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THE

POCKET ENCYCLOPEDIA,

English Songs.

LOVE AMONG THE ROSES.
YOUNG Love flew to the Paphian bow'r,
And gather'd sweets from many a flow'r,
From roses and sweet jessamine,
The lily and the eglantine.
The Graces there were culling posies,
And found young Love among the roses.

Young Love, &c.

O happy day! O joyous hour!
Compose a wreath of ev'ry flow'r;
Let's bind him to us, ne'er to sever,
Young Love shall dwell with us for ever.
Eternal spring the wreath composes,
Content is Love among the roses.
Young Love, &c.

THE WOODPECKER.
I Knew by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd

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.
By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips

In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline,
And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips,
Which ne'er had been sigh’d on by any but mine.

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,
Nor lure her dear Patrick from Norah's fond arms;
Tho' satins, and ribbons, and laces, are fine,
They hide not a heart with such feeling as mine.

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:
I fancied the spot where my mother lies low,
When suddenly came on a thick fall of snow,

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;
Hang it up at that friendly door,

Where weary travellers love to call.
And should some bard that roams forsaken,

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

lin'd,
Show'd a different aspect to me:
And when I could nought but ingratitude find,

I hied once again to the sea.
I thought it unwise to repine at my lot,

Or to bear with cold looks on the shore;
So I pack'd up the trifling remnants I'd got,

And a trifle, alas! was my store.
A handkerchief held all the treasure I had,

Which over my shoulder I threw;
Away then I trudg'd, with a heart rather sad,

To join with some jolly ship's crew.
The sea was less troubld by far than my mind;

For, when the wide main I survey'd,
I could not help thinking the world was unkind,

And Fortune a slippery jade:
And vow'd, if once more I could take her in tow,

I'd let the ungrateful ones see,
That the turbulent winds and the billows could show
More kindness than they did to me.

ROBIN ADAIR.
What's this dull town to me?

Robin's not near.
What was't I wish'd to see ?

What wish'd to hear?
Where's all the joy and mirth
Made this town a heaven on earth?
Oh! they're all fled with thee,

Robin Adair.

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