PUSH ABOUT THE PITCHER. THE silver moon, that shines so bright, Then why should we forsake good liquor, Until the sunbeams round us play, Let's jocund push about the pitcher. They say that I must work all day, And sleep at night, to grow much richer; But what is all the world can say, Compared to mirth, my friend and pitcher? Though one may boast a handsome wife, And boldly call for t'other pitcher. "Tis not yet day, &c. I dearly love a hearty man, (No sneaking milksop-Jemmy twitcher,) Who loves a lass and loves a glass, And boldly calls for t'other pitcher. 'Tis not yet day, &c. THE SPRIGHTLY HORN. THE sprightly horn awakes the morn, The opening hound returns the sound, See ruddy health, more dear than wealth, The neighing steed invokes our speed, In ancient days, as story says, Come, let's away, make no delay, THE LAND WE LIVE IN. I give," The land we live in.” With a loud huzza and three times three, Of valiant Smith and Nelson's fame. "God bless the royal family," This toast in turn is given; And ever as it comes to me, Then let us all, &c. Some folks may envy foreign parts, Then while on shore, let's all agree, The song, the toast, &c. THE STREAMLET. Music-at Leoni Lee's, Albemarle Street. While it paus'd her dear image to view. Knew from whence it deriv'd its fair prize; For, silently swelling with pride, It reflected her back to the skies. THE MERRY DAYS OF OLD. The horn resounded thro' the dell. When ruddy health and laughing joy, And 'twas her pride on palfrey free, To dare the summer's scorching heat, Oh! those, indeed were merry days, The merry days of old. To dare the summer's, &c. When troubadours and masquers gay, In castle halls would stand, And wake the song, to willing ears, Of knights in holy land. When winter brought its wassail bowl, Oh! those indeed were merry days, The merry days of old. When winter brought, &c. THE FLOWER O' DUNBLANE. THE sun had gane down o'er the lofty Ben-Lomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray'd in the calm simmer's gloaming, To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane. How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft, faulding blossom! She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonny, Sing on, thou sweet mavis! thy hymn to the e'ening, Is charming young Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane. How lost were my days till I met with my Jessie! Though mine were a station of loftiest grandeur, THE SUN HIS BRIGHT RAYS. THE Sun his bright rays may withhold, Love But ne'er till this bosom be cold, Love, Shall its pulse beat for any but thee. The spring's lovely verdure may turn, Love, The winter like summer may burn, Love THE TEAR FELL GENTLY. When last we parted on the shore: "Dear youth," she cried, " and canst thou haste away, My heart will break, a little moment stay. Alas! I cannot, I cannot part from thee.' [me !" "The anchor's weigh'd; farewell, farewell, remember "Weep not, my love," I trembling said, I ne'er can meet another maid Whose charms can fix that heart like thine." "Go then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind Oft think of her you leave in tears behind, A maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be " [me." 'The anchor's weigh'd; farewell, farewell, remember 66 |