The Nightingale; or Rural songster: in two parts. Part I.--Containing favorite, innocent, entertaining and sentimental songs. Part II.--Containing the most approved patriotic songs. (Many of which are original.)

2011-05

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THE NIGHTINGALE; OR RURAL SONGSTER: IN TWO PARTS.

PART I.—Containing favorite, entertaining and sentimental SONGS

PART II.—Containing the m [...] approved PATRIOTIC SONGS

[Many of which are original.]

DEDHAM: PRINTED By H. MANN. 1800.

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PREFACE.

YOUNG Gentlemen and Ladies, who may peruse the following selection of Songs, may be assur beforehand, that nothing will be found in it offensive to the ear of chastity, delicacy, or to sentimental taste. The reverse, it is to be regretted, is too often the case in publications of this kind;—where the female cheek of modesty is not only often crimsoned with shame, but the too unguarded heart actually led astray. This is particularly the case in European song books.— The following is designed to fill up, and to enliven a leisure moment, of those of both sexes, whose pustimes have never yet learned them to stray beyond the innocent note of the Nightingale or Lark; and to add a tincture of virtue, rather than the dead [...] poison of vice, to the thoughts and actions of every ju [...]venile reader.

Editor.

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THE NIGHTINGALE.

PART I

SONG I. Progress of the MILK-MAID'S LOVE.

AS my cow I was milking just now in the vale,
Young ALEXIS advanced 
 [...] tale;
Such a tale, gentle maldens, 
 [...] I sa
 [...]
I with pleasure could wait for to 
 [...]
I with pleasure could wait,
I with pleasure could wait,
I with pleasure could wait for to hear it all day,

Hall, FRORILLA, he cry'd, now I'm 
 [...]
For to see y
 [...]u, believe me, I came from 
 [...]
Wil
 [...]thou have me, 
F
 [...] 
 [...]—
I with 
 [...]own
 [...] 
 [...]on re
 [...] 
 [...] 
 [...]ear y
 [...], to day;

Pray, 
Alexis, I said 
 [...], him! 
 [...],
N
 [...]ver come 
 [...]
N
 [...] de
 [...] 
 [...]

 [...]

 [...]

 [...]

 [...]

[Page 4] Ye lasses, then hear me, O hear me I pray
 [...]
Never wait for 
tomorrow.—catch hold of 
to day

SONG II. RURAL ECONOMY—addressed to the LADIES.

YOUNG 
Ladies in town, and all who live round,
Let a friend at this season advise you;
Since money's so searce, and times gr
 [...]wing worse,

 [...] things may soon 
 [...]hap and surprise you.

First then throw aside your high top knots of pride.
Weat none but your own country linnen;
Of economy boast, set your pride be the most.
To show cloth of your own making and spining.

What if homespun they say, is not quite so gay;
As brocade, yet be not too quick in passion;
For when once 'tis known, what's much worn in town
One and all will cry out—
'tis the fashion!

No more ribbons wear, 
 [...] rich dreis appear,
Love your country much better than fine things;
Begin without passion—'twill 
 [...] be the fashion
To grace your smooth locks with a wine string.

These do without 
 [...] to all you'l
 [...] appear
Fair, charming, true, lovely and 
 [...],
Th
 [...] times rem
 [...] 
 [...] arkish, you
 [...] 
 [...] may be sparkish,
And love, you 
 [...] better 
 [...] ever,

[Page 5]

SONG III. The SPINNING WHEEL.

TO ease his heart, and own his flame,

 [...]lythe Jockey to young Jenny came;
But, though she liked him passing well,
She careless turn'd her 
Spinning Wheel.

Her milk white hand he did extol,
And prised her fingers white and small,
Unusual joy ner heart did feel,
But still she turn'd her 
Spinning-Wheel.

Then round about her slender waist
He clasp'd his a
 [...] and her embraced,
To kiss her hand he c
 [...]wn did kneel,
But yet she turn'd her 
Spinning-Wheel.

When modest volce she bid him rise,
He b
 [...]'d her neck, her lips, her eyes;
Her 
 [...]ondness she could 
 [...] conceal,
Though still she turn'd her 
Spinning-Wheel.

Till bolder grown, so o
 [...]se he pres
 [...]ld,
His wa
 [...]on thoughts she quickly gues
 [...]s'd,
Then p
 [...]h'd him from her r
 [...]ck and 
 [...]e
 [...],
And angry turn'd her 
Spinning Wheel,

At last, when she began to 
 [...]
He swore be meant her 
 [...]
'Twas 
 [...] love she did 
 [...]
And 
 [...]

[Page 6]

SONG IV. The SPINNING-WHEEL, Another Favorite.

ONE Summer's eve, as NANCY, sai
 [...],
Sa
 [...] s
 [...]i
 [...]ing in the shace,
While s
 [...]ring sky-
 [...]arks sho
 [...]k the air
In warb
 [...]ng 
 [...]r 
 [...];
In tender coo
 [...] the pigions woo'd—
(Love's impu
 [...]e a
 [...]l must se
 [...])
She su
 [...], but still her w
 [...]k pu
 [...]s
 [...]ed,
And turn'd her 
Spinning Wheel.

