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While day and night can bring delight,

Or nature aught of pleasure give; While joys above my mind can move,

For thee, and thee alone, I live 1 When that grim foe of life below,

Comes in between to make us part; The iron hand that breaks our band,

It breaks my bliss—it breaks my heart.

SWEET HOPE.

Sweet hope, thou art a sovereign balm

For hearts by sorrow wounded; Thy smiles impart a tender calm,

E'en when by storms surrounded! For, like the many tinted bow,

Griefs atmosphere thou cheerest, And darker as the shadows grow,

The brighter thou appearest.

And though by every tongue reviled,

As treacherous, false, deceiving,—
Who hath not dried his tears, and smiled,

Thy promises believing?
Then still I'll court thy soothing power,

And thy sweet influence cherish;
To thee I'll cling in life's last hour,

Nor quit thee till I perish.

I'M A TOUGH, TRUE HEARTED SAILOR.

I'm a tough, true-hearted sailor,

Careless and all that, d'ye see,
Never at the times a railer,—

What is time or tide to me? All must die when fate shall will it,

Providence ordains it so,
Every bullet has its billet.

Man the boat, boys—Yeo, heave yeo.

"Life's at best a sea of trouble,

He who fears it is a dunce; ,

Death, to me, an empty bubble,

I can never die but once.
Blood, if duty bids, I'll spill it.

Yet I have a tear for woe;"
Every bullet has its billet, &c.
Shrouded in a hammock, glory

Celebrates the falling brave;
Oh! how many, famed in story,

Sleep below, in ocean's cave.
Bring the can, boys—let us fill it,

Shall we shun the fight? oh, no!
Every bullet has its billet, &c.

SONS OF FREEDOM.

Sons of freedom, hear my story

Mercy well becomes the brave;
Humanity is Briton's glory,—

Pity and protect the slave!
Free-born daughters, who, possessing

Eyes that conquer, hearts that save,
Greet me with a sister's blessing,

Pity and protect the slave.

THE GIRL THAT I PRIZE. Whilst the votary of Bacchus drives care from the And the votary of pleasure defies all controul,

I don't envy their transports, such joys I despise,
While blest with the heart of the girl that I prize.

When smiling she meets me, I cannot reveal,
How charming she looks, or what joys I then feel;
While a blush paints her cheeks, and love brightens

her eyes,
I am blest with the heart of the girl that I prize.

HER MOUTH WITH A SMILE.

Her mouth with a smile,
Devoid of all guile,

Half open to view
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,

Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath,
Than the flower-scented heath

At the dawning day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,

Or the blossoms of May.

JUST LIKE THEE.

Sweetest flow'rets blushing there
In balmy dew-drops that they bear,
Are beautiful, my lovely fair,

Just like thee.

The moon that ripples in the stream,
With soft and yet with playful beam;
The landscape in the night's calm gleam
Seems but a sweet enchanting dream,
Just like thee.

So may our life be clouded never,
Till death's dull mandate bid us sever,
Then may I sink to peace for ever,
Just like thee.

NO JOY WITHOUT MY LOVE.

If not with thee I'm blest,

In vain I twine the bower;
If not to deck thy breast,

In vain I wreath the flower.
Such scenes as these no joys can prove,
On earth, no joy without my love.

Awaken'd by the genial year,

The warblers trill their lay;
The verdant fields bedeck'd appear

With all the sweets of May.

Such scenes, &c

0! TWINE A WREATH.

Oh! twine a wreath of evergreen,

And with it deck the brow
Of him who, 'mid life's varied scene,

Ne'er breaks his plighted vow:
Of him, when forc'd by honour's call,

In climes afar to roam,
Whose anxious thoughts will ever turn

To her he leaves at home.

Oh! twine a wreath, &c.

How few, 'mid pleasure's dazzling scenes,

Reflect on kindness past!
How few, who wealth and power obtain,

Are faithful to the last!

Too oft, in youth's gay sunny days,

Men play the tyrant's part; They first ensnare, and then alas!

Deceive the guileless heart.

Oh! twine a wreath, &e.

SYMPATHY.

In thee I bear so dear a part,

By love so firm am thine, That each affection of the heart,

By sympathy is mine.

When thou art griev'd, I grieve no less,
My joys by thine are known;

And ev'ry good thou would'st possess,
Becomes in wish my own.

RISE, CYNTHIA, RISE.

Rise, Cynthia, rise, the ruddy morn,
On tiptoe stands to view thy face;
Phcabus by fleetest coursers borne,
Sees none so fair in all his race.
The circling hours which lay behind,
Would draw fresh beauties from thine eye,
Yet, ah! in pity to mankind,
Still wrapt in pleasing visions lie.

GLEE.

Amtdst the myrtles as I walk,
Love and myself thus enter talk;
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my shepherdess.

Tell me, said I, &c.

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