AROSE from her bosom had stray'd, I'll seek to replace it with art: But no-'twill her slumbers invade, 'Twas Daphne that gave thee thy place, Thou ne'er from thy station hadst flownHer bosom's the mansion of peace. THE passing bell was heard to toll! John wail'd his loss with bitter cries; The parson pray'd for Mary's soul, The Sexton hid her from all eyes. "And art thou gone !” 'Cry'd wretched John; "O dear! 'twill kill me--I am dying!” Cry'd neighbour Sly, While standing by, “Lord, how this world is giv'n to lying!" The throng retir'd; John left alone, Cry'd John, "no more! "I shall come soon-I'm almost dying!" Cry'd neighbour Sly, Still standing by, "Lord, how this world is giv'n to lying!" Here Here lie the bones, Heaven's will be done! "No doubt with grief the widow's dying!" Still standing by,. "Lord, how this world is giv'n to lying !" Their mutual grief was short and sweet; Now o'er and o'er, They ne'er would part till both were dying! Still standing by, "Lord, how this world is giv'n to lying!" Again to hear the passing bell, John now a sort of hank'ring feels; Again his help-mate brags how well She can trip up a husband's heels: Again to the tomb Each longs to come, Again with tears, and sobs, and sighing, Again to cry- "Lord, how this world is given to lying !" L OOSE ev'ry sail to the breeze, Since Emma is true as she's fair, My sails are all fill'd to my dear; song: Hoist ev'ry sail to the breeze; I SIGH for a maid, and a sweet pretty maid, Then well do I know by my heart's panting so, For it throbs, throbs, throbs, and it beats, beats, beats, Goes pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pat; Oh! sure it's the case, I'm in love with the face All under the gipsey hat. That That she's kind as she's fair, I freely declare, But then what I rue, and, believe me, it's true, Is-hang it for being in love; For my heart throbs, throbs, throbs, and it beats, beats, beats, Goes pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pat; And, ah! I'm afraid, for the face of the maid That I've said all my life I'd ne'er take a wife, For it throbs, throbs, throbs, and it beats, beats, beats, Goes pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pat; And, ah! I must tell, for the face of the girl [NSPIR'D by so grateful a duty, I In terms strongest art can devise; Bards have written those raptures on beauty Where beams a benevolent smile. While the heart some beneficent action L3 Bliss Bliss pervades every feature completely, IFE's like a ship in constant motion, While success attends our sails. Or, if the wayward winds should bluster, Should dangers rise, be ever ready, To manage well the swelling sails. Trust not too much your own opinion, Then, |