Wh
 [...]e th
 [...] I work with reek and reel,
So li
 [...]e by 
 [...]me is so
 [...]n;
And is runs round m
 [...] spinning wheel.
The word turns 
 [...]p and cow
 [...].
Some 
 [...]n to day, 
 [...]m
 [...]rr
 [...] 
 [...]ow,
While I no ca
 [...]ges 
 [...]ee,
But get my bread o
 [...] 
 [...]we
 [...] of 
 [...],
And turn my 
Spinning Wheel.

For me let men and women 
 [...]o
T
 [...] h
 [...] ve
 [...]n
 [...], 
 [...],
Not m
 [...]nd 
 [...],
B
 [...]t eat the 
 [...]read 
 [...]e
 [...] ea
 [...]
It 
 [...] were 
 [...]e
 [...], were 
 [...] to 
 [...]e,
B
 [...]t 
 [...]
Some 
 [...]
Ma
 [...] 
 [...]

 [...]

 [...]

[Page 7] When o'er the lawn limp'd mistress Jo
 [...]n,
And brought home Nancy's sw
 [...]in:
"Come, cheerful Nancy, here's thy spouse,
Away throw rock and reel."
Blythe 
Nancy, with the bonny news,
O'erset her 
Spinning Wheel.

SONG V. The STARLING.—You can't untie the Knot.

A BEAUTIOUS Starling late I saw
On love
 [...]y SYLVIA's hard;
To check he fight, around he leg.
She tied a fi
 [...]ken band.
In vain it flutters to be gone—
Confinement is its 
 [...]ot:
In vain it s
 [...]r
 [...]ves to break the band,

But can't untie the knot.

"Cease, cease, she cry'd, here you shall feed,
And in my bosom rest;
No bled that ever wing'd the air,
W
 [...] 
 [...] to much care
 [...]'c.
If 
 [...]m m
 [...] 
 [...] yea 
 [...]ould esca
 [...]e,
You might nec
 [...]arce, 
 [...]e shoe,
Then 
 [...] to 
 [...]—
 [...] vain—

 [...]

The 
 [...]
M
 [...] 
 [...]

[Page 8] Erec
 [...] his little crest, and soon
His former note resumes.
From what he heard the fair one say,
These words by wrote he got—
And oft repeated every day—

You can't untie the knot.

One evening youthful DAMON sat,
With SYLVIA by his side;
Reward my love, at last he said,
Tomorrow be my bride
Her blushes in his favor rose,
Yet she consented not:
For ere she spo
 [...]e, the Sta
 [...]ling cry'd;

You can't untie the knot.

SONG VI. MORNING RAMBLE—I'm in haste.

AS 'cross the field the other morn,
I tripp'd so blithe and gay;
The 'Squire, with his dog and gun,
By chance came by that way.
Whither so fast, sweet maid, he cry'd,
And caught me round my waist.
Pray stop aw
 [...]ile—Dear Sir, said I,
I can't, for 
I'm in haste.

You must not go, as yet, cry'd he,
For I have much to say;

[Page 9] Come, sit you down, and let us chat
Upon this new mown hay.—
I've loved you long, and oft have wish'd
Those ruby lips to taste;
I'll have a kiss—Well, then said I,
Be quick, for 
I'm in haste.

Just as he spoke, I saw young 
Hodge,
Come through a neighboring gate;
He caught my hand, and cry'd, Dear Girl,
I fear I've made you wait:
But here's the ring, come, haste to Church,
The 
 [...] love to taste—
I left the Squire, and smiling said,
You see, Sir, 
I'm in haste.

SONG VII. SCENES OF MY YOUTH.

I cannot but remember such things were,

And were must pre [...] to me.

SHAKESPEARE

SCENES of my youth! ye once were dear,
Tho' sadly I those charms survey;
I once was wont to linger here,
From early dawn to closing day

Scenes of my youth pale 
 [...] Sings
A 
 [...]hade o'er all your beauties now,

[Page 10] And robs the moments of their wings
That scatter'd pleasure as they flew
While, still, to heighten ev'ry care,
Reflection tells me—
Such things were:

'Twas here a tender mother strove
To keep my happiness in view;
I smil'd beneath a parent's love,
That soft compassion ever knew,
In whom the virtues all combin'd,
On whom I could with faith rely,
To whom my heart and soul were join'd
By mild affection's primal tie,
Who smiles in heaven; 
 [...]empt from care,
Whilst I remember—
Such things were.

'Twas here (where calm and tranquil rest
O'er-pays the peasant for his toil)
That, first in blessings, I was blest
With growing friendship's open smile,
My friend, far distant doom'd to roam,
Now braves the fury of the seas;
He fled his happy peaceful home,
His little fortune to increase;
While bleeds afresh the wound of care
When I remember—
Such things were.

Twas here e'en in this blooming grove,
I fondly gar'd on Laura's charms,
Who, blushing, own'd a mutual love,
And melted in my youthful arms.
Tho hard the soul conflicting strife,
Yet fate the cruel tryant, bore
Far from my sight the charm of love,
The lovely maid whom I adore.

[Page 11] 
 [...] fills my soul with tender care
When I remember—
Such things were.

Here first I saw the morn appear
Of guiltless pleasure's smiling rays,
met the dazling brightness here;
Here mark'd the oft declining blaze.

 [...]eheld the skies, whose streams of light
Gave splendor to the parting sun,
Now lost in sorrow's sable night,
And all their mingled glories gone.
Till death in pity end my care
must remember—
Such things were.

