Relaxing from his labours,
Amid his welcome neighbours,
With plain regale,

With jest and tale,
The happy peasant see;

No vain schemes confounding him,
All his joys surrounding him,

Dear he beholds his native lands, its laws & liberty.

Behold the Man that is unlucky.

BEHOLD the man that is unlucky,

Not from neglect, by fate worn poor, Though gen'rous, kind, when he was wealthy, His friends are friends to him no more; He finds the same in each kind fellow, By trying them he had reliev'd,

Though men shake hands, drink healths, gets mellow,

Yet man by man is thus deceiv'd,

Where can you find a fellow creature,
To comfort him in his distress?
His old acquaintance proves a stranger,
Who used his friendship to profess;
Although a tear drops from his feelings,
Their selfish hearts cannot be mov'd;
Then what of all their godly preaching,
If generous deeds cannot be proved?

But so it is in life among us,

And give mankind their justly due:
'Tis hard to find one truly generous,
We all, at times, find this too true;
But if your friend he feels your sorrow,
His tender heart's glad to relieve;
And when he thinks on you to-morrow,
He's happy he had it to give.

William and Nancy.

BLEAK was the morn, when William left his Nancy,
The fleecy snow frown'd on the whiten'd shore,
Cold as the fears that chill'd her dreary fancy,
While she her sailor from her bosom tore;
To his fill'd heart a little Nancy pressing,
While a young tar the ample trowsers ey'd;
In need of firmness in this state distressing,
Will check'd the rising sigh, and fondly cry'd,
Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a uotion,
Grief all in vain,

Sweet love, take heart,
For we but part,

In joy to meet again,

Loud blew the wind, when leaning on that willow, Where the dear name of William printed stood,

When Nancy saw, upon a faithless billow,

A ship dash'd'gainst a rock that topp'd the flood;

Her tender heart with frantic sorrow thrilling,
Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore,
No longer could resist a stroke so killing;
'Tis he, she cried, nor shall I see him more!
Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean:
Sorrow's my portion,
Misery and pain
Break my poor heart,
For now we part,

Never to meet again,

Mild was the eve, all nature seem'd smiling,
Four tedious years Nancy pass'd in grief,
When with her children the sad hours beguiling,
She saw her William fly to her relief:
Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
But soon return'd to life, to love, and joy,
While her grown young ones anxiously surround

her,

And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,

DESERTED by the waning moon,

When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,

On tow'r, on'fort, on tented ground,
The sentry walks his lonely round;

And should a footstep haply stray,
Where caution marks the guarded way,
Who goes there? stranger, quickly tell.

A friend! The word ?-Good night.-All's well.

Or sailing on the midnight deep,

While weary messmates soundly sleep,
The careful watch patroles the deck,
To guard the ship from foes or wreck :
And while his thoughts oft homeward steer,
Some friendly voice salutes his ear,
What cheer? brother, quickly tell.
Above. Below.-Good night.-All's well.

The Wounded Hussar.

ALONE to the banks of the dark rolling Danube,

Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er ; O whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover, Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore? What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd; All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far, When bleeding, and low on the heath she descry'd, By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar,

From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was streaming,

And pale was his visage deep mark'd with a scar, And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war,

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight!' How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war!

Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?

Thou shalt live, she replied, Heaven's mercy reclining,

Each anguishing wound shall forbid me mourn, Ah! no, the last pang in my bosom is heaving, No light of the moon shall to Henry return! Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! Ye babes of my love that await me afar!

His fault'ring tongue scarcely could murmur, Adieu! When he sunk in her arms, the poor wounded Hussar.

Call again To-morrow.

I'LL to court among all the nobility,
Hold up my head with the best,
Learn politeness and all incivility,
And be most presumptuously drest.

(Spoken.)---Then I shall get an officious situation, and expense favours and places, like other great men; but if they offer me a bribe, as I am above all incorruption, I shall, like my betters -pocket the affront with

Call again to-morrow,
Can't you?
Call again to-morrow,