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A CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time

Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn!

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,

The rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to

curl

But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh, sweetly, we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, &c.

Utáwas tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon.
Saint of this green Isle! hear our

prayer,

Grant us cool heavens and favoring air' Blow, breezes, blow, &c

་་་

CROOS-KEEN LAWN.

LET the farmer praise his grounds,
As the huntsman does his hounds,
And the shepherd his sweet-scented
lawn,

While I more blest than they,
Spend each happy night and day
With my smiling little Croos-keen
lawn, lawn, lawn,

Oh, my smiling little Croos-keen
lawn.

Leante ruma Croos-keen

Sleante gar ma voor meh neen

Agus gramachree ma cooleen ban, ban, ban,

Agus gramachree ma cooleen ban

In court with manly grace,

Should Sir Toby plade his case,

And the merits of his cause make

known,

Without his cheerful glass,

He'd be stupid as an ass,

So he takes a little Croos-keen lawn

Leante ruma, &c

Then fill your glasses high,

Let's not part with lips so dry,

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is dawn;

But if we can't remain,

May we shortly meet again,

To fill another Croos-keen lawn.

Leante ruma, &c

And when grim death

appears,

After few but happy years,

And tells me my glass it is run,

I'll say, begone you slave,

For great Bacchus gives me lave

Just to fill another Croos-keen lawn

Leante ruma, &c

COME O'ER THE SEA.

AIR.-Cuishlih ma cree.

COME o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Mine thro' sunshine, storm, and

snows!

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part

not;

'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not.

Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same,

where'er it goes.

Is not the sea

Made for the free?

Land, for courts and chains alone?

Here we are slaves;

But on the waves,

Love and liberty's all our own! No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us

All earth forgot, and all Heav'n around us!

Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden! with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows.

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the

same, where'er it goes

ANSWER TO HEART AND LUTE.

YOUR HEART AND LUTE ARE ALL
THE STORE.

YOUR heart and lute are all the store
You say you have for me;
Then bring them, love, I ask no more,
Than those dear gems from thee.
A lute whose plaintive chords recall
The bliss of happier days;

A heart so form'd to feel for all,
And chase all gloomy rays.

Your heart and lute are all the store
You say you have for me;

Then bring them, love, I ask no more
Than those dear gems from thee

With such a lute how could you fail
To cheer each wand'rer's way,
When pouring forth some lover's tale,
Or ministrel's warlike lay;
A thought of care can never rise
To break a spell like this;
Where pleasure only now survives

In such enchanting bliss

Your heart and lute are all the store

You say you have for me;

Then bring them, love, I ask no more
Than those dear gems from thee.

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