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Ye daughters of old Albion's islę !
Where'er I go, where'er I stray, O Charity's sweet children ! smile,
To cheer a pilgrim on his way.
TPAINT and wearily the way-worn traveller,
Plods uncheerily, afraid to stop; Wand'ring drearily, a sad unraveller
Of the mazes tow'rd the mountain's top : Doubting, fearing, while his course he's steering,
Cottages appearing as he's nigh to drop; Oh! how briskly then the way-worn traveller
Treads the mazes tow'rd the mountain's top. Though so melancholy a day has pass'd by,
'Twould be folly now to think on’t more; Blithe and jolly he the cag holds fast by,
As he's sitting at the goat-herd's door, Eating, quaffing, at past labours laughing,
Better far, by halt, in spirits than before; Oh! how merry then the rested traveller
Seems, while sitting at the goat-herd's door.
Where rival flowers in union meets
Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet.
A bce A bee within a damask rose
Had crept, the nectar'd dew to sip; But lesser sweets the thief foregoes,
And fixes on Louisa's lip.
There tasting all the bloom of spring,
Wak’d by the rip'ning breath of May, Th’ ungrateful spoiler left his sting,
And with the honey flew away.
SWEET is the ship, that
, under sail,
When the boatswain pipes the barge to man:
Is Jack's delight-his lovely Nan.
The needle, faithful to the north,
A curious lesson teaches man;
Let seamanship do all it can;
My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
When in the bilboes I was penn'd,
And ev'ry creature froin me ran;
None haild me-woman, child, nor man; But though false friendship’s sails were furl d, Though cut adrift by all the world,
I'd all the world in lovely Nan,
I love my duty, love my friend,
To mourn their loss who hazard ran.
By manners love to show the man;
First made me doat on lovely Nan.
In the full-waving corn, And the bee on the rose,
Though surrounded with thorn.
Never robb’d of their ease,
They are thoughtless and free; But no more gentle peace
Shall e'er harbour with me,
Still in search of delight,
Ev'ry pleasure they prove, Ne'er tormented by pride,
Or the slights of fond love.
A SAILOR's life's a life of woe,
; Now up and down, now to and fro,
What then-he takes it cheerly: Bless'd with a smiling can of grog,
If duty call,
Stand, rise, or fall,
The cadge to weigh,
The sheets belay, He does it with a wish
To heave the lead,
Or to cat-head
We despise it to a man;
And swig the flowing can!
If howling winds and roaring seas
Give proof of coming danger,
For Jack's to fear a stranger.
Bless'd with the smiling grog we fly
And now below
We headlong go,
Spite of the gale
We hand the sail,
Or man the deck,
To clear some wreck, To give the ship relief :
Though perils threat around,
All sense of danger's drown'd, &c. But yet think not our case is hard,
Though storms at sea thus treat us, For, coming home, a sweet reward!
With smiles our sweet-hearts greet us : Now too the friendly grog we quaff,
And am'rous toast
Her we love most, And gaily sing and laugh:
The sails we furl,
Then, for each girl, The petticoat display:
The deck we clear,
Then three times cheer, As we their charms survey:
And then the grog goes round, &c.
WE bipeds made up of frail clay,
Alas! are the children of sorrow;