SONG VIII. THE COTTAGER.
[ORIGINAL.— First published in the MINERVA.]

'TWAS on a pleasant hill I stood,
A Cottage in the vale I view'd
To which I'd never been;
Thither I went 'twas far from home,
'Twas growing late, the sun was down
I knock'd to be let in.

A young and pretty 
Cottager:
Came singing sprightly to the door,
She look'd my soul's delight;
While blushes heighten'd ev'ry grace,
I silence broke and told my case,
And begg'd to stay all night.

[Page 12]
But she with meek and calm reply,
Your suit I'm sorry to deny,
For I am quite alone;
I urg'd distress and innocence,
But she reply'd, on no pretence,
You must not—pray be gone.

'Twas overcast, a low'ry sky,
It rain'd—the whist'ling wind blew high,
When I to wander went;
But kind compassion siez'd her soul,
She could not bear to see me stroll,
But call'd and gave consent.

She me enjoin'd to give a proof
Of 
honer, whilst beneath her roof,
Of 
virtue she could boast;
I vow'd to act a noble part,
And would have thank'd with all my heart,
But found my heart was lost.

The Cottager, her pretty face,
Adorn'd with ev'ry charming grace,
I to the world prefer;
And if she learns to love, like me,
My glory day and night shall be,
The pretty 
Cottager.

SONG IX, BEAUTFUL LINES— Composed in a Hermitage.

STRANGER, 
wouldst thou enter here,

L
 [...] behind thee guilty Fear;

[Page 13] 
Root ambition from thy mind,

Give Care and Envy to the wind;

No such passions should intrude

On the sweets of solitude.

Bring varying Fancy ever young,

Bring Judgment clear and reason strong;

Bring cheerful Hope, fair Virtue's child;

Bring lowly Temperance, chast and mild;

Bring Contemplation, silent maid,

Who lovs to baunt the sylvan shade.

With these, if philosophic Ease,

If pure Simplicity, can please;

Here stranger rest, or freely rove,

O'er yon rock, or thro' yon grove

Secure;—no ill can e'er intrude,

On Virtue and sweet Solitude.

SONG IX. A favorite SCOTCH BALLAD.

AND are you sure the news is true?
And are you sure he's weel?
This is no time to think of work,
I must set by my wheel.
Give me my clock, I'll to the quay,
And welcome him on shore:
But why do I thus lose my time?
Perhaps he's at the door.
Lie still, lie still, my beating breast,

[Page 14] Ah: welcome him on shore;
Perhaps from me no more he'll roam,
Or trust the rude sea more.

So true his words, so smooth his speech,
His breath like clearest air,
His very soot has music in't,
When he trips up the stair:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
There's lilly whiteness in his skin,
And roses in his cheek:
Lie still, lie still, my beating heart,
My Donald's at the door;
Perhaps from me no more he'll part,
Or trust the rude sea more,

The cold blast of the winter wind,
That thrill'd late through my heart,
Are all blown by, and Donald's safe,
'Till death we ne'er must part;
But what puts parting in my head 
 [...]
It may be far away;
The present moment sure's our own,
The next we ne'er may see:
Lie still, lie still, my beating heart,
Hark I hark he's at the door;
Perhaps from me no more he'll part,
Or trust the rude sea more.

[Page 15]

SONG X. A favorite HUNTING SONG.

FROM the east breaks the morn,
See the sun-beams adorn
The wild heath, and mountains so high,
The wild heath, and mountains so high;
Shrilly opes the staunch hound,
The steed neighs to the sound,
And the floods and the valleys reply;
And the floods and the valleys reply.

Our forefathers, so good.
Prov'd their greatness of blood,
By encount'ring the hart and the boar;
By encount'ring, &c.
Ruddy health bloom'd the face,
Age and youth urg'd the chase,
And taught woodlands and forests to roar;
And taught, &c.

Hence, of noble descent,
Hills and wilds we frequent,
Where the bosom of nature's reveal'd,
Where the, &c.
Tho' in life's busy day,
Man of man makes a prey,
Still let ours be the prey of the field;
Still let ours, &c.

With the chase in full sight,
Gods! how great the delight!

[Page 16] How our mortal sensations refine,
How our, &c.
Where is care, where is fear?
Like the winds in the rear,
And the man's lost in something divine!
And the man's, &c.

Now to horse, my brave boys:
Lo, each pants for the joys
That anon shall enliven the whole;
That anon shall enliven the whole.
Then at eve we'll dismount,
Toils and pleasures recount,
And renew the chase over the bowl,

SONG XI. THE FAREWELL.—Said to be wrote by Major ANDRE.

AH! DELIA, see the fatal hours,
Farewell my soul's delight!
Oh! how can wretched DAMON live,
Thus banish'd From thy sight!
To my fond heart no rival joys,
Supply the place of thee;
Ah! who can tell if thou, my dear,
Will e'er remember me!

Alone through unfrequented wilds,
With persive steps I rove,
I ask the rocks, I ask the stream
 [...]

[Page 17] Where dwells my absent love.
The silent eve, the rosy morn,
My constant searches see.—
Ah! who can tell, &c.

Thus while my restless wand'ring thoughts,
Pursue their soft repose,
Unwearied may they trace the path
 [...]
Where'er my Delia goes;
Forever, Damon shall be there,
Attendant still on thee.—
Ah! who can tell, &c.

