wwww m 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, Utáwas tide! this trembling moon prayer, Grant us cool heavens and favoring air' Blow, breezes, blow, &c ་་་ CROOS-KEEN LAWN. LET the farmer praise his grounds, While I more blest than they, Oh, my smiling little Croos-keen 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, 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 YOUR heart and lute are all the store A heart so form'd to feel for all, Your heart and lute are all the store Then bring them, love, I ask no more With such a lute how could you fail 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 |