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To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.
DULCE DOMUM. Deep in a vale a cottage stood,
Oft sought by travellers weary,
Of Edward and of Mary.
O’er Alps and glaciers bounding,
Dark horrors all surrounding;
While anxious lovely woman,
The cottage rung
As they sung.
Was changed to prospects dreary,
And Edward left his Mary.
'Gainst Gallia's force contending; And by unequal numbers crushid,
He died his land defending.
Whilst she, (distracted woman,)
And hears the knell
That bids farewell
THE RAY THAT BEAMS FOREVER. THERE is a bloom that never fades,
A Rose no storms can sever, Beyond the Tulip's gaudy shades
The ray that beams forever.
A charm in every feature,
It is thy voice, oh Nature !
This rose no storm can sever,
The ray that beams forever.
I LOVE THE VILLAGE CHURCH.
With its ivy mantled tower;
At the Sabbath's holy hour.
O'er the pleasant valley stealing,
The pure heart's fervent feeling.
Where after hours of labor,
With merry pipe and tabor.
As it is in courtly places;
Her own peculiar graces.
CANADIAN BOAT SONG. Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing, at Saint Ann's, our parting hymn Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past. Why should we yet our sails unfurl ? There's not a breath the blue wave to curl; But when the wind blows off the shore, Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past. Utawa’s tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon; Saint of the green isle, hear our prayers; Oh, grant us cool heavens, and favoring airs! Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
AWAY MY BOUNDING STEED.
I ride for princely halls;
The tourney trumpet calls.
Or lose the meed of fame;
And conquer in her name.
All rivals thus I dare!
The fairest of the fair.
Now poise the temper'd lance on high
It shivers on my shield-
And skill decides the field.
And merry is the victor's eye;
The joys of love and chivalry.
THE MINSTREL'S RETURN FROM THE WAR.
With spirits as buoyant as air,
He sung in the bower of his fair:
The bugle no more calls to arms;
Sweet lady, fair lady I'm thine,
I bend to the magic of beauty,
Yet love calls the soldier to duty,'
She blush'd, sigh’d and hung down her head,
And thus to the happy youth said:
My bosom thy pillow shall be,
His banner wav'd high o'er his head,
And soon he lay low with the dead,
While she o'er her young hero bending,
Receiv'd his expiring adieu:
I tear off the roses of beauty;
For he died true to love and to duty!"
OH! REST THEE BABE.
Thy sire is a knight,
So lovely and bright,
From the towers which we see,
My dear infant, to thee.
The time it shall comc,
By trumpet and drum.
Oh! sleep whilst thou may;
Oh! rest thee, babe, &c.
LOW WAV'D THE SUMMER WOODS.