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Her bloom was like the springing flow'r
But love had, like the canker-worm,
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
Awake! she cried, thy true-love calls,
This is the dark and fearful hour
When injur'd ghosts complain:
Yet leave that heart to break?
How could you promise love to me,
How could you say my lip was sweet,
That face, alas! no more is fair,
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
The hungry worm my sister is,
This winding-sheet I wear;
And cold and weary lasts our night
But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence:
Come see, false man! how low she lies
Now birds did sing, and Morning smil'd,
He hied him to the fatal place
And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name,
§ 136. Lucy and Colin.
OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Till luckless love, and pining care,
Her coral lips and damask cheeks,
O have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid, Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
A bell was heard to ring,
Which beckons me away.
Am I to blame because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?
Ah Colin! give not her thy vows,
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there!
There bear my corpse, ye comrades, bear,
I in my winding-sheet.
She spoke, she died! her corse was borne,
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
The damps of death bedew'd his brows,
From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!)
Oft at this grave the constant hind,
But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art,
Pamper'd, prancing, and pleas'd, his head touching his breast, Scarcely snuffing the air, he's so proud and elate, The high-mettled racer first starts for the plate. Now Reynard's turn'd out, and o'er hedge and ditch rush
Hounds, horses, and huntsmen, all hard at his brush;
They run him at length, and they have him at bay,
[dious way: And by scent, and by view, cheat a long teWhile, alike born for sports of the field and the course,
Always sure to come through, a staunch and fleet horse;
When, fairly run down, the fox yields up his breath,
The high-mettled racer is in at the death.
Grown aged, us'd up, and turn'd out of the stud, [some blood; Lame, spavin'd, and wind-gall'd, "but yet with While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, Tell his dam won this sweepstakes, his sire gain'd that race; [o'er, And what matches he won to the ostlers count As they loiter their time at some hedge-alehouse door;
While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad,
The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road. Till, at last, having labor'd, drudg'd early
Bow'd down by degrees, he bends to his fate; Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a
[stands still. Or draws sand, till the sand of his hour-glass And now, cold and lifeless, expos'd to the view In the very same cart which he yesterday drew, While a pitying crowd his sad relics surrounds, The high-mottled racer is sold for the hounds!
$139. Poor Jack. By the same. Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like; A tight-water boat and good sca-room give me, And t'ent to a little I'll strike: Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should smite,
And shiver each splinter of wood; Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse every thing tight,
And under reef'd foresail we'll scud. Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback,
For they says there's a Providence sits up aloft
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day About souls, heaven, mercy, and such, And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay!
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch. But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye
Without orders that come down below, [see, And many fine things that prov'd clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow. For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft Take the top-sails of sailors aback, [so oft
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
I said to our Poll, for you see she would cry, When at last we weigh'd anchor for sea, What argufies sniv'ling, and piping your eye? Why, what a damn'd'fool you must be! Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all,
Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, Why, you never will hear of me more.
Fair Ariadne left,
What then? all's a hazard; come don't be so | When Theseus on the naked shore
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.
Nought's a trouble from duty that springs; For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my life, 'tis the king's.
D'ye think she did her fate deplore,
Almost half-gone with wine.
Ma'am Helen lov'd the Phrygian boy,
Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me He ne'er had brought her safe to Troy
As for grief to be taken aback :
That same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good birth for Poor Jack.
$140. By the sume.
Of all sensations pity brings,
To proudly swell the ample heart,
From which the willing sorrow springs,
And gives the anxious mind relief:
'Tis the tear that bedews a soldier's grave.
For hard and painful is his lot;
Let dangers come, he braves them all; Valiant, perhaps, to be forgot,
Or undistinguish'd doom'd to fall. Yet wrapt in conscious worth secure, The world, that now forgets his toil, He views from a retreat obscure,
And quits it with a willing smile. Then, trav'ller, one kind drop bestow, "Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; Nought ever taught the heart to glow Like the tear that bedews a soldier's grave.
§ 141. By the same.
WHAT though from Venus Cupid sprung,
(Whate'er the bawling bards have sung)
But for the wife of Thone. She, merry gossip, mix'd a cup
Of tipple right divine,
To keep love's flagging spirits up,
Of Lethe, and its flow'ry brink,
What is there in this soulless lot,
pray you, so divine?
Grief finds the palace and the cot,
$142. By the sume.
