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As on the pebbly beach I stray'd,
Where rocks and shoals prevail,
I thus o'erheard a lonely maid,
Her absent love bewail:

A storm arose, the waves ran high,
The waves ran high, the waves ran high,
And dark and murky was the sky,

The billows loud did roar.

O! merry row, &c.

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I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.

I'D be a butterfly born in a bower,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet,
Roving for ever from flower to flower,

And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet.
I'd never languish for wealth or for power,
I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet;

I'd be a butterfly born in a bower,

And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet.
I'd be a butterfly, &c.

Oh! could I pilfer the wand of a Fairy,
I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings,
Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy,
They sleep in a rose where the nightingale sings;
Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary,
Power, alas! nought but misery brings.

I'd be a butterfly, sportive and airy,

Rock'd in a rose where the nightingale sings.

I'd be a butterfly, &c.

What though you tell me each gay little rover, Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day,

Surely 'tis better when summer is over,

To die when all fair things are fading away:

Some in life's winter may toil to discover
Means of procuring a weary delay.
I'd be a butterfly, living a rover,

Dying when fair things are fading away.

I'd be a butterfly, &c.

MAY WE NE'ER WANT A FRIEND, NOR A BOTTLE TO GIVE HIM.

SINCE the first dawn of reason that beam'd on my mind,

And taught me how favoured by fortune my lot, To share that good fortune, I still was inclined, And impart, to who wanted, what I wanted not. 'Tis a maxim entitled to ev'ry one's praise,

When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him, And my motto, tho' simple, means more than it says, "May we ne'er want a friend, nor a bottle to give him."

The heart by deceit or ingratitude rent,

Or by poverty bow'd, tho' of evils the least, The smiles of a friend may invite to content, And we all know content is an excellent feast; 'Tis a maxim, &c.

THE MINSTREL BOY.

THE minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he's girded on,,
And the wild harp strung behind him.
Land of song, said the warrior bard,
Tho' all the world betray thee,
One sword at least its right shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee.

The minstrel fell, but the foeman's chains,
Could not keep his proud soul under,
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
He tore the strings asunder;
And said, "no chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery,

Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

THE PILGRIM OF LOVE.

A HERMIT that dwells in these solitudes cross'd me,
As weary and faint o'er the mountain I press'd;
The aged man paused on his staff to accost me,
And proffer'd his cell as my mansion of rest.
Ah! no, holy father, as onward I rove,

No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love.
Nay, tarry my son, till the burning noon passes,
Let groves of sweet lemon trees shelter thine head;
The juice of ripe muscatel flows in my glasses,
And rushes fresh pull'd for siesta are spread.
Ah! no, courteous father, as onward I rove,
No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love.

COME WHERE THE ASPENS QUIVER.

COME where the aspens quiver

Down by the flowing river:

Bring your guitar, bring your guitar,

Sing me the songs I love.

Sing me of fame and glory,

Sing of the poor maid's story,

When her true love did leave her.

Call'd to the holy war.

Come where the aspens, &c.

Come to the wild rose bower,
Come at the vesper hour;

Bring your guitar, bring your guitar;
Sing me the songs I love.

Sing me of false hopes blighted,

Sing me of fond love slighted;

Sing of the dewy flower,

Sing of the ev❜ning star.

Come where, &c.

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board,
O where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
Does my sweet William sail among your crew?
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked by the billows to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sighed and cast his eyes below.

The cord flies swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall always true remain. Let me kiss off that falling tear,

We only part to meet again;

Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind, They tell thee sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find;

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell you so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread,
No longer she must stay on board,

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land,
Adieu! she cried, and wav'd her lilly hand.

MURPHY'S WEATHER EYE.

MURPHY hath a weather eye,

He can tell whene'er he pleases, If it will be wet or dry,

When 'twill thaw, and when it freezes. To the stars he has been up,

Higher than the Alps' high summits,
Invited by the moon to sup

With her, the planets and the comets.
Murphy hath a weather eye;

He can tell whene'er he pleases,
If it will be wet or dry,

When 'twill thaw, and when it freezes.

Murphy hath an Almanack,

From which we every day may gather,He has such a happy knack,

What will really be the weather: Hold the rains, have hail at pleasure,Get in the sun when he's a mind, And blow a cloud when he's at leisure, He knows how to raise the wind.

Murphy hath a weather eye, &c.

Murphy can the world eclipse,

Can light the sun if he should fail, Sir,At Venus nightly lick his lips,

And pull the great bear by the tail, Sir.

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