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How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain,

And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove, And sweet is the breeze that blows over the mountain; Yet none is so sweet as the lad that I love.

Then I'll weave him a garland,
A fresh flowing garland,
With lilies, and roses,

And sweet blooming posies;
A garland I'll give to the lad that I love.
It was down in the vale, where the sweet Torza gliding

Its murmuring stream ripples thro' the dark grove, I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding, To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love.

Then I'll weave, &c.


TUNE—“ Erin go Bragh.
The sun was departed, the mild zephyr blowing,

Bore over the plain the perfume of the flow'rs;
In soft undulations the streamlet was flowing,

And calm meditation led forward the hours :
I struck the full chord, and the ready tear started,
I sung of an exile, forlorn, broken hearted:
Like him, from my bosom all joy is departed,

has stol'n from the lyre all its pow'rs. I paus'd on the strain, when fond mem’ry, tenacious,

Presented the form I must ever esteem; Retrac'd scenes of pleasure, alas ! how fallacious;

Evanescent all, all, as the shades of a dream.

And şorrow

Yet still, as they rush'd thro' oppress'd recollection,
The silent tear fell, and the pensive reflection,
Immers'd my sad bosom in deeper dejection,

On which cheering hope scarcely glances a beam.
In vain into beauty all nature is springing,

In vain smiling spring does the blossoms unfold :
Io vain round my cot the wing'd choristers singing,

When each soft affection is dormant and cold;
E'en sad as the merchant, bereay'd of his treasure,
So slow beats my heart, and so languid its measure,
So dreary, so lonely, a stranger to pleasure,
Around it affliction her mantle hath roll'd.

But meek resignation supporting the spirit,

Unveils a bright scene to the uplifted eye; A scene which the patient and pure shall inherit, Where hearts bleed no more, and the tear shall be dry. There souls, which on earth in each other delighted, By friendship, by honour, by virtue united, Shall meet, and their pleasures no more shall be blighted, But perfect and pure as their love be their joy,

FROM HOPE'S FOND DREAM. From hope's fond dream tho' reason wakes,

In vain she points with warning hand; I dread advice I cannot take,

Love's powerful spells my steps command.
The bird thus fascination binds,

When darting from the serpent's eyes;
The fatal charm too late he finds,
He struggles, and admiring dies.

On take these odour-breathing flowers,

These flowers, the sisters of thy bloom;
Tho' not the sweetest in the bow'rs,

Can half thy sweetness e'er assume.
What are the beauties they disclose,
Compar'd with thine, O lovely Rose?
Tho' in the crown we offer here,

gems in splendid richness blaze; Tho' simple flow'rs alone appear,

It has its worth, it merits praise. Form’d by our grateful heart, it shows The worth of thee, O lovely Rose !


WHEN Steerwell heard me first impart

Our brave commander's story, With ardent zeal his youthful heart

Swell’d high for naval glory; Resolv'd to gain a valiant name,

For bold adventures eager, When first a little cabin-boy on board the Fame,

He would hold on the jigger,
While ten jolly tars, with musical Joe,
Hove the anchor a-peak, singing yoe heave yoe,
Yoe, yoe, yoe, yoe, yoe, yoe heave yoe.

While ten jolly tars, &c.
To hand top-gallant-sails he learn'd,

With quickness, care, and spirit;
His generous master then discern'd,

And priz'd his dawning merit:

He taught him soon to reef and steer,

When storms convulse the ocean, Where shoals made skilful veterans fear,

Which mark'd him for promotion :
As none to the pilot e'er answer'd like he,
When he gave the command, hard a-port, helm a-lee,
Luff, boys, luff, keep her near,
Clear the buoy, make the pier.

None to the pilot, &c.
For valour, skill, and worth renown'd,

The foe he oft defeated,
And now, with fame and fortune crown'd,

Post captain he is rated;
Who, should our injur'd country bleed,

Still bravely would defend her:
Now blest with peace, if beauty plead,

He'll prove his heart as tender.
Unaw'd, yet mild to high and low,

poor and wealthy, friend or foe;
Wounded tars share his wealth,
All the fleet drink his health:
Priz'd be such hearts, for aloft they will go,
Which always are ready compassion to show

To a brave conquerid foe.

PEACEFUL slumb'ring on the ocean?

Seamen fear no danger nigh;
The winds and waves in gentle motion,

Sooth them with their lullaby.
Is the wind tempestous blowing?

Still no danger they descry;
The guiltless heart its boon bestowing,

Sooths them with its lullaby.


YE shepherds tell me, have you seen

My Flora pass this way?
In shape and feature, beauty's queen,
In pastoral array.

Shepherds, tell me, &c.
A wreath around her head she wore,

Carnation, lily, and the rose;
And in her hand a crook she bore,
And sweets her lips disclose.

Shepherds, tell me, &c. The beauteous wreath that decks her head,

Forms her description true; Hands lily white, lips crimson red, And cheeks of rosy

hue. Shepherds, tell me, &c.


LITTLE thinks the townsman's wife,

While at home she tarries,
What must be the lass's life,

Who a soldier marries;
Now with weary marching spent,

Dancing now before the tent,
Lira lira la, lira lira la,

With her jolly soldier.
In the camp at night she lies,

Wind and weather scorning,
Only griev'd her love must rise,

And quit her in the morning ;

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