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The Bourbon flowers grow pale
When I hang out my pennon ;
With pike and cutlass clashing,
And all my cannon flashing.
Come with me and see
The golden islands glowing,
The flocks of India lowing ;
The dews of eve drop manna,
And men adore thee, Anna.
NANINE, OR THE EMIGRANT.
M. G. LEWIS.
Swift the boat approach'd the land;
Who can female tears withstand ? Hush'd at once the boatswain's ditty,
Gently dipp'd his silent oar; While he said, in sounds of pity,
“ Prithee, sweetheart, weep no more.” Then on land he sprung so lightly,
While, with mingled hopes and fears, Raised her head and beaming brightly,
Shone her blue eyes through her tears.
Left exposed to want and danger,
Friendless on a foreign shore; “ Ah !” she said, “ you vainly, stranger,
Kindly tell me, weep no more.
“ Far from home in exile roving,
Who shall now my shelter be, Lost each friend, so loved, so loving,
Now what heart shall feel for me? Poor Nanine, thy brain is turning,
Poor Nanine, thy heart is sore, Poor Nanine, thy tears are burning,
Die, Nanine, and weep no more.'
“ Mark,” he cried, “yon distant city,
There my shelter thine shall be, Mark my bosom, swell’d by pity,
There's a heart which feels for thee; All my wealth I here surrender,
'Tis not gems or shining ore; 'Tis a heart, warm, honest, tender,
Take it, sweet, and weep no more.”
Gently tow’rds his boat he led her,
Soon it touch'd his native strand, There his labour clothed and fed her,
There he gain'd her heart and hand. Still with love his eyes behold her,
Still, though many a year is o'er, Does he bless the hour he told her,
“ Prithee, sweetheart, weep no more !”
I WENT TO SEA,
WENT to sea with heavy heart,
Her image night and morn:
The first word, when on English ground,
While of these thoughts my mind was full,
DAVY JONES'S LOCKER.
SHEN last honest Jack, of whose fate
I now sing,
smite, Jack never was known for to flinch.
Aloft from the mast-head one day he espied Seven sail which appear'd to his view, “Clear the decks, sponge the guns," was instantly
cried, And each to his station then flew, And fought until many a noble was slain, And silenced was every gun; 'Twas then that old English valour was vain, For by numbers, alas ! they're undone. Yet think not bold Jack, though by conquest dismay'd Could tamely submit to his fate; When his country he found he no longer could serve, Looking round, he address’d thus each mate; “ What's life, d’ye see, when our liberty's gone ? Much nobler it were for to die; So now for Old Davy”—then plunged in the main ; E’en the cherub above heaved a sigh.
OLD ENGLAND'S WOODEN WALLS.-1800.
HROUGH winds and wave sin days that
are no more I held the helm and ne'er ran foul of
shore, In pitch-dark night my reck’ning proved so true I rode out safe the hardest gale that blew, And when for fight the nal high was shown Through smoke and fire Bob Boreas straight bore
down; But though my timbers are not fit for sea, Old England's wooden walls my toast shall be.
From age to age, as ancient story shows,
WHEN LAST IN THE DREADFUL,
HEN last in the Dreadful your honour
set sail On Newfoundland banks there came on
a hard gale, There was thunder, and lightning, and cold whistling
hail, Enough the old gemman to scare.