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Press'd by death, he is sent to the tender below Where lubbers and seamen must every one go Yet the worm, &
With his frame a mere hulk, and his reck'ning board,
At last he dropt down to mortality's road,
When I hear the last whistle, I'll jump upon
Young Love lived once in an humble shed, When roses breathing,
And woodbines wreathing,
Around the lattice their tendrils spread,
For young Hope nourish'd,
The infant buds with beams and show'rs; But lips though blooming, must still be fed,
Not even Love can live on flow'rs.
Alas! that Poverty's evil eye,
Such sweets to wirber!
The flow'rs laid down their heads to die,
E'er Love had warning,
And rais'd the latch where the young god lay; O ho!" said Love, is it you?-Good bye,' So he open'd the window, and flew away!
BY THE GAILY CIRCLING GLASS.
We can see how minutes pass;
By the chirping of the thorn,
Joys find entrance at the lip.
MY HEART WITH LOVE IS BEATING,
My heart with love is beating,
Could deeds my heart discover,
Against a world in arms.
ECHO, DELIGHTED CRIES HARK, HARK AWAY.
Hark away, my brave boys, to the cry of the hounds,
How blithesome o'er hills and through dale, Sweet Echo, delighted, the music resounds, And wafts it o'er mountain and vale. Mellow sounds the blithe horn
In the morning so gay,
And Echo, delighted, cries hark, hark away!
Then haste, haste away, its the enlivening view hollow,
See reynard breaks covert and flies,
The hounds true to scent his track quickly fol
And loud tallyhe's rend the skies.
Mellow sounds, &c.
Then leave to dull care all the sons of the day, Let them labour and toil, while we follow The sweet swelling cry of the musical hound, And the view of the huntsman's sweet hollow. Mellow sounds, &c.
Loose, loose every sail to the breeze,
That turns to the nest of his love.
Come shipmates, and join in the song, Let's drink while the ship cuts the seas, To the gale that may drive her along.
Wherever I'm going, and all the day long,
Sing Ballinamona cra,
A kiss of your sweet lips for me.
Since first time I saw you I take no repose,
So hot is the flame in my bosom that glows,
Sing Ballinamona ora,
Your pretty black hair for me.
In my conscience I fear I shall die in my grave, Unless you comply, and poor Phelim do save, And grant the petition your lover does crave, Who never was free till you made him your slave. Sing Ballinamona ora,
Your pretty black eyes for me.
On that happy day when I made you my bride, With a swinging long sword how I'll strut and I'll stride,
In a coach and six horses with honey I'll ride, As before you I walk to the church by your side, Sing Ballinamona ora,
Your lily white fist for me.
THE MORN, IN RUSSET MANTLE CLAD.
While, with enraptur'd eye, we view
Illumined by fire,
Night flies away,
The lark is rising,
The hunter gay,
His couch despising,