ever, the string you sever:-- Let's turn his old moral to use. The world forget, and let us yet, The glass our spirits buoying, Revel to-night in those moments bright Which make life worth enjoying. The cares of the day, old moralists say, Are quite enough to perplex one; Then drive to-day's sorrow away till to-morrow, And then put it off till the next one. _Chorus_--The cares of the day, etc. Some plodding old crones, the heartless drones! Appeal to my cool reflection, And ask me whether such nights can ever Charm sober recollection. Yes, yes! I cry, I'll grieve and die, When those I love forsake me; But while friends so dear surround me here, Let Care, if he can, o'ertake me. _Chorus_--The cares of the day, etc. GEORGE EDMUNDS' SONG Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here; Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear! How like the hopes of childhood's day, Thick clust'ring on the bough! How like those hopes in their decay-- How faded are they now! Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here; Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear! Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale: Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale, Of love once true, and friends once kind, And happy moments fled: Dispersed by every breath of wind, Forgotten, changed, or dead! Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here! Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear! ROSE'S SONG