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LOVE AMONG THE ROSES.
Young Love, &c.
O happy day! O joyous hour!
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near ; And I said, if there's peace to be found in the world,
A heart that is humble might hope for it here. Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound,
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree.
And here in this lone little wood, I exclaim'd,
With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye; Who would blush when I prais'd her, and weep if I
blam'd; How blest could I live, and how calm could I die.
Every leaf, &c.
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline,
Every leaf, &c.
THE LASSES OF DUBLIN. The meadows look cheerful, the birds sweetly sing, So gaily they carol the praises of spring; Tho' nature rejoices, poor Norah shall mourn, Until her dear Patrick again shall return.
Ye lasses of Dublin, ah! hide your gay charms,
THE GIPSY WANDERER. 'Twas night, and the farmer, his fire-side near,
O'er a pipe quaff”d his ale, stout and old; The hinds were in bed, when a voice struck his earLet me in I beseech you!—just so ran the prayer
Let me in!-I am dying with cold!
To his servant the farmer cry'd-Sue move thy feet,
And admit the poor wretch from the storm; For our chimney will not lose a jot of its heat, Altho’ the night-wand'rer may there find a seat,
And beside our wood embers grow warm.
At that instant a Gipsy girl, humble in pace,
Bent before him, his pity to crave:He, starting, exclaim'd, Wicked fiend! quit this place A parent's curse light on the whole Gipsy race!
They have bow'd me almost to the grave!
Good Sir, as our tribe pass’d the church-yard below,
I just paus'd, the turf-graves to survey:
And I know not a step of my way.
This is craft! cry'd the farmer, if I judge aright;
I suspect thy curs'd gang may be near. Thou wouldst open the door to the ruffians of night; Thy eyes o'er the plunder now rove with delight, And on me with sly treachery leer!
With a shriek, on the floor the young Gipsy girl fell!
Help! cry'd Susan, your child to uprear! Your long stolen child !--She remembers you well, And the terrors and joys in her bosom that swell, Are too mighty for nature to bear.
THE LEGACY. WHEN in death I shall calm recline,
O! bear my heart to my mistress dear; Tell her it liv'd upon smiles, and wine
Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here. Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow,
To sully a heart so brilliant and light; But balmy drops of the red grape borrow,
To bathe the relic from morn till night.
When the light of my song is o'er,
O! bear my harp to yon ancient hall;
Where weary travellers love to call.
Revive its soft notes when passing along, 0! let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.
Take this cup that is now o'erflowing,
To grace your revels when I'm at rest; Never, O! never, its balm bestowing
On lips that beauty hath seldom blest. But should some warm devoted lover,
To her he loves once bathe its brim, O! then my spirit around shall hover,
To hallow each drop that foams for him.
THE DISCONSOLATE SAILOR. WHEN my money was gone that I gain'd in the wars,
And the world 'gan to frown on my fate, What matter'd my zeal, or my honoured scars,
When indiff'rence stood at each gate?
The face that would smile when my purse was well
I hied once again to the sea.
Or to bear with cold looks on the shore;
And a trifle, alas! was my store.
Which over my shoulder I threw;
To join with some jolly ship's crew.
For, when the wide main I survey'd,
And Fortune a slippery jade:
I'd let the ungrateful ones see,
Robin's not near.
What wish'd to hear?