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Ah! non, non, nong,
Pauvre Madelon Fears only for her rover;
Ah! non, non, non,
all the world over.
Then let the world jog as it will,
Let hollow friends forsake us : We both shall be as happy still As war and love can make us;
Ah! non, non, non,
Ah! non, non, non,
"TWAS VAS summer, and softly the breezes were
blowing, And sweetly the nightingale sung from a tree: At the foot of a rock, where the river was flowing,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee,
Flow on, lovely Dee! Aw on, thou sweet river! Thy banks, purest stream! shall be dear to me
For there I first gain'd the affection and favour Of Jamie the glory and pride of the Dee.
But now he's gone from me, and left me thus
mourning, To quell the proud rebels--for valiant is he ; And, ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning,
To wander again on the banks of the Dee.
He's gone, hapless youth! o'er the loud roaring
billows, The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved wil
lows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee,
But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore
him, Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; And when he returns, with such care I'll watch
o'er him, He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee,
The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying, The lambs on its banks shall again be seen
playing; Whilst I, with my Jamie, am carelessly straying,
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.
Of all sensations pity brings
To proudly swell the ample heart, From which the willing sorrow springs,
In others' grief that bears a part.
Of all sad sympathy's delights,
The manly dignity of grief, A joy in mourning that excites,
And gives the anxious mind relief. Of these would you the feeling know,
Alost gen'rous, noble, greatly brave, That ever taught a heart to glow,
'Tis the tear that bedews a soldier's grave. For hard and painful is his lot;
Let dangers come, he braves them all; Valiant, perhaps, to be forgot,
Or undistinguish'd doom'd to fall ! Yet wrapt in conscious worth secure,
The world, that now forgets his toil, He views from a retreat obscure,
And quits it with a willing smile. Then, trav’ller, one kind look bestow,
'Twere graceful pity, nobly brave : Nought ever taught the heart to glow,
Like the tear that bedews a soldier's grave.
They say the sun's my dad;
For I'in a pretty lad.
And make it look so gay-
And father lights by day.
But father's not the like of I,
For knowing life and fun;
Folks never show the sun.
I've heard your wise ones say,
Things never seen by day.
As quite a useless task ;
Will then pull off the mask.
Will throw disguise away,
Who sainted it all day.
Misses from friends decamp:
To his country, o'er his lamp.
Are just on the same lay:
And he falše saints by day.
IN vain the grave and wise, ,
Youth's Youth's the season to be gay,
Then smile each beau and belle : To joy we'll give the day :
Åh!-Vive la bagatelle! The laughing hours invite To sport, while
gay: With love and soft delight Our minutes pass away.
and care they say, O'ertake each beau and belle : Who'd meet such foes half-way?
Ah!-Vive la bagatelle !
If life is a bubble, and breaks with a blast,
it to last; For this bubble may well be destroyed with a puff, If it is not kept Noating in liquor enough. If life is a flow's, as philosophers say, 'Tis a very good hint, understood the right way; For, if life is a flow'r, any blockhead can tell, If you'd have it look fresh, you must moisten it
This life is no more than a journey, 'iis said, Where the roads, for most part, are confoundedly
bad; Then, let wine be our spur, and cach trav'ller will
own, That, whatever the roads, we jog merrily on.