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We'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make 'em sweat,
In spite of the devil and Brussels Gazette:
Then cheer up my lads, with one heart let us sing,
Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king.

Hearts of oak, &c.

THE VOICE OF HER I LOVE.
How sweet, at close of eve,

The harp's responsive sound;
How sweet the vows that ne'er deceive,

And deeds by virtue crown'd.
How sweet to sit beneath some tree,

In some delightful grove;
But ah ! more soft, more sweet to me,

The voice of her I love.

Whene'er she joins the village train,

To hail the new-born day;
Mellifluous notes compose each strain,

Which zephyrs waft away.
The frowns of fate I calmly bear,

In humble sphere I move;
Content and blest whene'er I hear

The voice of her I love.

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Clad in beauties all adorning,

Once I pictur’d out my way; Cheerful was the radiant morning Of a sad and pensive day.

Ah, Hope, &c.

Though thou deck thy brow, enticer,

With an amaranthine wreath;
Reason whispers, kind adviser!
Ev'ry flow'r has thorns beneath.

Ah, Hope, &c.
Though far wafted on thy pinion,

Through the realms of bliss I stray ; Still thou'rt faithless, thy dominion, Reason, teach me to obey.

For Hope, &c.

THE STORM.
CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer,

List ye landsmen all to me,
Messmates, hear a brother sailor

Sing the dangers of the sea,
From bounding billows first in motion,

When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest-troubled ocean,

Where the seas contend with skies. Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling.

By top-sai] sheets and haulyards stand! Down top-gallants quick be hauling!

Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!

Now it freshens, set the braces;

Quick the top-sail sheets let go; Luff, boys, luff, don't make wry faces;

Up your top-sails nimbly clew.

· Now all you on down-beds sporting,

Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms, Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,

Free from all but love's alarms, Round us roars the tempest louder;

Think what fear our mind enthralls: Harder yet, it yet blows harder ;

Now again the boatswain calls.

The top-sail yards point to the wind, boys,

See all clear to reef each course;
Let the foresheets go; don't mind, boys,

Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get;

Reef the mizen; see all clear : Hand up! each preventer-brace set;

Man the fore-yard; cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring!

Peals on peals contending clash!
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring !

In our eyes blue light’nings flash !
One wide water all around us,

All above us one black sky!
Diff'rent deaths at once surround us,

Hark! what ineans that dreadful cry?

The foremast's gone, cries ev'ry tongue out,

O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck:
A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out;

Call all hands to clear the wreck.

Quick the lanyards cut to pieces;

Come, my hearts, be stout and bold; Plumb the well, the leak increases,

Four feet water in the hold.
While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,

We for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from hence there's no retreating;

Alas! from hence there's no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us,

Both chain-pumps are chok'd below,
Heav'n have mercy now upon us!

For only that can save us now!
O’er the lee-beam is the land, boys ;

Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pump come every hand, boys;

See our mizen-mast is gone; The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast:'

We've lighten’d her a foot or more; Up, and rig a jury foremast;

She rights, she rights, boys! wear off shore. Now once more on joys we're thinking,

Since kind fortune spar'd our lives : Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking

To our sweethearts and our wives. Fill it up, about ship wheel it;

Close to th' lips a brimmer join : Where's the tempest now? who feels it?

None! our danger's drown’d in wine!

THE COTTAGE IN THE VALE.
A SIMPLE swain, of rustic mould,'

Ambition's lure I flee;
The palace deck'd with gems and gold

Presents no charms for me.

Oh! let me seek contentment's bower,

Where woodbines scent the gale,
And laughing health glads ev'ry hour

The cottage in the vale.
The dearest girl my heart loves best,

Whose hand will soon be mine,
Lives near this spot; thus doubly blest,

For splendour should I pine?
No, no, her steps again I'll trace,

To tell the tender tale,
For soon she'll with her presence grace

The cottage in the vale.

THE BEGGAR GIRL. Over the mountain and over the moor,

Hungry and barefoot I wander forlorn; My father is dead, and my mother is poor, And she grieves for the days that will never return. Pity, kind gentlefolks, friends to humanity,

Cold blows the wind, and the night's coming on; Give me some food for my mother in charity;

Give me some food, and then I'll begone. Call me not lazy-back, beggar, and bold enough ;

Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew; I've two little brothers at home, when they're old

enough,
They will work hard for the gifts you bestow.

Pity, kind gentlefolks, &c.
O think, while you revel, so careless and free,

Secure from the wind, and well clothed and fed; Should fortune so change it, how hard it would be, To beg at a door for a morsel of bread.

Pity, kind gentlefolks, fc.

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