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Its safe and silent islands
Woe to the heedless soldiery
Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil;
We walk the battle over,
And share the battle's spoil.
And woodland flowers are gathered
Well known the fair and friendly moon, The band that Marion leads,
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds, 'Tis life our fiery barbs to guide Across the moonlight plain;
"Tis life to feel the night wind
Grave men there are by broad Santee,
With kindliest welcoming-
O send Lewie Gordon hame,
O hon, my Highlandman! O, my bonny Highlandman, Well would I my true love ken, Amang ten thousand Highlandmén. O see his tartan trews,
Bonnet blue, and laigh heel'd shoes,
O, hon, &e,
This lovely youth of whom I sing,
On his breast he wears a star,
O! see this princely one
POOR BROWN BESS.
As through Hyde Park the vet'ran chanc'd to balt The guards close pass'd him on a grand field day, He stopp'd and sigh'd-'twas age and not his fault That kept him prisoner he was heard to say. Else had he still for Britain bravely dar'd
For George and liberty fresh courage shed; Fought all those battles he had nobly shar'd
And in his country's cause his last has bled. But old, decrepit, and of strength bereft,
Few were the hairs upon his silver head; With wounds all cover'd he reluctant left
The bed of honour for a homely bed. His crutch now propp'd his tottering steps along, And as he dimly view'd the glittering crowd, With tears of rapture, yet of anguish strong,
A soldier's firelock he address'd aloud:
Then farewell these days of glory,
How I've lov'd my poor Brown Bess.
My fond arms she used to press: Twelve sad years and more are over, Since I've hugg'd my poor Brown Bess. Her skin, though not so soft and fair,
As some soft dames, I must confess, Yet as much good time and care
Has been employed on poor Brown Bess. Faithful still to ev'ry duty
For parade whene'er I dress; Neat and clean-a polish'd beauty, Ever came my poor Brown Bess. Of her fame our foes can mention, Loud report to their distress: Soon she silence all dissension,
Such a voice had poor Brown Bess. But, alas! those times are past now,
Age and wounds my fame possess; Death I find approaching fast now,
So farewell my poor Brown Bess. One request, oh! don't oppose,
Ere the turf my corpse shall press Or the coffin quite enclose me,
By my side lay poor Brown Bess.
The kiss, dear maid, thy lips have left,
Till happier hours restore the gift
I ask no pledge to make me blest,
No one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts were all thine own.
THE CABIN BOY.
The sea was rough, the clouds were dark,
When forc'd, by fortune, to embark,
My purse soon fill'd with Frenchman's gold,
But wreck'd in sight of port, behold,