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Ah! non, non, non,.
Pauvre Madelon fears only for her rover;
Ah! non, non, non,
Then let the world jog as it will,
'(npWAS summer, and softly the breezes were
And sweetly the nightingale sung from a tree: At the toot of a rock, where the river was flowing,
1 sat myself down on the banks of the Dee,
Flow on lovely Dee! fhw on, thou sweet river! rhy banks, purest stream! shall be dear tome
ever: For there I first gain'd the affection and favour Ut Jamie the glory and pnde of the Dee.
But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning,
To quell the proud rebels—for valiant is he; And, ah! there's no hope of lus speedy returning,
To wander again on the banks of the Dee.
He's gone, hapless youth! o'er the loud roaring billows, The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved willows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.
But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restor*
Ulest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me;
And when he returns, with such care I'll watch
He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee.
TheDee then shall flow,all its beauties displaying, The lambs on its banks shah again be seen playing;
Whilst I, with my Jamie, am carelessly straying, And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.
OF all sensations pity brings
Of all sad sympathy's delights,
The manly dignity of grief, A joy in mourning that excites,
And gives the anxious mind relief.
Of these would you the feeling "know,
That ever taught a heart to glow,—
'Tis the tear that bedews a soldier's grave.
For hard and painful is his lot;
Let dangers come, he braves them all; Valiant, perhaps, to be forgot,
Or undistinguished doom'd to fall!
Yet wrapt in conscious worth secure,
He views from a retreat obscute,
Then, trav'ller, one kind look bestow,
Nought ever taught the heart to glow,
Like the tear that bedews a soldier's grave.
TfMjolly D(ek, the lamplighter;
Father and I the world do light,
The difference is I light by night,
Bat But father's not the like of I,
For knowing life and fun;
Folks never show the sun.
Rogues, owls, and bats, can't bear the light,
I've heard your wise ones say, And so d'ye mind, I see at night
Things never seen by day.
At night men throw aside all art,
As quite a useless task;
Will then pull off the mask. ♦
Each formal prude, and holy wight,
Will throw disguise away, And sin it openly at night,
Who sainted it all day.
His darling hoard the miser views,
Misses from friends decamp:
To his country, o'er his lamp.
So father and I, d'ye take me right,
Are just on the same lay:
And he false saints by day.
IN vain the grave and wise,
Youth's the season to be gay,
To joy we'll give the day:
The laughing hours invite
To sport, while young and gay; With love and soft delight
Our minutes pass away. Old age and care they say,
O'ertake each beau and belle: Who'd meet such foes half-way?
4hl—Vive la bagatelle.'
TTF life is a bubble, and breaks with a blast, -"- You must toss off your wine if you wish it
to last; For this bubble may well be destroyed with a puff, If it is not kept floating in liquor enough. If life is a flow'r, as philosophers say, 'Tis a very good hint, understood the right way; For, if lite is a flow'r, any blockhead can tell, If you'd have it look fresh, you must moisten it
This life is no more than a journey, 'tis said, Where the roads, for most part, are confoundedly
bad; Then, let wine be our spur, and each trav'ller will
own, That, whatever the roads, we jog merrily on.