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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,
With eternity's ocean before him in view,
He cheerfully pip'd out, my messmates adieu,
For the worms gnaw my timbers, my vessel's

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,
As wild and as sweet as the life he led.
His garden flourish'd,

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,
Should e'er come hither,

Such sweets to wirber!

The flow'rs laid down their heads to die,
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh.
She came one morning,

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 hollow cask we are told,
How the waning night grows old.
Soon, too soon, the busy day,
Drives us from our sports away,
What have we with day to do?
Sons of Care, 'twas made for you!
By the silence of the owl,

By the chirping of the thorn,
By the butts that empty roll,
We foretell the approach of morn,
Fill, then, fill, the vacant glass,
Let no precious moments slip;
Flour the moralizing ass;

Joys find entrance at the lip.


My heart with love is beating,
Transported by your eyes;
Alas! there's no retreating,
In vain a captive flies.
Then why such anger cherish ?
Why turn thy eyes away?
For if you bid me perish,
Alas! I must obey.


Could deeds my heart discover,
Could valour gain your charms
I'd prove myself a love,

Against a world in arms.
Proud fair! thus low before you
A prostrate warrior view,
Whose whole delight and glory
Are centr'd all in you.


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,
The course of my vessel improve;
I've done with the toils of the seas,
Ye sailors! I'm bound to my love.
Since Emma's as true as she's fair,
My griefs I fling all to the wind,
'Tis a pleasing return for my care:
My mistress is constant and kind.
My sails are all fill'd to my dear,
What tropic bird swifter can inove!
Who cruel shall hold his career,

That turns to the nest of his love.
Hoist, hoist every sail to the breeze,

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,
At home and abroad, or alone in a throng,
I find that my passion's as lively and strong,
That your name, when I'm silent, still runs in my


Sing Ballinamona cra,

A kiss of your sweet lips for me.

Since first time I saw you I take no repose,
I sleep all the day to forget half my woes;

So hot is the flame in my bosom that glows,
By St. Patrick, I fear it will burn through my

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,
Walks o'er the dew of yonder hill:"
And sweetly opening flowers are glad,
And mist arises from the rill.
Thou cheerful beam of infant day,
Ah, let thy all enlightening ray
Our gratitude inspire;

While, with enraptur'd eye, we view
Nature in all her loveliest hue,

Illumined by fire,

Night flies away,

The lark is rising,

The hunter gay,

His couch despising,

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