ELIZA COOK.]
[Music by HENRY RUSSELL,
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, on the fierce rolling tide,
The ocean's my home and my bark is my bride;
Up, up with my flag, let it wave o'er the sea;
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free.
I fear not the monarch, I heed not the law:
I've a compass to steer by, a dagger to draw;
And ne'er as a coward or slave will I kneel,
While my guns carry shot, or my belt bears a steel.
Quick! quick! trim her sail! let the sheet kiss the wind,
And I'll warrant we'll soon leave the sea-gulls behind.
Up, up with my flag, let it wave o'er the sea!
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!
The night gathers o'er us, the thunder is heard:
What matter? our vessel skims on like a bird!
What to her is the dash of the storm-ridden main?
She has braved it before, and will brave it again:
The fire-gleaming flashes around us may fall--
They may strike, they may cleave, but they cannot
appal.
With lightning above us, and darkness below,
Through the wild waste of waters right onward we go.
Hurra! my brave boys, ye may drink, ye may sleep,
The storm-fiend is hush'd, we're alone on the deep,
Our flag of defiance still waves o'er the sea.
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!
What fairy-like music steals over the sea,
Entrancing the senses with charm'd melody,
"Tis the voice of the mermaid that floats o'er the main, As she mingles her song with the gondolier's strain.
The winds are all hushed, and the waters at rest,
They sleep like the passions in infancy's breast,
Till storms shall unchain them from out their dark
And break the repose of the soul and the wave.
THE BLIND MAN'S AT THE DOOR.
SHERIDAN KNOWLES.]
The blind man's at the door,
And won't you let him in ?
He plays the harp-he'll spare no pains,
Your favour for to win;
He'll sing you fits, one, two, or three,
And he'll ask you a groat-no more;
And grudge you a groat, he'll be thankful for less,
The blind man's at the door.
He'll sing you stories sad,
And he'll sing you stories gay;
And, call as often as you please,
He will not say you nay,
If you fill him a cup, he's a happy blind man,
As oft he has been before;
he's contented with none;
But grudge you that grace,
The blind man's at the door.
The blind man's at the door,
And shelter none has he;
The sky doth smile, or it doth frown,
But which he cannot see.
you welcome him in, what cares he for the sky? It may shine, or it may pour;
But grudge you that grace, wet or dry he must on;The blind man's at the door.
Rise, Herod, my hound, from the stranger's floor,
Old friend, we must wander the world once more;
For no one now liveth to welcome us back,
So, come, let speed on our fated track.
What matter the region-what matter the weather-
So you and I travel till death together?
And in death, why e'en there, I may still be found
By the side of my beautiful black bloodhound!
What, Herod, old hound, dost remember the day
When I fronted the wolves, like a stag at bay?
When downwards they galloped to where we stood,
Whilst I staggered from dread in the dark pinewood.
Dost remember their howlings? their horrible speed?
God! God! how I prayed for a friend in need!
And he came, Ah, 'twas then my dear Herod I found
That the best of all friends was my bold bloodhound!
Men tell us, dear friend, that the noble hound,
Must ever be lost in the worthless ground;
Yet "Courage," "Fidelity," "Love," they say,
Bear men as on wings to his skies away!
Well, Herod, go tell them whatever may be
I'll hope I may ever be found by thee!
If in sleep, or in heaven, with heaven around,
Mayst thou follow e'en thither my dear bloodhound!
My dear, my dear bloodhound.'
Away with all water wherever I come,
I forbid it ye gentlemen all, some wine!
Wine is your only drink,
Grief never dares to look at the brink;
Six times a year to be mad with wine,
I hold it no shame, but a very good sign;
Wine! wine! wine!
Wine! wine! serve me a dozen,
But let it be frozen and finished with ice,
And Tuscan wine, for it is nice.
Fill me a magnum, and reach it
How it glides to my heart by the sweetest of roads;
Oh, how it tickles me, kisses me, bites me,
To love and deeds of war excites me!
THE BEGGAR'S CREST.
[DOUGLAS JERROLD.].
The eagle may wave in a royal court,
The cormorant, raven, and kite
May keep with your gentry of honour and port,
With marquis, earl, baron, and knight.
What! there's a bird for the bold beggar too,
A bird he may wear at his crest;
Stout as a lion, nor stouter than true :
This bird is the Robin Redbreast.
No sneak up is he-nor stupidly shy,
Begs Robin with haws and with hums;
Ile glances full at you his bead-like eye,
Then falls to, and picks up your crumbs.
When he has fed, in a thanksgiving note,
He sings you a song with a zest ;
Some silver-bell'd birds would fly at your throat,
But not so the Robin Redbreast.
Ah, Pilot! 'tis a fearful night,
There's danger on the deep;
I'll come and pace the deck with thee,
I do not dare to sleep.
Go down the sailor cried, go down!
This is no place for thee;
Fear not, but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou mayst be.
Ah, Pilot! dangers often met
We all are apt to slight;
And thou hast known the raging waves
But to subdue their might.
It is not apathy, he cried,
That gives this strength to me;
Fear not, but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou mayst be.
In such a night, the sea engulph'd
My father's lifeless form;
My only brother's boat went down,
In just so wild a storm.
And such, perhaps, may be my fate-
But still I say to thee,
Fear not, but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou mayst be.
EVENING.
FROM THE GERMAN.
In the West the sun declining
Sinks beneath the mountain height,
Tints the clouds with golden lining,
Sets the hills with rubies shining:
Then bids all the world good night.
Good night! Good night!
In the wind the grass is bending;
Flowers now slumber in the shade;
Birds to seek their nest are wending
Flocks in fold the shepherds tending;
Homeward hies the mountain maid.
Good night! Good night!
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