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It is not for thine eye of blue,

Nor for thy dark and glossy hair,
Nor for thy cheek of rosy hue,

Nor for thy lovely bosom fair
That I do love thee; for to me,
There are far brighter charms in thee !
But it is for thy gentle mind,

Thy placid and expansive brow,
Imagination, mild and kind,

Which burns with clear, and fervid glow,
That I do love thee ; and I see,
A thousand matchless charms in thee!


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FAINTLY as toils the ev’ning 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 day-light'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.
Utawa tide! this trembling moon,
Shall see us float over thy surges soon ;
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayer,
Grant us cool heavens and favouring air !

Blow, breezes, blow, &c.


PEACE be to those who nobly bleed,

In freedom and their country's cause,
Defending in the hour of need

Their charter'd liberties and laws.
Loud swell the dirge, the anthem swell,

Sweet vivid wreathes let maids entwine,
That may to future ages tell
Their lives heroic, and their fall divine.

Their lives, &c.



It is the lady of Kienast Tower, of love she will not


And she sits alone in her mountain-bower, though

woo'd by prince and peer ; For she hath made a vow in her pride, her husband

none to call, Save he who shall round her castle ride, on the edge

of its outer wall! 0! the castle-wall is narrow, and the castle-wall is

high ; And the brain would reel were you but to stand and

gaze on the gulf a-nigh! And the bones of many a rider bold lie whit’ning

down in the dell, While that lady proud sits in her hall, and laughs as

all were well. It is Sir Albert, of Thuringy, who kneels to the mai

den now; She has looked but once on his dark blue eye, and she

rues her cruel vow;

She loves at last, and she shudders to see the knight

on his courser bound; But her fears were vain, for he gallops as free as though

it were listed ground. The lady hath donned her richest weeds, to greet that

champion bold, But he sits unmoved on his sable steed, and his speech

is careless and cold ; 'I married, last morn, a fairer bride, and, it single,

would not wed thee; I peril'd my life but to humble thy pride, and to pu

nish thy cruelty !


My friend is the man I would copy through life,
He harbours no envy, he causes no strife ;
No murmurs escape him though fortune bears hard,
Content is his portion, and peace his reward.

Still happy in his station,
He minds his occupation,

Nor heeds the snares,
Nor knows the cares,

Which vice and folly bring ;
Daily working wearily,

Nightly singing cheerily, Dear to him his wife, his home, his country and his

king. His heart is enlarged, though his income is scant, He lessens his little for others that want ; Though his children's dear claims on his industry

press, He has something to spare for the child of distress.

He seeks no idle squabble,
He joins no thoughtless rabble ;
To clear his way,
From day to day,

His honest views extend ; When he speaks ’tis verily,

When he smiles ’tis merrily ; Dear to him his sport, his toil, his honour, and his

How charming to find in his humble retreat,
That bliss so much sought, so unknown to the great !
The wife only anxious, her fondness to prove,
The playful endearments of infantine love.

Relaxing from his labours,
Amid his welcome neighbours,

With plain regale,
With jest and tale,

The happy hero see,
No vain schemes confounding him.

All his joys surrounding him,
Dear he holds his native land, its laws and liberty.


Bright Chanticleer proclaims the dawn,

And spangles deck the thorn,
The lowing herds now quit the lawn,

The lark springs from the corn:
Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng,

Fleet Towler leads the cry,
Arise the burden of my song,
This day a stag must die.

With a hey, ho, chevy,
Harkforward, harkforward, tantivy,
Hark, hark, tantivy,

This day a stag must die.
The cordial takes its merry round,

The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff up

the gale ;

The upland wilds they sweep along,

O'er fields, through brakes they fly, The game is rous'd, too true the

song, This day a stag must die.

With a hey, ho, &c. Poor stag, the dogs thy haunches gore,

The tears run down thy face,
The huntsman's pleasure is no more,

His joys were in the chase ;
Alike the gen'rous sportsman burns,

To win the blooming fair,
But yet he honours each by turns,
They each become his care.

With a hey, ho, &c.

OH! THAT KISS. On Baltic billows rode my ship,

The boatswain loud was calling! On mine Paulina press'd her lip,

And said, while tears were falling, In foreign climes, 0 ! think on this !

Your heart let naught deprave it ; But bring me back my parting kiss, As

pure as when I gave it.
Oh! that kiss, that sweet, sweet kiss!

The kiss she gave at parting ;
In pain and grief, still brought rehef,

And kept the tear from starting.
In breeze and battle, five long years,

I did a seaman's duty;
When pleasure call’d, I clos'd my ears,

And turn'd my eyes from beauty.
The wanton's tale of boasted bliss

I heard, but ne'er believed it,
And back' I've brought that parting kiss,
As pure as I received it.

Oh! that kiss, &c.

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