« ForrigeFortsett »
Few have ever lov'd like me,
Oh! I have lov'd thee too sincerely; And few have e'er deceiv'd like thee,
Alas! deceivd me too severely! Fare thee well !-yet think a while,
On me, whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee; Who now would rather trust that smile,
And die with thee, than live without thee.
Fare thee well!--I'll think of thee!
Thou leav'st me many a bitter token;
For see, distracting woman ! see,
My peace is gone, my heart is broken.
Fare thee well!
LET'S BE JOVIAL. Let's be jovial, fill our glasses,
Madness 'tis for us to think, How the world is rul'd by asses,
And the wise are sway'd by chink. Then never let vain care oppress us,
Riches are to them a snare; We're ey'ry one as rich as Creesus,
While the bottle drowns our care. Wine will make us red as roses,
And our sorrows quite forget; Come let's fuddle all our noses,
Drink ourselves quite out of debt. When grim death comes looking for us,
We are roving o'er our bowls; Bacchus, joining in the chorus,
Death, begone! here's nought but souls.
God-like Bacchus thus commanding,
Trembling death away shall fly,
Ever after, understanding
Drinking souls can never die,
I CULL'D for my love a fresh nosegay one day,
She smil'd as I flew to her side;
I check'd the soft sunbeam of pleasure's bright ray,
While thus I half playfully cry’d:
These beauties and sweets, gentle maid, are like yours,
This nosegay thy excellence tells;
The rose to the eye, like thy beauty allures,
But its thorn, like thy virtue repels.
The softest carnation that blooms by its side,
In thy bosom is pity's soft glow;
The lily's fair purity, image and pride,
Resembles that bosom of snow.
The violet I found, where, retreating from view,
I shrunk from the popular gaze;
Its modest retirement reminds me of you,
So sweet, yet so heedless of praise. a nap
The jessamine so simple, so sweet to the sense,
Of gentle and delicate hue;
Recalls all thy talents, devoid of pretence,
So modest, so exquisite too.
The woodbine, where love hies those treasures to seek,
Is a type of affection like mine;
May its unnotic'd flow'r my wishes best speak,
And heart's-ease for ever be thine.
THE DEATH OF NELSON.
O’ER Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd,
Britannia mourn'd her hero, now at rest.
But those bright laurels ne'er shall fade with years,
Whose leaves are water'd by a nation's tears.
'Twas in Trafalgar's bay,
We saw the Frenchmen lay,
Each heart was bounding then;
We scorn’d the foreign yoke,
Our ships were British oak,
Hearts of oak our men.
Our Nelson mark'd them on the wave,
Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,
Nor thought of home or beauty;
Along the line this signal ran,-
England expects, that every man
This day will do his duty.
And now the cannons roar
Along the affrighted shore,
Our Nelson led the way.
His ship the Vict'ry nam'd;
Long be that Vict'ry fam'd!
For vict'ry crown'd the day !
But dearly was that conquest bought,
Too well the gallant hero fought,
For England, home, and beauty;
He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,
England expects, that ev'ry man
This day will do his duty.
At last the fatal wound,
Which spread dismay around,
The Hero's breast receiv'd;
Heav'n fights on our side,
The day's our own, he cried;
Now, long enough I've liv'd! -
In honour's cause my life was past,
In honour's cause I fall at last,
For England, home, and beauty !
Thus ending life as he began,
England confess'd, that ev'ry man
That day had done his duty.
My dark.ey'd maid! then wilt thou weep;
And sigh and sob thy heart to sleep,
Should fancy tempt thee with a dream,
She but renews thy waking theme:
And thou wilt murmur words of bliss,
And pout thy lips to print a kiss-
And stretch thy circling arms in air,
And seem to clasp thy lover there!
Alas! for dreams by fate betray'd,
No lover clasps his dark-ey'd maid.
FOR EVER, FORTUNE.
TUNE_" Logan Braes.”
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove,
An unrelenting foe to love,
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish, and wish the soul away;
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the life of life is gone?
But busy, busy still art thou,
To bind the loveless, joyless vow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
To join the gentle to the rude.
For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer,
And I absolve thy future care;
All other blessings I resign,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.
BEGONE, DULL CARE.
Begone, dull care, I prithee begone from me;
Begone, dull care, thou and I can never agree,
Long time hast thou been tarrying here,
And fain thou would'st me kill;
But, i'faith, dull care,
Thou never shalt have thy will.
Too much care will make a young man gray;
And too much care will turn an old man to clay.
My wife shall dance, and I will sing,
So merrily pass the day,
For I hold it one of the wisest things
To drive dull care away.