CHORUS.

The crew's on board, the sails are spread, our conq'ring flag unfurl'd,

And England's navy still shall be-the wonder of the world.

Where'er from coast to coast we sail, our praises fly

before,

And British valour is renown'd, from Ind. to Lapland's

shore:

We shun no toil, no danger dread, no vain alarms we feel,

Nor prize our lives but as they may, promote our country's weal.

The crew's on board, &c.

Our king, God bless him, ev'ry tar shall strive with heart and hand,

To guard his throne, whose gentle sway protects this happy land.

With filial love and duty join'd, his person we'll defend, For ev'ry Briton fiuds in him- -a father and a friend. The crew's on board, &c.

Then farewell Peggy, from the mast the signals wave in air,

Th' boatswain pipes all hands on deck, and Colin is not

there.

My bonny lass I love thee dear, but love my honour

more;

In haste he kiss'd her blushing cheek-the boat forsook the shore.

The crew's on board, &c.

And Peggy wip'd the pearly drops from eyes as black as sloes,

May heav'n preserve my Colin's life," she cry'd,

"where'er he

goes;

For heav'n can turn the balls aside, when danger hovers

near,

And trusting in its guardian care, I'll banish ev'ry fear; Yet gladly shall I see again, our conq'ring flag unfurl'd, And hail our glorious fleet return'd-the wonder of the world.

WILLY O' THE TAY.

(ORIGINAL.)

Written by Mr. T. Inskip.

THE other day across the yard,
Quite trig in costly geer;
I spy'd a brae and bonny laird,

He had some words to speer.
He ask'd a kiss and round me caught,
And would nae be said nay;

I blush'd, and a' the while I thought
Of Willy o' the Tay.

"If thou wilt gang wi' me," he cry'd,

"If thou wilt gang awa;

O thou shalt be my bonny bride,

My winsome bonny brae:"
"I canna gang wi' ye," I said,
"Wi' you I munna stray;
For vows of truest loo I've made,`
To Willy o' the Tay."

"I've got good store of land," cry'd he,

"And mickle welth beside;

A' these I'll freely gi' to thee,

Sae thou wilt be my bride."
"O! what's to me your gouden store,
Sic loo must sure betray;

An hanest heart I prize far more,
Like Willy's o' the Tay."

My laird turn'd round and aif he went,
He cud nae say nae mair;
Gin to the glen I quickly bent,
And found my laddie there:
I tou'd him a' the laird had said,
And how I still said nay;

· That wi' nae other I would wed,
But Willy o' the Tay.

"That's right my bonny lass," he said,
Syne I've nae loo'd in vain ;

And e'er to-morrow's light is fled,
I'll tak thee for mine ain."

He kiss'd my lips, my hand he press'd,
To kirk I gang'd next day;
And now a bonny wife I'm bless'd,
Wi' Willy o' the Tay.

POOR ORPHAN DICK.

(ORIGINAL.)

PITY a poor and wand'ring beggar boy,
That craves your charity from door to door,
Whom wretchedness his weeping tears destroy,
Oh, pity he that craves, and who is poor!

I had a father once, generous and brave,
An hero valiant, noble, brave, and bold;
He now, alas! sleeps in a wat'ry grave,
And him poor parent shall I ne'er behold.

O'er Nile's proud flood his conq'ring arm it fell,
While for Old England's rights he boldly fought,
And left, ah, me! to roam, but where I cannot tell,
For charity puts my infancy at nought.

Oh that I was but half at man's estate,

I'd run the burning hazard of the die; Against my country's foes I'd soon be great, Tho' orphan Dick, sooner than flinch I'd die.

My father's name high handed was in fame,
And for his country's wrongs he boldly fell;
And left poor orphan me without a hand,

Else I might ne'er with sorrow had to dwell.

Those that have hearts more softer sure than stone,
Will pity take on me with no small joy;

And time will come perhaps when not unknown,
But ne'er will forget I was an orphan boy.

HEARTS FREE FROM GUILE ARE EVER GAY.

Sung in Paul and Virginia.

LOWLY, humble was our lot

Fortune's frowns seem'd endless,

Yet, by kind heaven, are never forgot
Orphans poor and friendless.
Hope, from the skies descending,
Still her blest influence lending,
Labour o'er, we dance and play;
Hearts free from guile are ever gay!
Hearts free, &c.

Lowly, humble tho' your lot,
Goodness in you was endless;
Ne'er shall that goodness be forgot,
I too was poor and friendless.
Oh! may, from heaven descending,
Hope, her blest influence lending,
Crown with joy each happy day;
Hearts free from guile are ever gay!
Hearts free, &c.

THE WOODEN WALLS OF OLD ENGLAND.

WHEN Britain on her sea-girt shore,

Her white-rob'd Druids first address'd: What aid, she cry'd, shall I implore, What bless'd defence-by numbers press'd? Hostile nations round thee rise,

The mystic oracle reply'd,

And view'd thy isle with envious eyes!
Their threats defy, their rage deride:
Nor fear invasion from your adverse Gauls,
Britain's best bulwarks are her wooden walls.
Thine oaks descending to the main,

With floating forts shall stem the tides,
Asserting Britain's liquid reign,

Where er her thund'ring navy rides;

Nor less to peaceful arts inclin'd,

Where Commerce opens all her stores, In social bands shall lead mankind,

And join the sea-divided shores.

Spread then thy sails, where naval glory calls,
Britain's best bulwarks are her wooden walls.
Hail, happy isle! what, though thy vales
No vine-impurpled tribute yield,
Nor fann'd with odour-breathing gales,
Nor crops spontaneous glad the field;

Yet Liberty rewards the toil

Of Industry, to labour prone, Who jocund ploughs the grateful soil,

And reaps the harvest he hath sown: While other realms tyrannic sway enthrals, Britain's best bulwarks are her wooden walls.

Thus spake the bearded sire of old,

In vision wrapp'd of Britain's fame,

Ere yet Iberia felt her pow'r,

Or Gallia trembled at her name;

F