IT IS NOT FOR THINE EYE OF BLUE. It is not for thine eye of blue, But it is for thy gentle mind, Thy placid and expansive brow, Which burns with clear, and fervid glow, A thousand matchless charms in thee! FAINTLY as toils the ev'ning chime, Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl; Blow, breezes, blow, &c. Utawa tide! this trembling moon, PEACE BE TO THOSE WHO NOBLY BLEED. PEACE be to those who nobly bleed, In freedom and their country's cause, Their charter'd liberties and laws. Their lives heroic, and their fall divine. THE LADY OF KIENAST TOWER. IT is the lady of Kienast Tower, of love she will not hear; 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! O! 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, if single, would not wed thee; I peril'd my life but to humble thy pride, and to punish thy cruelty!' THE MODEL. My friend is the man I would copy through life, No murmurs escape him though fortune bears hard, Still happy in his station, Which vice and folly bring; Daily working wearily, Nightly singing cheerily, his reward. Dear to him his wife, his home, his country and his king. His heart is enlarged, though his income is scant, 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 friend. How charming to find in his humble retreat, The playful endearments of infantine love. Amid his welcome neighbours, 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. OLD TOWLER. BRIGHT Chanticleer proclaims the dawn, The lowing herds now quit the lawn, Arise the burden of my song, This day a stag must die. With a hey, ho, chevy, Harkforward, harkforward, tantivy, This day a stag must die. The cordial takes its merry round, The upland wilds they sweep along, With a hey, ho, &c. Poor stag, the dogs thy haunches gore, The huntsman's pleasure is no more, But yet he honours each by turns, With a hey, ho, &c. OH! THAT KISS. ON Baltic billows rode my ship, And said, while tears were falling, Oh! that kiss, that sweet, sweet kiss! When pleasure call'd, I clos'd my ears, And back I've brought that parting kiss, Oh! that kiss, &c. |