Oh, I shall ne'er forget thee, love,
While I can twirl a mop;
Or cook a steak with oyster sauce,
Or broil a mutton chop!
BLOW, gentle gales, and on your wing
Our long-expected succours bring;
Look, look again-'tis all in vain.
Lo behold a pennant waving:
'Tis the sea-bird's pinions laving
Hark! a signal fills the air,
'Tis the beetling rock resounding,
"Tis the hollow wave rebounding,
Wild as our hope, and deep as our despair.
THE WERRY LAST OF DUSTMEN.
YOU'VE all heard tell of Adam Bell,
And of Adam being the first man,
Of course 'tis so-you all well know,
That Adam was made of dust, man.
Now in those rhymes of bygone times,
They've spoken of their larning;
'Twas werry well of Adam Bell,
He had so much discarning.
It's all U. P. with us, d'ye see,
My bell's quite full of rust, man;
The reason know, there's no dust O,
And I'm the last of dustmen-
The werry last of dustmen.
Those times are gone, when in the morn,
'Fore breakfast got a cart full,
Ve homeward go, and cry 'ge vo!'
Vith empty cart, but heart full.
The reason's clear, and 'tis this here,
Folk's now can't 'ford to burn coals,
Then course you know it must be so,
There's no dust in their dust-holes.
Poor chimley sweeps, for whom I weeps,
Mustn't soot be bawling,
So them you see, as vell as ve,
Are hingered in their calling.
And vot's the cause? them precious laws,
Made by, they say, the first man ;
I tells you vot, an idea I've got,
That they're nothing more than dust, man.
It's no use to go to the vorkhouse, oh!
Because they're so hard hearted;
There's a rule I'm told, ven folks are old,
(Blow'd shame) they has 'em parted.
Sal vould sooner die, and so vould I,
Ve dont vant their bread and vater,
For me and chuck have always stuck
Together like bricks and mortar!
Baked tater cans adopt new plans,
And with steam bake the taters;
It isn't fair to sell such ware,
They does brown the spectators.
Oh, sad disgrace! our useful race
Should be so on the wane, sir;
Old ways decline, and dress so fine,
Oh, there's great cause to complain, sir.
It's all U. P. &c.
I'll prove to you, quite werry true,
Of nought but change folks dream, sir, A precious joke! they burns the smoke, And heats the room by steam, sir:
There's no chance d'ye see, 'twixt you and me, To find a silver vaiter;
The spoons they use they doesn't lose,
'Cause they're made now of Albata.
Then, oh, farewell! my rusty bell,
Since cruel fortune lashes;
I'll to the heap, and there I'll veep
Over my own black ashes,
My 'kerchief blue, and vaistcoat too,
And you, my fan tail castor;
My gaiters tight, and stockings vhite,
Go seek another master.
FOR HER SAILOR BRAVES THE DEEP
SAYS Ella to her love, "Remember,
Tho' doom'd to part, you constant view
That moon, which rises in such splendour-
I, too, will look and think of you;
Anxious Ella shall not sleep
Whilst her sailor braves the deep."
But most tempestuous is the weather,
And lovely Ella's wish is cross'd;
Vain her watching nights together—
Successive moons in clouds are lost,
Stormy winds the forests sweep,
Whilst her sailor braves the deep.
Swift to the shore she flies complaining,
The tempest to her pray'r is deaf;
When, lo! that orb she's so arraigning,
Shines forth, and shews her lover safe.
MY OWN DEAR SOMEBODY.
WERE I oblig'd to beg my bread,
And had not where to lay my head,
I'd creep where yonder herds are fed,
And steal a look at Somebody;
My own dear Somebody,
My constant Somebody;
I'd creep where yonder herds are fed,
And steal a look at Somebody.
When I'm laid low, and am at rest,
And may be number'd with the blest,
O may thy artless, feeling breast,
Throb with regard for Somebody;
Your own dear Somebody,
Your constant Somebody;
Ah! will you drop one pitying tear,
And sigh for the lost Somebody.
But, should I ever live to see
That form, so much ador'd by me,
Then thou'lt reward my constancy,
And I'll be blest with Somebody;
My own dear Somebody.
My constant Somebody;
Then shall my tears be dry'd by thee,
And I'll be blest with Somebody.
HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED.
HAD I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you ;
For though your tongue no promise claimed,
Your charms would make me true;
In crowds, in seclusions, thou still art before me,
Each hour in the day, thy lov'd image I see,
And the slumber of night to thy presence restores me,
For then I am blest with dear visions of thee.
Though destiny, love, may compel us to sever,
Our thoughts are not bound by the cruel decree,
My fond faithful heart shall be with us for ever,
And cling with unceasing devotion to thee.
And even when life's vital pulse is retreating,
Think, think not the heart can a wanderer be,
Its last dying throb, and its last feeble beating,
Shall sigh forth its ardent affections for thee.
AT THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
AT the dead of the night, when by whiskey inspir'd,
And pretty Katty Flannigan my bosom had fir'd,
I tapp'd at her window, when thus she began,
Oh what the devil are you at? begone, you naughty
gave her a look, as sly as a thief,
Or when hungry I'd view a fine sirloin of beef:
My heart is red hot, says I, but cold is my skin,
So, pretty Mistress Flannigan, oh, won't you let me in?
She open'd the door, I sat down by the fire,
And soon was reliev'd from the wet, cold, and mire ;
And I pleas'd her so mightily, that long ere 'twas day,
I stole poor Katty's tender heart, and so tripp'd away,
COME WITH ME, I'LL ROW THEE O'ER.
OH! come with me, I'll row thee o'er yon blue and peaceful sea,
And while I gently ply the oar renew my vows to thee;
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