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Priz'd be such hearts, for aloft they will go, ·
Which always are ready compassion to shew
To a brave conquer'd foe.
YOUNG Henry was as brave a youth
As ever grac'd a martial story,
And Jane was fair as lovely truth;
She sigh'd for love, and he for glory.
With her his faith he meant to plight,
And told her many a gallant story;
Till war, their honest joys to blight,
Call’d him away from love to glory.
Brave Henry met the foe with pride ;
Jane follow'd, fought-a hapless story:
In man's attire, by Henry's side,
She dy'd for love, and he for glory.
Sung by Mr Incledon.
DEAR Tom, this brown jug, which now foams with
mild ale, Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale,
Was once. Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul
As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl;
In bouzing about 'twas his pride to excel,
And amongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.
It chanc'd as, in dog-days, he sat at his ease,
In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you please,
With his friend and his pipe puffing sorrow away,
And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay,-
His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut,
And he dy'd full as big as a Dorchester butt.
His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had dissolv'd it again,
A potter found out, in a covert so snug,
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug.
Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale,
So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.
Sung by Messrs Braham and Incledon,
DESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, fort, or tented ground,
The sentry walks his lonely round;
And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way,
Who goes there !--stranger,-quickly tell,-
A friend,--the word,-good might ;-all's well!
Or sailing on the midnight deep,
While weary messmates soundly sleep,
The careful watch patrols the deck,
To guard the ship from foes or wreck;
And while his thoughts oft homewards veer,
Some friendly voice salutes his ear:-
What cheer!-brother,-quickly tell,
Above,-below,-good night ;-all's well!
PRIOR.LONGMAN AND BRODERIP, LONDHARRIS.
IF wine and music have the pow'r
To ease the sickness of the soul,
Let Phæbus ev'ry string explore,
And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl;
Let them their friendly aid employ
To make my Chloe's absence light,
And seek for pleasure to destroy
The sorrows of the live-long night.
But she to-morrow will return:
Venus, be thou to-morrow great;
Thy myrtles strew, thy odours burn,
And meet thy fav’rite nymph in state.
Kind goddess, to no other pow'rs
Let us to-morrow's blessings own;
Thy darling Loves shall guide the hours,
And all the day be thine alone.
O'ER hill and valley, dell and glade,
When May her vernal tints display'd,
Anna, with youth and beauty blest,
Thus the hov'ring lark address’d:-
“ Hail, happy warbler, ever gay,
For Anna tune thy vocal lay;
And, whilst thou wing'st thy airy flight,
Let thy sweet song my soul delight.
Come, lovely minstrel, quit the plain;
My cot shall yield thee better grain;
My hand shall daily give thee fare,
And thy sweet note repay my care:
No wiry cell shall thee restrain;
Gay as when o'er the flow'ry plain,
Light as when pois'd aloft in air,-
So light, sweet bird, shall be thy care.
Stop, little bird, thy airy flight,
And with thy song my soul delight.”
NO more by sorrow chas'd, my heart
Shall yield to fell despair;
Now joy repels th' envenom'd dart,
And conquers every care.
So, in our woods, the hunted boar
On nature's strength relies;
The forests echo with his roar;
In turn the hunter flies.
THE CUCKOO. ANONYMOUS.GOULDING, LONDON,CA350N.
Şung at the Public Concerts.
NOW the sun is in the west,
Sinking slow behind the trees;
And the cuckoo, welcome guest,
Gently woos the evening breeze,
Sportive now the swallows play,
Lightly skimming o'er the brook;
Darting swift, they wing their way
Homeward to their peaceful nook ;
Whilst the cuckoo, bird of spring,
Still amidst the trees doth sing,