The glass enjoy'd by reason's plan,
The sinking heart bears up;

Heaven gave the grape

for health, but man

Put poison in the cup;

And who would love's chaste power escape, Which half our bliss composes?

Give then, give me ruby grape,

But mingle it with roses.

AWAY with melancholy,

Nor doleful changes ring,
On life and human folly,
But merrily let us sing,
Fal la.

For what's the use of sighing,
When time is on the wing;
Can we prevent it's flying?
Then merrily let us sing,
Fal la.

Come on ye rosy hours,

Gay smiling moments bring,
We'll strew the way with flowers,
And merrily merrily sing,

Fal la.

WHEN Arthur first in court began,
To wear long hanging sleeves;
He entertained three serving men,
And all of them were thieves.

The first he was an Irishman,
The second he was a Scot;
The third he was a Welshman,
And all were knaves I wot.

The Irishman he lov'd usquebaugh,
The Scot lov'd ale called bluecap,
The Welshman he lov'd toasted cheese,
And made his mouth like a mouse-trap.

Usquebaugh burnt the Irisman's throat,
The Scot was drown'd in ale.

The Welshman had like to have been chok'd by

a mouse,

But he pull'd it out by the tail.

MEET ME IN THE WILLOW GLEN.

MEET me in the willow glen,

Where the silvery moon is beaming,

Songs of love I'll sing thee then,
When all the world is dreaming.
When the silver moon is beaming,
Songs of love I'll sing thee then,
If you meet me in the willow glen.
No prying eye shall come, love,
No stranger foot be seen,
And the busy village hum, love,
Shall echo through the glen.

To melodious mandolins,

Meet me, &c.

My songs I'll softly blend, love:
While to thee my melody

A soothing balm shall lend, love.

No prying eye, &c.

BESSY, THE SAILOR'S BRIDE.

POOR Bessy was a sailor's bride,
And he was off to sea,
Their only child was by her side,
And who so sad as she?

Forget me not, forget me not,
When you are far from me,
And whatsoe'er poor Bessy's lot,
She will remember thee.

A twelvemonth scarce had past away,
As it was told to me,

When Willy with a gladsome heart
Came home again from sea.

He bounded up the craggy path,
And sought his cottage door,
But his poor wife and lovely child,
Poor Willy saw no more.

"Forget me not, forget me not,"
The words rung in his ear;
He asked the neighbours one by one,
Each answer d with a tear.

They pointed to the old church-yard,
And there his youthful bride,
With the pretty child he loved so well,
Were resting side by side.

FAR OVER LAND.

FAR over land, far over wave,

A pilgrim am I roaming

O'er mountains high, where tempests rave, And billows loudly foaming:

Where'er I stray, by night or day,
Or pacing earth, or braving sea,
Blest words I say and daily pray
For her who never prays for me.
Vainly alone to saints I kneel,
My vows are doubly given,
For to my lips her name will steal,
And blend with those of heaven.

Where'er I stray, &c.

AWAY, AWAY, TO THE MOUNTAIN'S BROW.
AWAY, away, to the mountain's brow,
Where the trees are gently waving;
Away, away, to the mountain's brow,
Where the stream is gently laving:

And beauty, my love, on thy cheek shall dwell;
Like the rose when it ope's to the day;

And the zephyr that breathes thro' the flowery dell,
Shakes the sparkling dew drops away.

Away, away, to the rocky glen,

Away, away, &c.

Where the deer are wildly bounding;

And the hills shall echo in gladness again
To the hunter's bugle sounding.

And beauty, my love, &c.

OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER.

OH! no, we never mention her, her name is never

heard,

My lips are now forbid to speak, that once familiar

word;

From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret,

And when they win a smile from me, they think that

I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene the charms that others see,

But were I in a foreign land, they would find no change in me.

'Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we

met,

I do not see the hawthorn tree, but how can I forget,

For oh! there are so many things recall the past to

me,

The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the

sea;

The rosy tint that decks the sky before the sun is set, Aye, every leaf I look upon forbids that I forget.

They tell me she is happy now, the gayest of the gay, They hint that she forgets me too, but I heed not what they say;

Perhaps like me she struggles with each feeling of regret,

But if she loves as I do love, she never can forget.

"OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER!"
OH! am I then remembered still,
Remembered too by thee!
Or am I quite forgot by one,

Whom I no more shall see?
Yet, say not so, for that would add,
Fresh anguish to my lot.

I dare not hope to be recall'd,
Yet would not be forgot.

Had they who parted us but known
How hearts like our's can feel,
They would have spared us both a pang,
Beyond their power to heal.