Britannia needs bulwark, No towers along the steep, Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, With thunders from her native oak When the stormy tempests blow, Till danger's troubled night depart When the storm has ceased to blow, LET the epicure boast the delight of his soul, Let him know the kind impulse, that suffers with grief, Let him serve the great Author of Nature's great plan, When the impulse of anger he learns to restrain ; Think the chapter of life oft reverses the scene, And the rich man becomes what the poor man has been; Think that chapter must end, for but short is the span That will give us the power to benefit man. STEADY SHE GOES, ALL'S WELL! THE British tar no peril knows, But fearless, braves the stormy deep; And sweetly rocks him to his sleep. When the steersman sings, Steady she goes, all's well! While to the main-top yard he springs, When the steersman sings, Steady she goes, all's well! OH, BRING ME WINE. OH, bring me wine, bright source of mirth; Of him who joyous sips, The jest, the taunt, the song, has birth, And gives a summer to the mind. When rosy wine begins to flow, Wine o'er the soul, &c. There's magic lodg'd within the grape : It makes the lover view His mistress' beauty new, Gives lustre to her eye, her air, her shape. Wine o'er the soul, &c. TOM MOODY, You all knew Tom Moody, the whipper-in, well; No hound ever open'd, with Tom near the wood, And all with attention would eagerly mark, When he cheer'd up the pack, Hark! to Rockwood, hark! hark! High!-wind him! and cross him! 6 Six crafty earth-stoppers, in hunter's green drest, On whose forehead the brush of his last fox was rear'd; Thus Tom spoke his friends, ere he gave up his breath: FLY CARE TO THE WINDS. FLY Care to the winds, thus I blow thee away; God Bacchus this moment adopts me his son, And inspir'd, my breast glows with transports unknown; The sparkling liquor new vigour supplies, And makes the nymph kind who before was too wise. And her coyness wash'd down, she'll fly to your arms. THE HEARTY OLD ODD FELLOW. WHILE with wealth on one hand and content on the other, I enjoy a companion and friend, That leave me no cares, nor vexations to smother, And, while I reflect, that, with doctor and drug, I give thanks, that with time, I've so long stood the tug, Still a hearty and sound old Odd Fellow. The blessings of youth I enjoy'd while I held 'em, And mortals are pleas'd with evening but seldom, And though time, on my face its deep furrows may plough, And the bloom on my cheek may turn yellow, Discontent he never shall see perch'd on the brow Of a hearty old honest Odd Fellow. We know that fine words may be founded on fiction, Yet, if ever I meet an old friend in affliction, Nor a stranger distrest pass unfeelingly by, But brush off if I can the big tear from his eye, Like a hearty old honest Odd Fellow. And while thus through life I brush on strange and oddly, When the book of my failings I scan, Tis my wish, by reform, ere I under the sod lie, And when the green grass shall like thatch overspread May each friend, left behind, till he spins his last thread, Prove a hearty old honest Odd Fellow! |