See now he scarce creeps, he scarce creeps through the dale,
All parch'd from his mouth hangs his tongue, His speed can no longer, no longer prevail,
Nor his cunning, his life can prolong,
'Twas a staunch and fleet pack, 'twas in vain e'er he fled, See his brush fall bemir'd and forlorn,
The Farmer, with pleasure, behold him lie dead,
All shouts to the sound of the horn!
The Farmer with pleasure, &c.
THE ORIGIN OF ENGLISH LIBERTY.
ONCE the Gods of the Greeks at an Ambrosial feast,
Large bowls of rich nectar were quaffing;
Merry Momus among them was sat as a guest,
(Homer says the Celestials lov'd laughing:)
On each in the Synod the humourist droll'd,
So none could his jokes disapprove,
He sung, raparteed, and some smart stories told,
And at last thus began upon Jove.
"Sire-Atlas, who long has the universe bore,
Grows grievously tired of late;
He says that mankind are much worse than before,
So he begs to be eas'd of their weight."
Jove, knowing the Earth on poor Atlas was hurl'd,
From his shoulders commanded the ball,
Gave his daughter, Attraction, the charge of the world,
And she hung it up high in her hall.
Miss, pleased with the present, review'd the globe round, To see what each climate was worth;
Like a diamond, the whole with an atmosphere bound, And she variously planted the Earth:
With gold, silver, jewels, she India endow'd;
France and Spain she taught vineyards to rear;
What suited each clime, on each clime she bestow'd,
And Freedom, she found, flourish'd here,
Four Cardinal Virtues she left on this Isle,
As guardians to cherish the root;
The blossoms of Liberty began for to smile,
And Englishmen fed on the fruit:
Thus fed, and thus bred, from a bounty so rare,
Oh preserve it as free as 'twas given,
We will, while we've breath-nay, we'll grasp it in death,
Then return it untainted to Heaven.
THOUGH Oft we meet severe distress
In venturing out to seá;
The perils of the storm seems less
As we to Heaven our vows address,
And sing the cheering Rosary.
Our kids that rove the mountains wide,
And bound with harmless glee;
We seek each day, at even tide,
And while their course we homeward guide,
We sing the cheering Rosary.
Or in the deeper shades of night,
As through the woods we flee,
Where glooming silence yields affright,
To make my beating heart sit light,
WHEN war calls the Hero to arms,
And Liberty's cause 'tis he fights,
Each Citizen's bosom then warms,
To die in defence of his rights.
When the arm of the Patriot is brav'd,
By those who his claims would oppose,
May the banner of Freedom be way'd
Triumphant o'er Liberty's foes.
When the battle burns fiercely around,
And the dread hour of conflict is come,
Be palsied the arm that would wound
The Hero that fights for his home.
May the ranks of the just still be say'd,
From Oppression and Tyranny's blows,
And the banner of Freedom be way'd
Triumphant o'er Liberty's foes.
I HAVE PLUCKED THE FAIREST FLOWER.
I HAVE plucked the fairest flower,
I have dreamed in Fancy's bower,
I have basked in Beauty's eyes,
I have mingled melting sighs,
If all those sweets to hive,
I'm the guiltiest man alive;
But gentle maids believe,
I never can deceive,
Nor cause your heart to grieve,
With a sad heigh ho!
But to raise in Beauty's frame,
The burning blush of shame,
Or bid the tear to start,
Far be it from my heart,
Such base attempts I scorn,
To honour I was born;
Then gentle maidens spare
The heart you thus ensnare,
Or the willow I must wear,
With a sad heigh ho!
THE BONNY SAILOR.
FAIR Sally lov'd a bonny seaman,
With tears he went abroad to roam;
Young Thomas lov'd no other woman,
But left his heart with her at home.
She view'd the sea from off the mill,
And as she turn'd her spinning wheel,
Sung of her bonny sailor.
The winds blew loud, and she grew paler,
To see the weather-cock turn round;
When lo! she spied her bonny sailor
Come singing o'er the fallow ground
With nimble haste he leap'd the stile,
And Sally met him with a smile,
And hugg'd her bonny sailor..
Fast then he did embrace his Sally,
But first around his mouth wip'd he;
Like home-bred swains he would not da!ly,
But kiss'd and prest her with a glee.
"Through winds and waves and dashing rain,"
Cry'd he, "thy Tom's return'd again,
Unto his darling Sally.'
"This knife, the gift of lovely Sally,
I still have kept it for thy sake,
A thousand times in am'rous folly,
Thy name have carv'd upon the deck.
Again the happy pledge returns
To tell how truly Thomas burn,
How true he loves his Sally."
"This thimble didst thou give to Sally,
When this I see, I think of you;
Then why does Tom stand shill I, shall I,
While yonder steeple's in our view?". r
Tom never to occasion blind,
Now took her in the willing mind,
And went to church with Sally.
FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time,
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn !`,
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the day-light's past!
Why should we yet our sails unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl,
But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh sweetly we'll rest our weary oar;
Blow, breezes, blow. the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the day-light's past,
Utawa tide this trembling moon,
Shall see us float over thy surges soon,
Saint of this Green Isle! hear our prayer,
Grant us cool heavens and favoring air!
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the day-light's past.
THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.
LOUD blew the wind across the heath,
And summon'd forth the fiends of death,
To ride upon the storm;
The tempest howl'd, the night was dark,
And not one star, with twinkling spark,
Shone on the Travel ler's form.
Deep on the path the white snow lay,
And covered all the foot-path way,
And left no track to gain.
Directed by Love's potent power,
Edward set out in such an hour
In spite of wind aud rain.
His constant Kate, the long night o'er,
Sat list'ning to the tempest's roar,
And trims her wooden fire:
She counts the minutes, wipes the tear,
She hugs her infant, shakes with fear,
And trembles for its sire.
No morrow's sun, with cheering ray,
Shall light poor Edward on his way,
To greet his wife again
His manly form, with many a wound,
Lies murder'd on the damp cold ground,
Wept by the drenching rain.
"WHY weep ye by the tyde, Ladye?
Why weep ye by the tyde?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye shall be his bride;
|