Oft I review those smiling scenes.
Each fav'rite brook and tree,
Where once I pass'd those happy hours,
Those hours I pass'd with thee;
What painful, fond memor'als rise,
At every thing I see!—
Ah! who can tell, &c.

Let every rival vot'rist soon
Their soft address remove,
Nor trace thee in thy new abode,
To tempt thy soul to love:
Yet who can tell what sighing crouds,
Their tender homage pay? — 
Ah! who can tell, &c.

Think, Dellia, think, how deep a wound,
Thy sweetly pointed dart,
Thy dear remembrance left behind,
Has pierc'd a hapless heart!
Think on the fatat sad adieu.
That severs me from thee;—
Ah! who can tell, &c.

 [...]ow can I speak the last farewell

 [...]at cares distress my mind!

[Page 18] How can I go to realms of bliss,
And leave my love behind!
When angels wing me to the skies,
I'd fain return to thee.—
Ah! who can tell, &c.

SONG XII. THE DUSKY NIGHT. A Favorite Hunting Song.

THE dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn;
The hounds all join in Jovial cry,
The huntsman winds his born.
And a hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws
Her arms to make him stay:
My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows,
You cannot hunt to day.
Yet a hunting, &c.

Sly Reynard now like light'ning flies;
And sweeps across the vale;
But when the hounds too near he spies
He drops his bushy tail.
Then a hunting, &c.

F
 [...]nd echo seems to like the sport,
And join the jovial cry:
The woods and hills the sound retort,

[Page 19] And music fills the sky,
When a hunting, &c.

At last his strength to faintness worn,
Poor Reynard ceases flight;
Then hungry homeward we return
To feast away the night.
And a drinking, &c.

Ye jovial hunters in the morn
Prepare then for the chace;
Rise at the sounding of the horn.
And health with sport embrace,
When a hunting, &c.

SONG XIII. HOW D'YE DO?

'TWAS in the green meadows so gay,
Where lovers their passions repeat,
Young William did tenderly say,
"How d'ye do," as we happen'd to meet;
"How d'ye do, Sir," again answer'd I,
Not thinking of h
 [...]m, it is true,
When echo (or else I may die)
Reply'd in return,—"How d'ye do!"
Echo—" How d'ye do!"

Reply'd 
 [...] return "How d'ye do?"
In vain we explor'd a
 [...] around,
No creature whatever was near:

[Page 20] Alas! what a wonderful sound,
"How d'ye do?" we could both of us hear,
Sure Cupid lay hidden hard by,
And gave gentle Echo the cue.
For still it continued to cry,
I vow and protest—"How d'ye do?"
Echo—"How d'ye do:"

Says William, "dear girl never mind,
"Since Echo can do us no harm,"
Then kiss'd me both tender and kind,
And circled my waist with his arm;
Let Hymen, he cried, make us one,
I agreed the advice to pursue!
Now Echo, says I, babble on,
Which it did sure enough—"How d'ye do?"
Echo—"How d'ye do?"
Which it did sure enough—"How d'ye do?"

SONG XIV. THE ROSARY.

THO' oft we meet severe distress,
In vent'ring out to sea;
The perils of the main seem less,
As we to heav'n our vows address,
And sing the cheering 
Rosary.

Our 
 [...] that rove the mountains wide
And 
 [...] in harmless glee;
I seek each day an even-tide,

[Page 21] And while their course I homeward guide,
I sing the cheering 
Rosary.

And in the deeper shades of night
While through the woods I flee;
Where gloom and silence yield affright,
To make my beating heart sit light,
I sing the cheering 
Rosary.

SONG XV. HUNTING THE HARE— Songs of Shepherds.

SONGS of shepherds in rustical roundelays,
Form'd in fancy and whistl'd on reeds,
Sung to solace young nymphs upon holidays,
Are too unworthy for wonderful deeds.
Sottish Silenus to Phoebus the genius
Was sent by dame Venus, a song to prepare,
In phrase nicely coined, and verse quite refined,
How the states divine love hunting the hare.

Stars quite tired with pastimes Olympical,
Sars and planets that beautiful shone,
Could no longer endure that men only should
Revel in pleasures, while they but look on.
Round about horned Lucina they swarmed,
And quickly inform'd her how minded they were,
Each god and goddess to take human bodies,
As lords and ladies to follow the hare

Chaste Diana applauded the motion,
And pale Proserpina sat down in her place
To guide the welkin, and govern the ocean.

[Page 22] While Diana conducted her nephews in chase.
By her example, their father to trample,
The earth old and ample, they soon leave the air:
Neptune the water, and wine Liber pater,
And Mars the slaughter, to follow the hare.

Young god Cupid was mounted on Pagasus,
Borrow'd o' the muses with kisses and prayers;
Stern Alcides upon cloundy Causacus
Mounted a centaur that proudly him bears.
The postilion of the sky, light-heel'd fir Mercury,
Made his swift courser fly fleet as the air;
While tunefu
 [...] Apollo the pastime did follow,
To whoop and to hollow, boys, after the hare.

Drowned Narcissus, from his metamorphosis
Rou
 [...]'d by echo, new manhood did take.
Snoring Somnus upstarted from Cim'ries;
Before for a thousand years he did not wake.
There was lame club-footed Mulciber booted;
And Pan, too, promoted on Corydon's mare.
Aeclus flouted; with mirth Momus shouted;
While wise Pallas pouted, yet follow'd the hare.

