ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

WHE

HEN angry nations rush to arms,
And dare Britannia's peace molest;
While discord sounds her dire alarms,
And fills with rage each hostile breast;
The gallant tar, at honour's call,

Springs forth to meet his country's foes,
And fix'd to conquer or to fall,

His breast with martial ardour glows.

Behold him in the dreadful scene,

Where heroes fall to rise no more; He braves his fate with dauntless mien, And bids the thund'ring cannons roar. No fears appal his manly mind;

Or, if perchance he heaves a sigh, "Tis for a girl he left behind : A sailor never fears to die.

In honour's deathless page enroll'd,
Conspicuous shines the sailor's name,
The guardian of his native land,

Whose bosom nobly pants for fame.
On them the British fair bestow

The choicest smiles, their favours sweet, When crown'd with laurels from the foe, They lay their wreaths at beauty's feet.

[ocr errors]

II, think on my fate! once I freedom enjoy'd,
Was as happy as happy could be,

But pleasure is fled! even hope is destroy'd,
A captive, alas! on the sca.

I was ta'en by the foe, 'twas the fiat of fate,
To tear me from her I adore,

When thought brings to my mind my once happy

estate,

I sigh! while I tug at the oar.

Hard, hard is my fate! Oh how galling my chain! My life's steer'd by misery's chart;

And tho' 'gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain,
Tears gush forth to case my full heart.

I disdain c'en to shrink, tho' I feel the sharp lash;
Yet my breast bleeds for her I adore,
While around me the unfeeling billows will dash,
I sigh! and still tug at the oar.

How Fortune deceives! I had pleasure in tow,
The port where she dwelt we'd in view;
But the wish'd nuptial morn was o'er-clouded with

woe,

And, dear Anna! I hurried from you.

Our shallop was boarded, and I borne away,
To behold my dear Anna no more:
But despair wastes my spirits, my form feels decay,
He sigh'd and expir'd at the oar.

IF

F deep thy poniard thou would'st drench
In blood to avenge old Blenheim's woes,

My enemies, boy, are the French,

And all who are my country's focs.

Shall

Shall I receive an added day

Of life, when crimes your name shall brand!

No; never let detraction say,

That virtue arm'd a murderer's hand.

Of anger, then, no single breath

If deep, &c.

Respire for my poor sake-but since

You've spirit to encounter death,

Die for your country and your prince.

If deep, &c.

TO Bachelors' Hall we good fellows invite, To partake of the chase that makes up our delight;

We have spirits like fire, and of health such a

stock,

That our pulse strikes the seconds as true as a

clock:

Did you see us you'd swear, as we mount with a

grace;

That Diana had dubb'd some new gods of the chase, Hark away, hark away,

All nature looks gay,

And Aurora with smiles ushers in the bright day.

Dick Thickset came mounted upon a fine black, A better fleet gelding ne'er hunter did back: Tom Trig rode a bay full of mettle and bone, And gaily Bob Buxom rode proud on a roan;

But

But the horse of all horses that rivall'd the day, Was the Squire's Neck-or-nothing, and that was a grey.

Hark away, hark away,

While our spirits are gay,

Let us drink to the joys of the next coming day.

Then for hounds there was Nimble, so well that climbs rocks;

And Cocknose, a good one for scenting a fox; Little Plunge, like a mole, who with Ferret and Search;

And beetle-brow'd Hawks-eye, so dead at a lurch; Young Sly-looks, that scents the strong breeze from the South;

And musical Echo-well with his deep mouth.

Hark away, &c.

Our horses thus all of the very best blood,
Tis not likely you'll easily find such a stud:
And for hounds our opinions with thousands we'll

back,

That all England throughout can't produce such a pack;

Thus having describ'd you dogs, horses and crew, Away we set off, for the fox is in view.

Hark away, &c.

Sly Reynard's brought home, while the horns.

sound a call,

And now you're all welcome to Bachelor's

Hall.

The

The savory Sir-loin grateful smokes on the hoard, And Bacchus pours wine from his favourite hoard; Come on, then, do honour to this jovial place, And enjoy the sweet pleasures that spring from the chase.

TOM

Hark away, &c.

NOM Tackle was noble, was true to his word: If merit brought titles, Tom might be a lord = How gaily his bark through life's ocean would sail: Truth finish'd the rigging

When I took my departure from Dublin's sweet city,

And for England's ownself through the seas I did plough:

For three long days I was tost up and down

Peaceful slumbering on the ocean,
Seamen fear no dangers nigh:

The winds and waves in gentle motion
Soothe them with-

Oh, the bonny, bonny bells,
How I love to hear them sound:
Far and near-

The lads of the village so merrily, ah! Sound the tabor, I'll hand thee along; And I say unto thee

Curtis was old Hodge's wife, For virtue none was ever such: She led so pure, so chaste a life, Hodge said

Here,

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »