THE SOLDIER WHO DIED FOR HIS KING.
DEAR maid of my soul, should I perish,
Where battle's rude discord speaks loudly;
The name of thy fond lover cherish,
And let thy young bosom beat proudly.
My own banner over me wave,
My broken shield over me fling;
And carve on the oak o'er my grave,
"The soldier who died for his king."
Yet, maid, when my life-blood is streaming,
One tear to my last moments given;
Like a star in thy blue eye beaming,
To me were a foretaste of heaven.
AND YE SHALL WALK.
AND ye shall walk in silk attire,
And siller hae to spare,
Gin ye consent to be my bride,
Nor think on Donald mair.
"O wha wad buy a silken gown,
Wi' a puir broken heart?
Or what's to me a siller crown,
Gin frae my love I part ?"
I wadna walk in silk attire,
Nor braid wi' gems my hair,
Gin he whose faith is pledged wi' mine
Were wranged and grieving sair.
Frae infancy he loved me still,
And still my heart shall prove,
How weel it can those vows fulfil,
Which first repaid his love.
I wadna walk, &c.
YOU'VE of a Putney party heard,
And those who Woolwich joys preferr'd;
But now I'll tell you what occurr'd
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
Not like those vulgar chaps I'd be,
Wot never ventured out to sea;
A change of air, all did agree,
Most fit and proper was for me:
So I one day, with Mrs. Brown,
Resolv'd to leave the smoky town;
And Sunday after we went down
Aboard of a Gravesend Steamer,
With squalling, bawling, all the day,
And sighing, crying, all the way,
Oh! we were anything but gay
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
That we might be at no expense,
Ve took our own prowisions thence,
And that you'll own pourtray'd our sense,
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
But scarcely had we reach'd Blackwall,
When there came on a precious squall,
And that obliged us one and all
To crowd into a cabin small:
To find a seat in vain I search'd,
A score were on the table perch'd,
Who soon were floor'd-'cause we were lurch'd
I didn't longer there remain,
The heat was worse than all the rain,
So quickly got on deck again
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
I wonder'd, but I couldn't tell
Wot did the wessel so propel ;
So, looking down a kind of well,
Right thro' among the coals I fell;
Was laugh'd and jeer'd at by the crew,
My clothes were wringing wet all through,
I was in sich a horrid stew,
Now, Woolwich scarcely out of sight,
The vind and vaves upset me quite ;
I didn't feel exactly right
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
For sich a lot of eggs and ham
At breakfast I contriv'd to cram,
With rum and brandy each a dram;
My head-oh, crickey! how it swam:
I needed no emetic pill,
It baffled all the doctor's skill,
For, oh! I was so shocking ill,
I wasn't quite myself, it's clear,
Until we got to Gravesend pier,
But more disasters met here,
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
For crowding thro' to leave the boat,
I lost my hat and half my coat;
My wife, who did upon me doat,
Fell overboard-but didn't float;
The watermen soon hover'd round,
And Mrs. B-
But I grieve to say-she wasn't drown'd,
might go on shore, The Captain lent her, from the store, A sailor's dress-and that she wore
To leave the Gravesend Steamer.
The town was full of wulgar boys,
And all that sober men annoys,
Next Windmill-hill our steps employs,
For that's the spot wot I enjoys.
With Mrs. B- I did condole ;
Says I, our dishes all seem whole,
But I found our wittles all were stole
As we no place could find to let,
Off by the coach that night we set,
We were determin'd not to get
Aboard a Gravesend Steamer.
But, mark our sorrow and dismay,
When we arrived in town next day,
Our lodgers they had run away,
And left three quarters' rent to pay !
And then, to crown what we endur'd,
Our plate some rascals had secur'd!
But to mishaps we were inur'd
OLD ENGLAND SHALL WEATHER THE STORM.
OLD England, thy stamina never has yielded,
To the ills that have menac'd abroad and at home,
And while all your energies nobly are wielded,
Triumphant you still shall support freedom's dome.
Distress for a moment may dim your bright glory,
But the clouds shall pass over-no cares shall de
Thy councils and people shall tell the proud story, Old England for ever shall weather the storm.
Thy force, single-handed, has long been victorious, The friend of the suffering-the pride of the brave Thy struggles, privations, have ever been glorious, The birth-place of liberty,-home of the slave.
Yes, yes, there's a spirit within thee proclaiming,
No blast of misfortune thy strength can disarm ;
Like thine own native oak, the rude tempest disdain-
ing,
Old England for ever shall weather the storm.
THE TROUBADOUR FROM DISTANT LAND.
FROM distant climes, a Troubadour,
I make in every court my stay ;
'Neath rustic porch and silken dome
I tune my merry minstrel lay;
But most where love delights to dwell,
'Mid knights who sigh for lady's hand,
They welcome with soft music's spell
The Troubadour from distant land.
Where nectar brims the rosy bowl,
My soul in festive glee can join,
And mellow ev'ry sparkling draught,
Like sunshine on the sparkling vine ;
But most where love entwines my brow
With garlands wrought by lady's hand;
Neath moonlit bowers you're sure to find
The Troubadour from distant land.
OH! firm as oak, and free from care,
The sailor holds his heart at sea,
If she he loves his cabin share,
And Cupid page to Neptune be;
Come night's deep noon,
And ne'er a moon,
Nor star aloft a watch to keep,
The tar can be gay
As landsmen in day,
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