Grave Hymen ushers in lady Astre
 [...].
The humor took hold of Latona, the cold.
Ceres the brown, too, with bright Cytherea,
And The
 [...] the wanton, Behona the bold;
Sh
 [...]m
 [...]'
 [...] 
 [...] witty Pandora,
And M
 [...]a with Flora did company bear;
But Juno was stated too high to be mated,
Although, sir, she hated no
 [...] hunting the hare.

Three brown bowls of Olympical nectar
The Troy-born b
 [...]y now presents on his knee;

[Page 23] Jove to Phoebus now carouses in nectar,
And Phoebus to Hermes, and Hermes to me:
Wherewith infused, I piped and mused,
In language unused, their sports to declare:
Till the vast house of Jove like the bright spheres did move,
Here's a health then, to all who love hunting the hare.

SONG XVI. BONNY HODGE— I w'ont let ye'.

AS Dolly sat milking her cow,
Young Hodg he by chance pass'd that way;
He left both his cart and his plough;
Her beauty so led him astray.
With rapture he leap'd o'er the style,
And he swore he never saw a maid so pretty very pretty
I will kiss you, says he with a smile;
But the nymph soon reply'd, I wont let ye'.

I wont let ye'—I wont let ye'.

But the nymph soon reply'd, I wont let ye'

Young Hodge then his suit did renew,
What harm is in kissing, I pray;
Was you the wide world to pursue,
You'd find it was done night and day.
The monarch who sits on his throne,
He kisses his queen so pretty, very pretty;
That is true, Doil reply'd, I must own;
Then why do you say, you wont let me?
You wont, &c.

[Page 24]
The cow she perceiv'd in a trice,
That Doll had neglected her call;
And thinking 'twas Cupid's advice,
Kick'd the milk pail, stool down and all.
Oh! if these are your tricks then cry'd Hodge,
I'll awry to my dairy maid Betty, bonny Betty,
Curse the cow, Doll reply'd in a rage,
Come back bonny Hodge, and I'll let ye'
And I'll, &c.

SONG XVII. THE GLEANERS.

WHEN the rosy morn appearing,
Paints with gold the verdant lawn,
Bees on banks of thyme disporting,
Sip the sweets, and hail the dawn,

CHORUS.
See, content, the humble gleaners,
Take the scatter'd e
 [...]s that fall:
Nature all her children viewing,
Kindly bounteous ca
 [...]es for all.

Warbling birds the spring proclaiming,
Carol sweet th' enlivening strain;
They forsake their leafy dwelling,
To secure the golden grain
 [...]

See content, &c.

When his weary task is over,
Ended with the setting sun,

[Page 25] Soon his mind forgets its labor,
To his lowly cot does run.—

See content, &c.

Balmy sleep attends his pillow,
Free from sorrow, free from fear;
Heav'n-born guards each moment watch him,
Peace and innocence live here.

See content, &c.

SONG XVIII. ARABELLA— The Caladonian Maid.

SAY, have you seen my Arabell?
The Caladonian maid,
Or heard the youths of Scotland tell,
Where Arabell has stray'd?
The damsel is of angel mien,
With sad and downcast eyes;
The Shepherds call her sorrow's queen,
So pensively she sighs,

But why her sighs so sadly swell,
O
 [...] why her tears so flow?

 [...]n v
 [...]in they pr
 [...]ss the lovely girl,
The innate cause to know.
E're reason fram'd her tender mind,
The virgin learn'd to love;
Com
 [...] 
 [...] taught her to be kind.
Deceit she was above.

[Page 26]
And had not war's terrific voice
Forbid the mutual bands,
E're now, had Sandy been her choice,
And Hymen join'd our hands:
But since the sword of war is sheath'd,
And peace resumes her charms,
My every joy is now bequeath'd
To Arabella's arms.

SONG XIX. THE FRIGHTED CLOWN.

OH Lord! what a terrible fright I am in,
Oh Lord! what a terrible fright I am in,
When I never, I'm sure now committed a sin,
When I never, I'm sure now committed a sin.
Then, dang it, it wanted to take me away,
Then, dang it, it wanted to take me away;
But, says I, master ghost, I'd much rather stay.
I'd much rather stay.

Two eyes big as saucers it certainly had,
Two eyes, &c.
Which blazed just as thof' for the world it was mad.
Which 
 [...]azed, &c.
It look'd as it wish'd to take me away.
I
 [...] looked, &c,
But says I, master ghost, I'd much rather stay,

I never have done any harm in my life,
I never have done, &c.

[Page 27] Except when old Bridget I took for my wife;
Except when, &c.
And she has been dead for this many a day;
And she has, &c.
But mayhap it is her wants to have I away,
If it's all one to she, why I'd much rather stay.
I'd much rather stay, &c.

SONG XX. THE HOBBIES.

ATTENTION pray give while of hobbies I sing
For each has his hobby, from cobler to King:
On some fav'rite hobby we all get astride,
And when we're once mounted full gallop we ride,
All on hobbies,
All on hobbies,
All on hobbies,
Gee up, gee O.

Some hobbies are restive and hard for to govern,
E'en just like our wives, they're so cursedly stubborn;
The hobbies of Scolds are their husbands to teaze,
And the hobbies of Lawyers are plenty of sees.

