WITH HELMET ON HIS BROW. WITH helmet on his brow, The soldier mounts his gallant steed, His plume like the pennon stream, That white plume shall he find. Bright as his own bright sword, Then let the trumpet's, &c. OH NO! WE NEVER MENTION HER. Bayley. Oh no! we never mention her, her name is never heard, My lips are now forbid to speak that once familiar word. From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret, And, when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget. They bid me seek in change of scene the charms that others see: But, were I in a distant land, they'd find no change in me. 'Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we'met; I do not see the hawthorn-tree, yet how can I forget. For oh! there are so many things recall the past to me: The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the sea, The rosy tint that decks the sky, before the sun is set-Aye! ev'ry leaf I look upon, forbids me to forget. They tell me she is happy now-the gayest of the gay; They think that she forgets me, but heed not what they say. Like me, perhaps, she struggles with each feeling of regret; But, if she loves as I have lov'd, she never can forget. AULD ROBIN GRAY. Lady Lindsay. WHEN the sheep are in the fauld and the k'y at hame, The waes o' my heart fa' in show'rs fra' me ee, Youug Jamie lov'd me weel, and ask'd me for his bride, To make the crown a pound, my Jamie went to sea, [away, My Faither cou'd nae wark, & my Mither cou'd nae spin> My Faither urg'd me sair but my Mither did nae speak, I had nae been a wife but weeks only four, I gang like a ghaist, and I canna like to spin,' I dare nae think o' Jemmy, for that would be a sin; But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For Auld Robin Gray is very kind to me. ALICE GRAY. Mrs. P. Millard. SHE's all my fancy painted her, She's lovely, she's divine; But her heart it is anothers, She never can be mine, Oh! my heart, my heart, is breaking, Her dark brown hair is braided o'er, Her hair is braided not for me, Her is turn'd away eye Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking, For her I'd climb the mountains side, But she scorns the heart that's breaking, For the love of Alice Gray. I've sunk beneath the summer's sun, I've trembled in the blast; My pilgrimage is almost done, The weary conflict s past : And when the green sod wraps my grave, May pity haply say "Oh! his heart, his heart was broken For the love of Alice Gray." P TAKE A BUMPER AND TRY. 'THEY tell me I've prov'd unkind to my lass, Did you ere see a frown in a bumper of wine? In wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy! Her lilies and roses are just in their prime, In wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy, OH LIBERTY! On Liberty! how fair thy angel face, Walker. Which gives to all things here a double grace: How wretched he who lives and is not free; THE SHAMROCK. Air" Alley Croker." THROUGH Erin's Isle to sport awhile, As Love and valour wander'd, T. Moore. With Wit, the sprite, whose quivers bright, Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, Oh, the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock! Chosen leaf of bard and chief, Old Erin's native Shamrock ! Says Valour" See they spring for me But Wit perceives the triple leaves, A type that blends three God-like friends, Oh the Shamrock, &c.. So firmly fond may last the bond They wove that morn together, May Love, as shoot his flowers and fruit, Oh the Shamrock, &c. THE WILD BOY.* C. W. Thompson. He sat upon the wave-wash'd shore, The surge's dash-the breaker's roar Passed unregarded by: |