Whilst they reel on the keel, Then courage, all brave mariners, Then here's a health to Nelson, Then may these British heroes bold While the stormy winds do blow, While the stormy winds, &c. DULCE DOMUM. Deep in a vale a cottage stood, Oft sought by travellers weary, And long it prov'd the blest abode, Of Edward and of Mary. For her he chas'd the mountain goat, O'er Alps and glaciers bounding, For her the chamois he would shoots Dark horrors all surrounding. But ev'ning come, He sought his home, And anxious lovely woman: And e'vry night, O! dulce, dulce, domum. But soon, alas! this scene of bliss, To bold St. Gothard's height he rush'd He sought not home, Whilst she, distracted woman, Grown wild with dread; Now seeks him dead ; And hears the knell, To dulce, dulce domum. GALLANT TOM. It blew great guns when gallant Tom When squalls came on in sight of home, Broad sheets of vivid lightning glar'd, And even gallant Tom despaired The storm came on, each rag aboard The rain through every crevice poured: The pumps were choked, the awful doom, Each tar despair'd, e'en gallant Tom, The leak was stopped, the winds grew dull, And the torn ship almost a bull, In safety reached the shore. Crowds ran to see the wond'rous sights; MY LODGING IS IN LEATHER LANE. My lodging is in Leather Lane, A parlour that's next to the sky; 'Tis exposed to the wind and the rain, To be scrubbed by her delicate hands, But ah! should she false hearted prove, Suspended I'll dangle in air, A victim to delicate love, In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square. STUDY AND PLEASURE. Who in books only finds his delight, The mind through the features to trace, Grave brows of philosopher's spurning, I'd study in woman's sweet face. MY NATIVE SHORE, ADIEU. Adieu! adieu! my native shore The night wind moans, the breakers roar, Yon sun that sets upon the sea, Farewell awhile to him and thee; With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Nor care what land thou bear'st me to- Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves, THE FAITHFUL HEART. Be mine, dear maid; my faithful heart, My soul gone forth from this lone breast, There is its only home of rest, It's dear, its chosen shrine. Then turn thee not away, my dear, 'Tis not mine eye thy beauty loves, The lark shall first forget to sing, Then turn thee not away, my dear, &c. |