TARRY awhile with me, my love,

O tarry awhile with me;
O'er hills and dales, thro' woods and vales,
Why wander



me, my love?


sung a young shepherd by love sore opprest, When the maid of his heart he thus fondly addrest: The gayer delights you may fondly pursue, But you'll find no such pleasure, no lover so true.

Then tarry awhile, &c. Thus again and again he repeated his lays, While the lasses around all join'd in his praise: By her soft timid glances, embolden'd he grew; She consented to love, now she found he was true.

Then tarry awhile, &c.

In tatter'd weed, from town to town,

Is hapless Primrose doom'd to stray;
Compelld, a wretched wand'rer known,
To seek her home from day to day.

Barefoot, as she strolls forlorn,
O'er the fint or pointed thorn,
Silent must her sorrow be,

Her madrigal -Sweet Charity.
At evening will the village hind

In rapture listen to her song;
And buy her toys, in hopes to find
What future joys to him belong.

Barefoot, &c.

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LIFE's like a ship, in constant motion,

Sometimes high and sometimes low;
Where ev'ry hand must brave the ocean,
Whatsoever winds

may blow. If unassail'd by storm or shower,

Wafted by the gentle gales, Let's not lose the favouring hour

Whilst success attends our sails.

But if the wayward winds should bluster,

Let us not give way to fear;
But let us all our patience muster,

And learn from reason how to steer.
Let judgment ever keep you steady,

That's a ballast seldom fails; If dangers rise, be ever ready To

manage well the swelling sails. Trust not too much your own opinion,

Whilst your vessel's under weigh; Let good example bear dominion,

That's a compass will not stray. When thundering tempests make you shudder,

And Boreas o'er the surface rails, Let good discretion guide the rudder,

And Providence attend the sails.

Then, when you're safe from danger, riding

In some welcome port or bay,
Let hope be the anchor you confide in,

And care awhile in slumbers lay:
Then, when each can's with liquor flowing,

And good fellowship prevails,
Let each heart with rapture glowing,

Drink success unto our sails.


RECITATIVE. 'Twas on the spot in ancient lore oft nam'd, Where Isis and Osiris once held sway,

O’er kings who sleep in pyramidic pride; But now for British valour far more fam’d, Since Nelson's band achiev'd a glorious day,

And, crown'd with laurel, Abercrombie died.


Her roseate colours the dawn had not shed, O'er the field which stern slaughter had tinted too red, 'Twas dark-save each flash at the cannon's hoarse

sound, When the brave Abercrombie receiv'd his death wound; His comrades, with grief unaffected, deplore, Tho' to Britain's renown he gave one laurel more. With a mind unsubdu'd, still the foe he defied, On the steed which the Hero of Acre supplied ; Till, feeling he soon to Fate's summons must yield, He gave Sydney the sword he no longer could wield. His comrades, with grief unaffected, deplore, Tho' to Britain's renown he gave one laurel more. The standard of Albion, with victory crown'd, War'd over his head as he sank on the ground, Take me hence, my brave comrades, the vet'ran did cry, My duty's complete, and contented I die.


Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me:


When the praise thou meetest, To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me:
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,

Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,

Oh! then remember me.

When at eve thou rovest,
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me:
Think when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,

Oh! then remember me;
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its ling’ring roses,

Once so lov'd by thee;
Think on her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,

Oh! then remember me.

When around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me;
And at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,

Oh! then remember me:
Then should music stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let mem’ry bring thee,
Strains I us'd to sing thee,

Oh! then remember me.

No cheering sun-beam's friendly ray,
Shone on the dark and cloudy day,
When I, an outcast from my birth,
Sprung up the humblest flower on earth,
stalk to prope

its form,
No shelter from the winter's storm-
Such was the fate, bereft of joy,
Of Theodore, the orphan boy.

'Twas your dear hand, by pity led,
First rais'd the lily's drooping head,
Foster'd the bud bedew'd with tears,
Then saw it blossom into years :
And whilst your smiles such pow'r can give,
Still will it flourish, bloom, and live;
Ah! do not then the hopes destroy
Of Theodore, the orphan boy.


Her mouth, with a smile,
Devoid of all guile,

Half open to view,
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,

Impearl'd with the dew.
More fragrant her breath
Than the flower-scented heath,

At the dawning of day,
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,
Or the blossoms of May.

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