So true to his love, and in battle so brave, The foe thought he'd struck-but he sung avast! IS THERE A HEART. Is there a heart that never loved? Oh, bear him to some distant shore, Where nought but savage monsters roar, A spell in every sacred sigh, To man-to virtue dear. And he who can resist her smiles, With brutes alone should live ; DRINK to me only with thine eyes. And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from my soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine: But might I of Jove's nectar sip, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, But thou thereon did'st only breathe, Since then, it grows and smells I swear, O SAY NOT WOMAN'S LOVE IS BOUGHT OH! say not woman's love is bought, When first her gentle bosom knows Oh! say not woman's false as fair; As fickle fancy changes: Ah, no, the love that first can warm Will leave her bosom never: No second passion e'er can charm, LET THE WAITER BRING CLEAN GLASSES. LET the waiter bring clean glasses, With a fresh supply of wine, For I see by all your faces In my wishes you will join. It is not the charms of beauty MARCH TO THE BATTLE-FIELD. MARCH to the battle-field, The foe is now before us; The foe is now before us! And heaven is shining o'er us! Who for his country brave Would, traitor-like, degrade her? Our hallowed cause, our home and laws, 'Gainst tyrant Power sustaining; We'll gain a crown of bright renown, Or die, our rights maintaining! March to the battle-field, The foe is now before us; Each heart is Freedom's shield, And heaven is smiling o'er us! TOM BOWLING. HERE a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, And now he's gone aloft. Tom never from his word departed, His friends were many, and true-hearted, And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly, But mirth is turned to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, Shall give (to call life's crew together) Thus death, who kings and tars despatches, For tho' his body's under hatches His soul is gone aloft. HE THAT WILL NOT MERRY BE. He that will not merry merry be, He that will not merry merry be May he be obliged to drink small beer, Let him be merry, &c. He that will not merry merry be He that will not merry merry be GIVE ME THE RUBY GRAPE. LET lovers sing of roses sweet, Exclaims the toper gay, Such strains, for maudlin fancies meet |