The Beaux, those sweet gentlemen's hobbies, good lack!
It to wear great large poultices ty'd round the neck;
And think in the ton and the tippey they're drest,
If they've breeche
 [...] that reach from the ancle to chest.

[Page 28]

The hobbies of Sailors, when safe moor'd in port

With their wives and their sweat-hearts to toy and to sport,

When our navy's completed, their hobby shall be

To shew the whole world that America's free.

The hobbies of Soldiers, in time of great wars,
Are breaches and battles, with blood, wounds and scars;
But in peace you'll observe that quite different their trade is—
The hobbies of Soldiers in peace, are the ladies.

The Ladies sweet creatures, yes, they now and then
Get astride of their hobbies, ay, just like the man;
With smiles and with simpers beguile us with ease,
And we gallop, trot, amble e'en just as they please.

The Americans' hobby has long since been known;
No tyrant or king shall from them have a throne;
Their States are united, and let it be said
Their hobby is WASHINGTON, Peace, and free Trade.

SONG XXI. THE PLAINT OF DELIA.

IONCE was both social and gay,
Could dance and disport on the plain;
Was charm'd with my Corydon's lay.
And join'd in the musical strain

[Page 29]

Our cottage we garnish'd so well,

With fruits of the vintage and fold;

That way faring shepherds could dwell,

Secure from both hunger and cold.

Alas! how uncertain is wealth;
How sickle is pleasure below;
They fade like the blossom of health,
When touch'd by the dew-drop of woe;

The tnne of my Corydon's ceas'd
To rouse up the smile of content;
It once all my sorrow appeas'd,
But now can no sorrow prevent.

I feel that our pleasures are gone;
I know that my Corydon's poor;
Then how can our pity be shown,
When poverty knocks at the door!

When the poor little child of despair,
All naked and wretched appears,
With form that's enchantingly fair—
Yet wash'd with the tide of her tears:

For O! we have nothing to give;
Yet how can we turn her away;
How see the sweet innocent grieve;
Or hear she is gone to decay!

[Page 30]

SONG XXII. THE PEDLER.

COME here, come here, my pretty dear,
Leave business, care and labour:
Easter comes but once a year;
Come lads and lasses, come and hear
My merry pipe and tabor.

I sell all sorts of curious wares,
Tapes, garters, ribbonds, laces,
That give the form enchanting airs.
And set off pretty fa
 [...]es.
And then I've philtres, drugs, and charms
That when the nymph's deserted,
Can lure the shepherd to her arms,
And make him tender hearted.
Come here, come here, &c.

This wonderful love-powder see;
Though ever so hard featured,
To a Venus that converts each she,
By making her good natured;
This eye-water can pow'r dispence
To cure each jealous blindness,
And turn to gen'rous confidence,
Each jarring strife to kindness.
Come here, come here, &c.

When clouds shall Wedlock's sky deface,
And dim that brilliant heaven,
Upon your lips this padlock place,
By wary prudence given,

[Page 31] But when from storms and tempests free,
Th' horizon looks propitious,
From kindness' hand take pleasure's key,
And open seenes delicious.
Come here, come here, &c.

SONG XXIII. THE SPRING.

ALL nature is cheerful and gay,
The birds are beginning to sing,
And carol their notes on each spray,
And hail with delight the gay spring.

How pleased with my EMMA I'll rove,
Enraptur'd amid the gay scene,
Or sit in the shade of the grove,
When Spring in its beauty is seen.

O Nature, our parent and joy,
Thy bounties and goodness we see;
Nor changes nor cares shall annoy.
If EMMA be constant to me.

SONG XXIV. ADVICE TO THE GENTLEMEN.

TRUST not 
Woman, she
 [...]l beguile you,
All her smiles are form'd by art;

[Page 32] First she'll 
flatter then 
exile you,
Sighing with a broken heart!

Form'd by nature to pursue us,
They outstrip the fleetest men;—
Ah! how sweet they bill and coo us,
But how 
proud they triumph then!

So the FISH, the 
bait admiring,
On the 
angler's fatal snare,
Gasps out life in pangs expiring;—
Lovers, of the 
book, beware!

SONG XXV. ADVICE TO THE LADIES.

TRUST not 
man, for hell deceive you;
Treach'ry is his sole intent;
First he'll 
court you, then he'll 
leave you,
Poor deluded! to lament.

Form'd by nature to undo us,
They escape our utmost heed;
Oh! how 
humble when they 
woo us,
But how 
proud when they succeed!

So the bird, when once deluded,
By the fowler's artful snare;
Pines out life, in cage secluded;—
Fair ones, while you're young, beware!

[Page 33]

SONG XXVI. THE MULBERRY TREE.

THE sweet briar grows in the merry green wood,
Where the musk rose diffuses its perfume so free;
But the blight often seizes both blossom and bud,
While the mildew flies over the 
mulberry-tree.

In the nursery rear'd like the young tender vine,
Mankind of all orders, and ev'ry degree,
First crawl on the ground, then spring up like the pine,
And some branch and bear fruit, like the 
mulberry-tree.

To the fair tree of knowledge some twine like a twig.
While some sappy sprouts with their fruits disagree,
For which we from 
birch now and then pluck a twig,
Which is not quite so sweet as the 
mulberry-tree.

