« 이전계속 »
WHERE'S THE HEART.
Where's the heart so cold,
Thy harp could not awaken,
Nor feel its pulses shaken.
When amid the strings
Thy magic fingers straying,
We'd think an angel playing.
When we hear thy tale
Of woe and virtue given,
To yet be one in heaven.
DEAR OBJECT OF DEFEATED CARE.
Dear object of defeated care
Though now of love and thee bereft;
Thine image and thy tears are left.
But that I feel can ne'er be true;
My memory immortal grew.
MY GAUNTLET'S DOWN.
My gauntlet's down, my flag unfurl'd,
Whate'er my fortune be,
Or win a world in thee!
Yes! thon shalt be my polar star,
To lands of promised bliss afar,
My gauntlet's down, &c.
WEEP FOR THE HEIRESS.
Weep for the heiress of the isles,
Oh, loudly raise the caronach,—
Oh! vainly shall the bridegroom come!
His joys, his hope, his pride is flown. Joy has, with her, forsook its home,
Malvina, dear, is lost and gone!
HE'S THE MAN TO WIN THE DAY.
When a trembling lover dies,
Stands aloof and when he sighs,
But the youth who boldly speeds,
Like a hero to the fray,
Will not let us answer nay.
Let him stay, let him stay,
He's the man to win the day.
MY HEART'S MY OWN.
My heart's my own, my will is free,
No mortal man shall wed with me,
Let parents rule, cry Nature's laws,.
And children still obey,
Against tyrannic sway?
THE INDIAN DRUM.
Hark ! 'tis the Indian drum!
WHERE THE BEE SUCKS.
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I,
In a cowslip's bell I lie,
There I couch when owls do cry;
On a bat's back do I fly,
After sunset, merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
TO THE OLD—LONG LIFE.
To the old—long life and treasure,
To the fair—their face,
With eternal grace—
FUDDLE THY NOSE.
Merrily, merrily push round the glass,
And merrily troll the glee; For he who won't drink till he wink is an ass,
So, neighbour, I drink to thee.
Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose,
Until it right rosy shall be:
BEAUTY AND WINE.
Brisk wine and lovely women are
Sea-girt England,—fertile land!
Plenty, from her richest stores,
Her treasures on your bosom pours,
When your realm is truly bless'd,
Is by your loyalty confess'd. .
ANNA, THY CHARMS.
Anna, thy charms my bosom fires,
But ah ! how bootless to admire,
Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
For sure 'twere impious to despair,
HONEST NATURE ANSWERS, NO.
What is love ? an idle passion,
Sage advisers call it so;
Honest Nature answers, no.
Age has turned your hearts to snow;
Honest Nature answers, no.
THE HARDY SAILOR.
The hardy sailor braves the ocean,
Fearless of the roaring wind, Yet his heart with soft emotion,
Throbs to leave his love behind. To dread of foreign foes a stranger,
Though the youth can, dauntless, roam, Alarming fears paint every danger,
In a rival left at home.
The hardy sailor, &c.