A British seaman's name henceforward shall be

penn'd,

A terror to his foe, and an honour to his friend. At the battle of the Nile,

Our children shall smile,

And to ages yet unborn tell what England has perform❜d.

Prospect of Hope.

IN the down-hill of life, when I find I'm declining, May my fate no less fortunate be,

Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea:

With an ambling pad pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow,

And,blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, Look forward with hope for to-morrow,

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,

As the sunshine or rain may prevail;

With a small spot of ground for the use of the spade

too,

And a barn for the use of the flail:

A cow for the dairy, a dog for my game,

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow,

I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame,

Or what honours may wait him to-morrow,

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be com→ pletely

Secur'd by a neighbouring hill:

And at night may reposesteal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill:

And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, With my friends I will share what to-day may afford And let them spread the table to-morrow.

And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring, Which I've worn for threescore years and ten, On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hov'ring,

Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again! But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey,

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow, As this old worn-out stuff which is threadbare today,

May become everlasting to-morrow.

My Deary.

A DOWN a green valley there liv'd an old maid,
Who being past sixty, her charms began to fade,
She of waiting for husbands was weary;
She was monstrously rich, that for me was enough,
And sadly I wanted to finger the stuff;

So, says I, will you marry me deary?
Pretty deary!

O, la, fal, &c.

Says she, "You embarrass me, coming to woo ;" And she tried how to blush, but she blush'd rather blue,

For her cheeks of the roses were weary; Fays she, “I am told you're a sad little man, And cheat all the dear pretty girls that you can:" Says I," Don't believe it my deary!" Pretty deary!

O, la, fal, &c.

She consented that I for the licence should go,
When across her, mean time, came a tall Irish beau,
Who like me in pocket was peery;

Out of his calf's head such a sheep's head threw he,
That a queer little hop o' my thumb she call'd me;
So he diddled me out of my deary!
Pretty deary!
O, la, fal, &c.

The Girl of my

Heart.

I HAVE parks, I have grounds,
I have deer, I have hounds,
And for sporting a neat little cottage;
I have youth, I have wealth,

I have strength, I have health,
Yet I mope like a beau in his dotage.
What can I want?—'tis the girl of my heart,
To share those treasures with me,

For had I the wealth which the Indies impart,
No pleasure would it give to me,
Without the lovely girl of my heart,
The sweet lovely girl of my heart,

My domains far extends,
And sustains social friends,
Who make music divinely enchanting ;
We have balls, we have plays,

We have routs, public days,
And yet still I find something is wanting.
What should it be, but the girl of my heart,
To share those treasures with me?

And had I the wealth which the Indies impart,
No pleasure would it give me,

Without the lovely girl of my heart,

The sweet lovely girl of my heart.
For what is the wealth which the Indies impart
Compar'd to the girl of my heart?
Then give me the girl of my heart.-

Black-Eyed Susan.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on-board,
O! where shall I my true love find?

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among your crew,

William, who high upon the yard,
Rock'd with the billows to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below;
The cords flies swiftly thro' his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands,

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest.

The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet,

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain
Let me kiss off that falling tear,
We only part to meet again,

Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempts with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee sailors, when away,
In ev'ry port a mistress find;

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white:

Thus ev'ry beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

Though battle calls me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roars, yet safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye,