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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,
And long it prov'd the blest abode

Of Edward and of Mary.
For her he'd chase the inountain-goat,

O’er Alps and glaciers bounding,
For her the chamios he would shoot,

Dark horrors all surrounding;
But evening come, he sought his home,

While anxious lovely woman,
She hailed the sight, and every night

The cottage rung

As they sung.
Oh, dulce, dulce, domum.
But soon, alas! this scene of bliss

Was changed to prospects dreary,
For war and honor rous'd each Swiss

And Edward left his Mary.
To bold St. Gothard's height he rush'd

'Gainst Gallia's force contending; And by unequal numbers crushid,

He died his land defending.
The evening come, he sought not home,

Whilst she, (distracted woman,)
Grown wild with dread, now seeks him dead,

And hears the knell

That bids farewell
Tu dulce, dulce domum.

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.
There is a charm surpassing art,

A charm in every feature,
Than twines around the feeling heart,

It is thy voice, oh Nature !
Then stranger, if thou fain wouldst find

This rose no storm can sever,
Go seek it stranger in the Mind

The ray that beams forever.

I LOVE the village church,

With its ivy mantled tower;
And rustic forms around the porch,

At the Sabbath's holy hour.
The music of the bell,

O'er the pleasant valley stealing,
And the simple prayer that breathes so well

The pure heart's fervent feeling.
I love the village green,

Where after hours of labor,
At eve the young and uld are seen,

With merry pipe and tabor.
The banquet is not spread,

As it is in courtly places;
But nature, o’er the spot, has shed

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 away,

I ride for princely halls;
Ay, paw the ground and proudly neigh,

The tourney trumpet calls.
Nay, spur and speed, thou gallant knight,

Or lose the meed of fame;
Vouch in the lists thy lady's right,

And conquer in her name.
The challenge breath'd I cast my glove;

All rivals thus I dare!
In arms I'll prove my lady-love

The fairest of the fair.

Now poise the temper'd lance on high

It shivers on my shield-
Then forth two flashing rapiers fly,

And skill decides the field.
The joust is done, the prize is won,

And merry is the victor's eye;
Pass wine cups round, while clarions sound

The joys of love and chivalry.


THE minstrel's return'd from the war,

With spirits as buoyant as air,
And thus on his tuneful guitar,

He sung in the bower of his fair:
*The noise of the battle is over,

The bugle no more calls to arms;
A soldier no more-but a lover,
I bend to the power of thy charms.

Sweet lady, fair lady I'm thine,

I bend to the magic of beauty,
Tho' the banner and helmet are mine,

Yet love calls the soldier to duty,'
The minstrel his suit warmly press'd,

She blush'd, sigh’d and hung down her head,
Till conquer'd she fell on his hreast;

And thus to the happy youth said:
The bugle shall part us love, never,

My bosom thy pillow shall be,
Till death tears thee from me, forever,
Still faithful I'll perish with thee."

Sweet lady,

But fame call'd the youth to the field;

His banner wav'd high o'er his head,
He gave his guitar for a shield,

And soon he lay low with the dead,

While she o'er her young hero bending,

Receiv'd his expiring adieu:
• I die whilst my country defending,
But I die to my lady love true.'
Oh, death! (then she cried) I am thine,

I tear off the roses of beauty;
The grave of my hero is mine,

For he died true to love and to duty!"

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Oh! slumber, my darling,

Thy sire is a knight,
Thy mother's a lady,

So lovely and bright,
The hills and the dales,

From the towers which we see,
They all shall belong,

My dear infant, to thee.
Oh! rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, sleep on till day;
Ob! rest thee, babe, rest thee babe, sleep whilst thou

Oh! rest thee, my darling,

The time it shall comc,
When thy sleep shall be broken

By trumpet and drum.
Then rest thee, my darling,

Oh! sleep whilst thou may;
For war comes with manhood,
As light comes with day.

Oh! rest thee, babe, &c.

Low wav'd the summer woods and green,
As Bertram rode their boughs between,

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