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O yes, believe, believe me true,
Though friends to part us may endeavour, The breast, fond breast, that throbs for you,
Can leave thee, dearest, leave thee never. O then believe, believe me true,
Let come what may, I'll love thee ever ;
HARK! THE HOLLOW WOODS RESOUNDING.
HARK ! the hollow woods resounding.
With the joyful hunter's cry,
Now proclaims that they are nigh.
Now the huntsmen doth appear,
He distracted runs with fear.
With his antlers, but in vain,
Weakened with distracting pain.
And the tears flow from his eyes ;
Plunging forward, falls and dies.
MY HEART IS WITH THEE.
BELOVED of my soul, though this moment is bringing,
The feelings of sad disappointment to me, Still hope, smiling hope, in my bosom is springing,
Still absent or present my heart is with thee;
In crowds, in seclusions, thou still art before me,
Each hour in the day, thy lov'd image I see, And the slumber of night to thy presence restores me,
For then I am blest with dear visions of thee. Though destiny, love, may compel us to sever,
Our thoughts are not bound by the cruel decree, My fond faithful heart shall be with us for ever,
And cling with unceasing devotion to thee. And even when life's vital pulse is retreating,
Think, think not the heart can a wanderer be, Its last dying throb, and its last feeble beating,
Shall sigh forth its ardent affections for thee.
AT THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
At the dead of the night, when by whiskey inspir’d,
I gave her a look, as sly as a thief,
COME WITH ME, I'LL ROW THEE O’ER. Oh! come with me, I'll row thee o'er yon blue and
peaceful sea, And while I gently ply the oar renew my vows to thee; I'll bid thee gaze beneath thee, on each reflected star, Then think my soul reflects thee, more true, but brighter far.
Then come with me, &c. Oh, could I count the stars above the wild wave's
ceaseless swell, My deep, my pure, my boundless love to thee I could
not tell, As soon the stars forget to rise, the waves shall cease
to flow, Ere my fond heart forgets its sighs or cease to lov thee, no.
Then come with me, &c. &c.
OH, WAS I TO BLAME TO LOVE HER.
my heart it may break with sorrow.
YES I'M IN LOVE, I FEEL. YES, I'm in love, I feel it now,
And Celia has undone me ; But yet I swear I can't tell how
The pleasing plague stole on me. 'Tis not her face that love creates,
For there no graces revel; 'Tis not her shape, for there the fates
Have rather been uncivil.
'Tis not her air, for sure in that
There's nothing more than common; And all her sense is only chat
Like any other woman. Her voice, her touch might give th' alarm,
'Twas both, perhaps, or neither ; In short, 'twas that provoking charm
Of Celia altogether.
FORGET thee !-in my banquet hall
Go ask my fellow men ;
If I forget thee then.
I ever shar'd with thee ;
And fatal memory!
There steals some eye's bright ray,
Turn swift in tears away.
Go ask my minstrels, when they breathe
The verse the poet's pen
If I forget thee then.
Could from my memory chase
Each softly winning grace.
I pledg’d with infant breath,
Thy rival, love--is death!
Exhaling at my feet:
Unheeded o'er my breast,
And own my love's at rest !
DO YOU EVER THINK ON ME, PEG ?
Do you ever think on me ;
Calipash and Calipee ?
And the sausage in the pan ;
&c. When a corn is on your toe, dear,
Which with plaster you are healing,
When potatoes I am peeling?