The vast tree of life we all eagerly climb,
And impatiently pant at its high top to be,
Tho' nine out of ten are lopp'd off in their prime,
And they drop like dead leaves from the 
mulberry-tree,

Some live by the leaf, and some live by the bow,
As the song or the dance, their vocation may be,
And some live and thrive, tho' we know no more how,
Than the dew that flies over the 
mulberry-tree.

But like weeping willows we hang down the head
When poor wither'd elders we're destin'd to be,
And we're minded no more than mere logs when we're dead,
Or the dew that flies over the 
mulberry-tree.

[Page 34]

Yet like [...]ignum vilae we hearts of oak wear,

Or the cedar that keeps from the cenker-worm fr [...]

While the vinejuice we drain to dissolve ev'ry ca [...]

Like the dew that flies over the mulberry-tree.

SONG XXVII. REFLECTIONS AT DAY BREAK.

I GAZE from the brow of the steep,
On the town, on the landscape serene;
How many this hour are asleep.
How alike are the great and the mean.

The place for their heads to repose,
A stone or a pillow suppsies;
They've put off their care with their cloaths,
And shut out the world with their eyes.

Reclin'd on the tapestry bed,
The rich has forgotten his store;
The beggar asleep in the shed,
Remembers his mis'ry no more.

Alike in forgetfulness drown'd,
Enwrap'd in the mantle of night;
Say, whose are the slumbers profound,
Say, whose are the dreams of delight.

Perhaps to its occupart's dream
(For fancy o'er truth can prevail)

[Page 35] The hovel a hotel may seem,
The hotel transform'd to a jail.

Anon they shall wake from their sleep,
And the sun and their sorrow behold;
Why wake ye to get or to keep!
Or to feel that ye're hungry and cold

Then lie down and slumber again;
Ere the day light appear'd I arose—
I shall see nought but sorrow and pain,
And again I return to repose.

SONG XXVIII. A MOTHER's SOLILOQUY OVER HER DYING INFANT.

TENDER softness, infant mild!
Perfect, sweetest, brightest child!
Transient lustre! beauteous clay!
Smiling wonder of a day!
Ere the last convulfive start
Rend thy unresisting heart;
Ere the long enduring noon
Weighs thy precious eye-lids down,
Ah! regard a mother's moan,—
Angush deeper than thy own!

Fairest eyes, whose dawning light
Late with rapture blest my sight,
Ere your orbs extinguish'd be,
Bend their trembling beams on me!

[Page 36] Drooping sweetness! verdant flow'r!
Blooming,—with'ring in an hour!
Ere thy gentle breast sustains
Latest, fiercest, mortal pains,
Hear a suppliant; let it be
Partner in thy destiny!

SONG XXIX. SONG OF SENTIMENT.

JENNEY! hide your milk-white bosom,
Powerful as your face to please;
Fairer than the lilly's blossom—
It has robb'd me of my ease.
Why take pleasure so to pain me?
While you see I constant prove;
Can you wound, and yet disdain me?
Do you thus requite my love?

Think you that a youthful lover
E,er will clasp you in his arms,
When the bloom of beauty's over,
And you're strip'd of all your charms?
Fresh and sweet as morning roles,
Try to seize the present while;
When the laughing Summer closes,
Winter never wears a smile.

[Page 37]

SONG XXX. MONSIEUR NONG TONG PAW.

JOHN BULL, for pastime took a prance,
Some time a-go to peep at France,
To talk of Sciences and Arts,
And knowledge gain in foreign parts.
Monsieur obsequious heard him speak,
And answered John in hea-then Greek;
To all he ask'd, 'bout all he saw,
Twas 
"Monsieur, je vous n'end pas."

JOHN to the Palais royal came,
Its splendor almost struck him dumb:
I say, whose house is 
that there here?

"House! Je vous n'entend pas, Monsieur."
What 
Nong tong paw again cries JOHN!
This fellow is some mighty don!
No doubt has plenty for the maw,
Pil 
breakfast with this 
Nong tong paw:

JOHN saw 
Varseilles from 
Marli's height,
And cried, astonished at the sight,
Whose fine estate is that there here?

State! Je vous n'entend pas, Monsieur,
His! what the land and houses too?
The fellow's richer than a Jew;
On every thing he lays his claw,
I should like to 
dine with 
Nong tong paw.

Next tripping by a courtly fair,
JOHN cried, enchanted with her air,
What lovely wench is that there here?

Ventch! Je vous n'entend pas, Monsieur.

[Page 38] What, he again? upon my life;
A palace, lands, and then a wife,
Sir, JOSHUA might delight to draw,
I should like to 
sup with 
Nong tong paw.

But hold, whese fun'ral's that: cried 
John,

"Je vous n'entend paw: What is he gone?
Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save
Poor 
Nong tong paw, then, from the grave,
His race is run, his game is up,
I'd with him breakfast, dine and sup;
But since he's chosen to withdraw,
Good night t'ye Monsieur 
Nong Tong Paw.

SONG XXXI. WOMAN.

A WOMAN is to—but stay—
What a woman is like, who can say?
There's no living with or without one—
Love bites like a fly,
Now an ear, now an eye,
Buz, buz, always buzzing about one,
When she's tender and kind,
She is like, to my mind,
(And Fanny was so I remember)
She is like to—Oh dear!
She's as good very near,
As a ripe melting peach in September.
If she laugh, and she chat,
Play, joke, and all that,
And with smiles and good humor she meet me.
She is like a rich dish

[Page 39] Of ven'son or fish,
That cries from the table—come eat me!

