How sweet are the flowers that grow,
How sweet to recline on the bosom we love,

I cull'd for my love a fresh nosegay,
I have parks, I have grounds,

I knew by the smoke which so gracefully curl'd,
If to force me to sing it be your intention,
In a little blue garment all ragged and torn,
In a mouldering cave, a wretched retreat,
In storms when clouds obscure the sky,
In tatter'd weed, from town to town,

In the downhill of life when I find I'm declining,
I sigh and lament me in vain,

I sing the maid of Lodi,

Is there a heart that never lov'd,

I wander'd once at break of day,

I who am sore oppress'd with love,

Jack Stedfast and I were both messmates at sea,
Just like love is yonder rose,

Let others breathe the melting sigh,
Let's be jovial fill our glasses,
Life's like a ship in constant motion,
Little thinks the townsman's wife,
Lost and bewilder'd in the storm,
Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder,
Loud the trump of war was blowing,
Love's blind they say,.

Mary I believ'd thee true,

Collins,
Burns,

My dark-ey'd maid, by moonlight hour,
My days they roll pleasant and fair,

My heart with love is beating,

My mam is no more, and my dad's in his grave,

No cheering sun-beam's friendly ray,
No more, by sorrow chas'd, my heart,

Coleman,
L.B. Lindoe,

My love's the gayest of the throng,

.

102

17

O dear to my soul are thy scenes,
O'er barren hills and flow'ry dales,

O'er Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd,

Oh roses are sweet,..

Oh take me to your arms, my love,

Oh take these odour breathing flowers,

Oh the hours that I've pass'd in the arms,
Oh think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy'd,
On Afric's wide plains where the lion now roaring,
On beds of snow the moon-beam slept,
On Richmond hill there lives a lass,
Over the mountains and over the moor,

Peaceful slumbering on the ocean,
Pray, Goody, please to moderate,

Remember me, when far away,
Rest weary traveller,

Said a smile to a tear,

See the ship in the bay is riding,
Slow broke the light,
Soft zephyr on thy balmy wing,
Stay, my Willie, yet believe me,
Stay, traveller, tarry here to-night,

Talk not of love it gives me pain,
Tarry awhile with me my love,
Taste life's glad moments,

Tell her I'll love her,

The bird in yonder cage confin'd,
The father of Nancy a forester was,

The fav'rites of fortune their treasure may boast,
The gods on Olympus had lately a meeting,
The heath this night must be my bed,

The meadows look cheerful, the birds sweetly sing, O'Keeffe,

85

30

76

27

35

145

22

The oak of our fathers to freedom was dear,

4

151

32

The spotless maid is like a blooming rose,

101

The sun sets in night and the stars shun the day,

The sun was departed,

The trees seem to fade as the dear spot,

The war that for a space did fail,

The wealthy fool, with gold in store,

The wind it blows cold, I'm wet with the rain,
The woodland maid, my beauty's queen,.
Tho' distant on some foreign land,
Tho' far beyond the mountains,

Tho' love is warm awhile,

ho' I'm now a very little lad,

45

88

26

O'Keeffe,. 142

To Anacreon in Heav'n where he sat in full glee, Tomlinson,
To a village that skirted the sea,
Together let us range the fields,

Tom Starboard was a lover true,

Twas at night ere the bell had toll'd twelve,
Twas at the hour when night retreating,
Twas near a thicket's calm retreat,

"Twas night, and the farmer his fire-side near,
"Twas one morn when the wind,

"Twas on the spot, in ancient lore oft nam'd,
'Twas on the Wolga, rolling dark,

We brethren Free-masons,
What's this dull town to me,

Dibdin,

Braham,

7

34

Whence comes this keen, this cutting smart,
When absent from her whom my soul holds,
When avarice enslaves the mind,
When Britain first at Heav'ns command,
When Charles was deceiv'd by the maid,
When first this humble roof I knew,
When in death I shall calm recline,
When life looks lone and dreary,
When my money was gone that I gain'd,
When rural lads and lasses gay,
When Steerwell heard me first impart,
When the fancy stirring bowl,
When the rose-bud of summer,
When the rosy morn appearing,
When the trees are all bare,
When the winter wind whistles,

20

Burgoyne,
T. Moore,

Dibdin,

Dibdin,
Morris, .

Mrs. Brookes, 140

.116

90

122

When thy bosom heaves the sigh,

When William Tell was doom'd to die,

Where weeps the willow o'er the stream,

While I hang on your bosom, distracted to lose,
While the lads in the village so merrily, ah,
Why fair maid in ev'ry feature,

Why heaves that soft bosom,

M. G. Lewis, 10

Campbell,

Tannahill,

Braham,

Young love flew to the Paphian bow'r,
Young love once liv'd in an humble shed,

IRISH AND COMIC SONGS.

A CAPTAIN bold in Halifax,

A glass is good, and a lass is good,
A jolly fat friar lov'd liquor good store,

A landlady of France she lov'd an officer 'tis said,
A priest of Kajaaga, as blind as a stone,
Ah dark are the halls where our ancestors,
Amo Amas, I love a lass,

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,
As down on Banna's banks I stray'd,
As I came in by Calder fair,

As I stray'd o'er the common,
As I went down by yon blind quay,

Assist me ye lads who have hearts void of guile,
At the dead of the night, when by whisky,
Awake the harp's slumber to pleasures soft lay,

By the big hill of Howth,

Come bustle neighbour prig,
Come listen to my story,

Come none of your nonsense, I'm not to be had,

Dear Erin how sweetly thy green bosom rises,
Do hear me now Pat-I beseech thee be easy,

From a flasket of gin, my dear Nancy requested,
From Brighton two Paddies walk'd under the cliff,
From great Londonderry to London so merry,

171

Green were the fields where my forefathers dwelt, .

Hear, comrades, hear your Chieftain's voice,

If my own botheration don't alter my plan,
In Ireland so frisky, with sweet girls and whisky, Coleman,
In summer when the leaves were green,

It was Murphy Delaney, so funny and frisky,
I was born once at home when my mother was out,
I was the boy for bewitching 'em,

Ladies, how d'ye do,

Morning a cruel turmoiler is,

My darling, says Pat, to his spouse in his lap,
My dear Molly Mogg, you're as soft as a bog,
My father was once a great merchant,
My muse, let us wake Erin's harp,
My thoughts delight to wander,

Now Allister has tun'd his pipes,
Now we're all met here together,

:

O did you not hear of Kate Kearney,
O love is the soul of a neat Irishman,
O will you sit in the bow'r with me,
Och when I was a gossoon so merry and frisky,
Oh, hush the soft sigh, maid,

Oh many a mountain I wearily measure,

Oh soldiers of England, your merciless doings,
Oh touch, dear maid, the trembling string,
Oh, whack! Cupid's a mannikin,

Oh yes, I have seen this Kate Kearney,
Oh when I breath'd a last adieu,
Old father Pat was blythe and free,
One morning very early,

Ope thy casement, lady bright,
Our immortal poet's page,

Over port, pipe, or snuff box,

Put round the full glass-'tis the season of joy, . T. A.

Shepherds I have lost my love,

Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear,

186

O'Keeffe,

201

Swift fly the hours when in youth's happy day,

The cloth taken out, and fresh liquor brought in,
The Hero may perish his country to save,
The moon dimm'd her beams in a feathery cloud,
The moon throws her shadowy light on the hill,
The soul of an Irishman centres in whisky,
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
There's a difference to be seen,.

Wm. Smyth, 213

T. A.

181

183

Campbell,
Dibdin, 244