The devious paths our steps shall bring
To yonder happy grove,
Where nightingales delighted sing
And zephyrs whisper love.

Primroses, &c.

With sweetest flowers a wreath I'll twine,
To deck that modest brow of thine;
My love shall banish every fear,
And crown the goddess of the year,
Primroses, &c.

A ROSE FROM HER BOSOM.

A Rose from her bosom had stray'd
I'll seek to replace it with art;
But no-'twill her slumbers invade,

I will wear it, fond youth, next my heart. Alas! silly rose, had'st thou known,

'Twas Daphne that gave thee that place, Thou ne'er from thy station had'st flown, Her bosom's the mansion of peace.

THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR.

An actor's a comical dog,
Now frisky, now dull as a log;
So changeable all,

Now short, and now tall,

So plump, then as slim as a frog.
Now Paddy the brogue he puts on,
Then struts with the pride of a Don.

Now a French oui Monsieur, Then a Dutch yaw Mynheer, Or bra' Donald the head of his clan.

How early they take in the town,
From one shilling up to a crown;
They pant, and they cry,
Fight, tumble, and die,
But laugh when the curtain is down.

ANNA, THY CHARMS.

Anna, thy charms my bosom fires,
And waste my soul with care:
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fatal to despair.

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
To hope may be forgiv'n;
For sure 'twere impious to despair,
So much of heav'n in sight.

NOBODY COMES TO MARRY ME.

Last night the dogs did bark,
I went to the gate to see,
When ev'ry lass had her spark,
But nobody comes to me.

And its oh, dear, what will become of me?
Oh, dear what shall I do?
Nobody coming to marry me,
Nobody coming to woo.

My father's a hedger and ditcher,
My mother does nothing but spin;

And I am a pretty young girl,
But money comes slowly in.
And its oh, dear, &c.

They say I am beauteous and fair,
They say I am scornful and proud,
Alas! I must now despair,

For, ah, I am grown very old.

And now I must die an old maid,
Oh, dear, how shocking the thought!
And all my beauty must fade,
But I'm sure it is not my fault,
And its oh, dear, &c.

THE WEALTH OF A COTTAGE.

A blessing unknown to ambition and pride,
Which fortune can never abate:

To wealth and to splendour, though often denied,

Yet on poverty deigns to await.

That blessing, ye powers, oh, be it my lot,
The choicest best gift from above,

Deep fix'd in my heart, it shall ne'er be forgotThe wealth of a cottage is love.

Whate'er my condition why should I repine?
By poverty never depress'd;

Exulting, I felt what a pleasure was mine,
A treasure enshrin'd in my breast.
That blessing, &c.

WILL WATCH.

was one morn, when the wind from the north blew keenly,

While sullenly roll'd the big waves of the main, i fam'd smuggler, Will Watch, kiss'd his Sue, then serenely

Took helm, and to sea boldly steer'd out again. Will had promis'd his Sue, that his trip, if well ended,

Should coil up his hopes, and anchor on shore When his pockets were lin'd, why his life should be mended, [more.

The laws he had been broken, he'd never break

His seaboat was trim, made her port, took her lading,

Then Will stood for home, reach'd the offing and cried, [ing,

This night, if I've luck, furls the sails of my tradIn dock I can lay, serve a friend too beside.

Will lay to, till night came on darksome and dreary To crowd every sail then he pip'd up each band; But a signal soon spied, 'twas a prospect uncheery, A signal that warned him to bear from the land. The Philistines are out, cries Will, we'll take no heed on't,

Attack'd, who's the man that will flinch from his gun?

Should my head be blown off, I shall ne'er feel the need on't,

We'll fight while we can, when we can't boys, we'll run.

Through the haze of the night, a bright flash no appearing,

Oh! oh! cries Will Watch, the Philistine bear down,

Bear-a-hand my brave boys, ere we think about sheering,

One [broadside pour in, should we swim boys or drown.

But should I be popp'd off, you, my mates left be hind me,

Regard my last words, see 'em kindly obey'd; Let no stone mark the spot, and, my friends, do you mind me,

Near the beach is the grave where Will Watch would be laid.

Poor Will's yarn was spun out-for a bullet next minute,

Laid him low on the deck, and he never spoke

more;

His bold crew fought the brig while a shot re main'd in it;

Then sheered; and Will's hull to his Susi they bore.

In the dead of the night, his last wish was com plied with,

To few known his grave, and to few known his end

He was borne to the earth by the crew that he died with,

He'd the tears of his Susan, the prayers each friend.