The shock was severe; swift as lightning's fork'd dart, Her poor head with wild frenzy fir'd, She flew from the crowd, softly cried, my poor heart! Clasp'd her hands, faintly sigh'd, and expir'd. Her body was laid 'neath a wide spreading yew, And on a smooth stone may be seen,' "One tear drop let fall, all ye lovers so true, On Polly of Portsea, and Joe the Marine," The Curly-Headed Boy. MY father was a farmer, and father's son am I, And down in these parts I were born; When but a saucy urchin, not half a handful high, I tended the sheep night and morn. My dad and mammy spoil'd me, I was their only joy, And they call'd me their pretty little curly-headed boy; So I play'd and prank'd it prettily, for life was but a toy, To the very merry pretty little curly-headed boy. But soon I shot up taller, ill weeds they grow a pace, Then who were so likely as I? The ruddy glow of healthfulness stood laughing in my face, And I recon I look'd pretty sly; For the village girls would titter, and would cry with joy, See there goes the pretty little curly-headed boy. So I kiss'd and romp'd it prettily, for love was but a toy, To the very merry saucy little curly-headed boy. Now dad and mam are dead and gone, the little farm's my own, But so stupid's a bachelor's life, Ize resolv'd for sure and sartain, Ize no longer live alone, So in that case mun get me a wife. Then the image of his dad I shall see, to crown my joy, On my knee another pretty little curly-headed boy. O, I'll nurse and teach prattily, while wife will cry wi' joy, How like his dad's the pretty little curly-headed boy. The Storm. CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer! Sing the dangers of the sea: To the tempest-troubled ocean, Where the seas contend with skies, Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,- Quick the top-sail sheets let go; Now all you on down-beds sporting, The topsail-yard point to the wind, boys ; Hands up, each preventer-brace set; Now the dreadful thunder's roaring; One wide water all around us All above us one black sky! The foremast 's gone! cries ev'ry tongue out, While o'er the ship wild waves are beating, Both chain-pumps are choak'd below; O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys; The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast; Up, and rig a jury foremast; She rights, she rights, boys! we're off shore, Now once more on joys we 're thinking, Close to th' lips a brimmer join: Mr. Lobski's Fishing Tale. You brute you are going to gallivant. What Mrs. Lobski said was right, He ne'er went to fish, 'tis known very well, I shall not tell, &c, Next morning Mr. Lobski knew He had caught no fish, so he bought a few, Though the fish did not, &c. |