Page:Wreath of song, or, Favourite airs for the lovers of music.pdf/10

 10 PITY AND PROTECT THE SLAVE. Sons of freedom, hear my story, Mercy well becomes the brave ; Humanity is 'Briton's glory, Pity and protect the slave. Free-born daughters, who; possessing Eyes to conquer, hearts to save. To receive a father's blessing. Pity and protect the slare.

GREEN HILLS OF TYROL. Green hills of Tyrol, again I see The home of childhood so dear to me, Again I pross the verdant shade, Where oft my footsteps have wildly stray'd Once more I am near him, My own one, my fond one ; Again I shall hear him Love's accents repeat ; While to his sighs my heart replies, And every glance is soft and sweet. Green hills of Tyrol, &c. From yonder woodlands, sounding clear, With eye of hawk, and falchion keen, His merry bugle I hear ; He comes, he comes--my Tyrolien.