Not a soldier discharg'd his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero bis buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sod with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin confin'd his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him!
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gaz'd on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought as we heap'd his narrow bed,
And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,

And we far away on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,

But nothing he reck if they'll let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half our easy task was done,

When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring, And we heard by the distant and random gun, That the foe was suddenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carv'd not a line, we rais'd not a stone; But we left him alone in his glory.

HE LOVES AND HE RIDES AWAY.
At the Baron of Mowbray's gate was seen,
A page with a courser black;

There came out a knight of noble mien,
And he leap'd on the courser's back;
His arms were bright, his heart was light,
And he sang this merry lay,
How jollily lives a fair young knight,
He loves and he rides away.

A lady looked over the castle wall,
And she heard the knight thus sing;
The lady's tears began to fall,

And her hands she began to wring;
And didst thou then thy true love plight,
And was it but to betray?

Ah, tarry awhile my own dear knight,
In pity don't ride away.

Of her tears the knight he took no heed,
While scornful laugh'd his eye.

He gave the spur to his prancing steed,
"Good bye, sweetheart, good bye."
And soon he vanish'd from her sight,
While she was heard to say,
"Ah! ladies beware of a fair young knight,
He'll love and he'll ride away.

MISS RUM-TUM-DIDDLE-DUM.

As you've asked me to sing a song,
I'll sing you a very queer little one:

The name of it's not very long,

It's called Miss Rum-tum-diddle-um.

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O! she was a maiden so bright,
Well known in the city to every one;
How she served a poor tailor one night,
O fie! Miss Rum tum diddle-um.

Rum tum, &c.

In Cheapside was her favourite tramp,
Where a tailor, good lord, tho' a little one;
Altho' small was of the right stamp,

Fell in love with Miss Rum tum diddle-um. In raptures he was with her form,

In her dress she looked just like a nun.
When he inquired her name. in a word
She replied, Miss Rum tum diddle-um.
Rum-tum, &c.

He vow'd he would see her home straight,
And she knew well how to nibble um:
But the tailor little dreamt of his fate!
O! the cruel Miss Rum tum diddle-um.
In the morn when the tailor arose,
He looked as sheepish as any one;

T

He soon found he'd been stript of his clothes, By the wicked Miss Rum tum diddle um. Rum tum, &c.

He jump'd out of bed in a fright

And strait out of doors he did run;

In his shirt, O lord! what a sight

Bawling out for Miss Rum-tum diddle-vm.

In his fright we ran the wrong way,

Exclaiming almost to every one;

How he'd been deluded away,

By the cruel Miss Rum tum diddle-um.

Rum-tum, &c.

Meillä.

He with vexation knocked down his poor wife, Who guess'd from what quarter he had come; She got him to bed, and all night

He dreamt of Miss Rum-tum diddle um.
In a rage she jump'd out of bed,

And fir'd with jealousy she did run,
With a carver she cut off his head,
Twas thro' Miss Rum tum diddle-um.
Rum tum, &c.

She was tried at the Old Bailey depot,
Altho' she was pitched by every one;
She took the benefit of the old Newgate drop,
It was thro' Miss Rum tum diddle-um.
Thus his wife met a tragical end,

And at midnight her spirit is sure to come,
Bawling out at the foot of the bed

Of the wicked Miss Rum tum-diddle-um.
Rum tum, &c.

As my song's drawing near to an end,
At what I have said, I pray every one
Take warning before its too late,

And shun Miss Rum tum diddle-um.
If in Cheapside you should happen to roam,
And like the poor tailor be frolicksome,
You'll leave such fair damsels alone,

I mean like Miss Rum tum diddle-um.
Rum tum, &c.

A WOMAN WANDERS LIKE A HONEY BEE

I Lov'd a pretty girl,

Of beauty quite the paragon:

When a look at me she'd whirl

'Twas a dagger through my marrow bone. Her dear 'witching ways

My senses soon did fascinate, Her blue eyes' gaze

Like daggers did assassinate; Love's hottest flame I felt,

Too burning long to carry it,
If you wish her name I'll tell't,
They call'd her pretty Harriet.
He's a flat

Whose mind on a clut'll cock;
From bat to bat

She wanders like a shuttle coek.

Her pretty form to grace,

I bought a gown of sarcenet;

A cap too deck'd with lace,

And ribbons blue to fasten it.

To Richmond and Kew,

I row'd her in a boat o' Sundays, Though this to do

I oft did pawn my coat o' Mondays. I cared not a jot

To what excess did carry it,

Provided I got,

In the end my Harriet.

He's a flat, &c.

She consented to wed,

So off I went and bought a ring

Back again I sped,

But found things chang'd and torturing,

She'd got a chap

With one eye,-such a monument!