YANKO he tell, and he tell no lie,
Him see big world, fine warrior men,
Virtue in foe be virtue still,
Fine stone be found in mine:
If cruel man, like tiger grim,
Come bold in thirst of blood, Poor man: be noble, pity him, That he no honest good: Virtue in foe be virtue still,
Fine stone be found in mine: The sun one dale, as well one hill, Make warm where'er him shine.
§ 143. Yanko. By the same. DEAR Yanko say, and true he say,
A mankind, one and t'other,
De virtue in de bosom.
What harm dere in a shape or make? What harm in ugly feature? Whatever color, form, he take,
The heart make human creature. Then black and copper both be friend, No color he bring beauty; For beauty, Yanko say, attend On him who do him duty. Dear Yanko say, &c.
What though by duty I am call'd
To Heaven above
Thy fervent orisons are ǹown,
My safety thy fair truth shall be,
As sword and buckler serving; My life shall be more dear to me, Because of thy preserving. Let peril come, let horror threat, Let thund'ring cannons rattle, I'll fearless seek the conflict's heat, Assur'd when on the wings of love To Heaven above, &c.
Enough. With that benignant smile Some kindred god inspir'd thee;
§ 144. Let us all be unhappy together. By Who knew thy bosom void of guile,
WE bipeds, made up of frail clay,
I grant the best blessing we know
Is a friend, for true friendship's a treasure;
If a mortal would point out that life
It appears from these premises plain,
§ 145. The Soldier's Adieu. By the same. ADIEU, adieu, my only life!
My honor calls me from thee; Remember thou 'rt a soldier's wife, Those tears but ill become thee.
Who wonder'd and admir'd thee. I go assur'd: my life, adieu;
Though thund'ring cannons rattle, Though murdering carnage stalk in view, When on the wings of thy true love To Heaven above, &c.
§ 146. Indian Song. By the same. THE Sun's descending in the wave; go, I go, my fate to brave: Ghosts of dead incas, now appear, Shriek as ye come Cold from the tomb,
And see if Moniaco knows to fear.
Lend me all thy noble fire:
The dauntless soul,
That shall live among its kindred stars.
What is't to die? To leave this clay,
From care to rest,
Lend me all thy noble fire,
Adieu, ye friends! vain world, adieu!
You shall be driven
Like scatter'd chaff before false fortune's wind. Now, Sun, my sire,
I feel, I feel thy noble fire!
Illia Moniaco, &c.
$147. By the same.
A doubtful fate the soldier tries
He's crown'd with victory's laurel.
A doubtful fate, &c.
What nobler fate can fortune give?
'Tis true, a doubtful fate, &c.
§ 148. By the same.
POOR Peggy lov'd a soldier lad
The fifes were screech-owls to her ears,
Her heart all love, her soul all truth, That none her fears or flight discover, Poor Peg, in guise a comely youth, Follow'd to the field her lover. Directed by the fife and drum To where the work of death was doing; Where of brave hearts the time was come, Who, seeking honor, grasp at ruin :
Her very soul was chill'd with woe, New horror came in every sound,
And whisper'd, death had laid him low On the cold ground.
With mute affliction as she stood,
A mourning train came thronging round her.
His name she heard, and cried, I come, Faithful to meet my murder'd lover!
Then heart-rent by a sigh of woe, Fell, to the grief of all around,
Where death had laid her lover low On the cold ground!
$149. Song. STEPHENS.
ONCE the gods of the Greeks, at ambrosial feast, Large bowls of rich nectar were quaffing, Merry Momus among them appeared as a guest: Homer says the celestials love laughing. This happen'd 'fore Chaos was fix'd into form, While nature disorderly lay;
While elements adverse engender'd the storm,
On every Olympic the humorist droll'd,
Jove nodded assent, all Olympus bow'd down,
The goddess of child-bed dispatch'd us a moon,
The queen of soft wishes, foul Vulcan's fair bride,
Leer'd wanton on her man of war; [guide. Saying, As to these earth-folks, I'll give them a So she sparkled the morn and eve star. From her cloud, all in spirits, the goddess up sprung,
In ellipsis each planet advanc'd; The tune of the spheres the Nine Sisters sung, As round Terra Nova they danc'd.
Even Jove himself could not insensible stand," Bid Saturn his girdle fast bind : [hand, The expounder of fate grasp'd the globe in his And laugh'd at those mites call'd mankind. From the hand of great Jove into space it was