But Sh'll plague you, and vex you,
Distract and perplex you,
False hearted and ranging,
Unsettl'd and changing,
What then do you think she is like?
Like a sand? like a rock?
Like a wheel? like a clock?
Aye, a clock that is always at strike;
Her head's like the island folks tell on,
Which nothing but monkies can dwell on,
Her heart's like a lemon—so nice
She carves for each lover a slice;
In truth, she's to me,
Like the wind, like the sea,
Whose raging will hearken to no man;
Like a mill,
Like a pill,
Like a flail,
Like a whale,
Like an ass,
Like a glass,
Whose image is constant to no man;
Like a flow'r,
Like a show'r
Like a fly,
Like a pie,
Like a pea,
Like a flea,
Like a thief,
Like—in brief,
She's like nothing on earth—but a woman

[Page 40]

SONG XXXII. SHAKESPEARE's SEVEN AGES. PARAPHRASED.

OUR immortal Poet's page,
Says that all the world's a stage;
And that men with all their airs,
Are nothing more than players;
Each using skill and art,
In his turn to play his part,
All to fill up this farsical scence O!
Enter here,
Exit there,
Stand in view
Mind your cue.
High down, ho down, derry derry down.
All to fill up this farsical scene O!

First the infant in the lap.
Mewling, pewling, with its pap,
Like a chicken that we truss,
Is swaddled by its nurse;
Who to please the puppet tries,
As it giggles and it cries.
All to fill, &c.
Hush a bye,
Wipe an eye,
K
 [...]sse pretty.
Suck a titty,

High down, &c:

Then the pretty babe of grace,
With his S
 [...]ining morning face,

[Page 41] And satchel on his back,
To school alas! must pack,
But like a snale he creeps,
And for bloody Monday weeps,
All to fill up, &c.
Book mislaid,
Truant play'd,
Rod in pickle.
Tom to tickle.

High down, &c.

Then the lover next appears,
Soused over head and ears;
Like a lobster on the fire,
Sighing ready to expire;
With a great hole in his heart,
Thro' which you may drive a cart,
All to fill, &c,
Beauty spurns him,
Passion burns him;
Like a wizard,
Gu
 [...] and gizzard.

High down, &c.

Then the soldier ripe for plunder,
Breathing slaughter—blood and thunder.
Like a cat among the mice,
Kicks a dust up in a trice,
And talks of shattered brains,
Scattered limbs and streaming veins.
All to fill, &c.
Fight or fly,
Run or die,
Pop and pelter,
Helter skelier,

High down, &c.

[Page 42]
Then the justice in his chair,
With broad and vacant sta
 [...]e;
His wig of forma
 [...] c
 [...].
And belly like a b
 [...],
Well lin'd with t
 [...]l
 [...] hash,
Calipee and calipash.
All to fill, &c.
Wig profound,
Body round;
Sit et ease,
Snatch the fees.

High down, &c.

Then the sliper'd portaloon,
In life's dull afternoon;
With spectacles on nose,
Shrunk sh
 [...]nk in youthful hase.
His voice once big and round,
Now whistling in the sound,
All to fill, &c.
Body bent,
Vigor spent,
Shaking noddle,
Widdle waddle,

High down, &c.

At last to end the play,
Second childhood leads the way;
And like sheep that's got the rot.
All our senses 
 [...]o to 
 [...]ot,
So death among us pop
 [...],
And down the curtain drops.
All to fill, &c.
Then the coffin

[Page 43] We move off in,
While the bell,
Tolls the knell,
Of high and low down into the cold ground,
All to fill, &c.

A FLIGHT. SONG XXXIII.

WHILE wrapt in fancy's airy dreams,
On wings of visionary bliss,
My soul was borne, thro' heav'nly scenes,
To brighter worlds than this—

Methought I saw AMELIA fair,
(The dear impression still remains)
Her sparkling eyes, her auburne hair,
And heard her warb'ling strains—

The pow'r of love, metho't, she sung,
In words, a savage heart would move,
In sweetest accents from her tongue,
That echo'd thro' the grove.—

Ah! would the charm had never broke,
That thus, upon my soul had won;
To disappointment, I awoke—
AMELIA'S form was gone!

[Page 44]

PASTORAL. SONG XXXIV.

ONE morn, on the brow of a hill
That laugh'd with the beauties of May,
A Shepherd sat, pensive and still.
And mus'd the dull moments away:
The flow of a murmuring rill
In giances reflected the ray;
While the birds, in a concert so shrill,
Harmoniously welcom'd the day;

Then, raising his head, with a figh
His mournful complaint he began:
"Ah! why cannot PALLIMEL die!
"Why cease not at once to be man?
"Ye gales that pass whispering by,
"Each shrub and each blossom to fan,
'O! waft to sweet CHLOE my sigh,
"And bid her be kind—while she can.

The Shepherd thus murmur'd his tale,
Then stop'd to give vent to a tear;
When, leavi
 [...]g her slock in the dale,
Fair CHLOE, sweet CHLOE drew near,
Said she, "my dear Shepherd! the gale
"Has watted your sigh to my ear;
"No more, then, let sorrow prevail,
"Since CHLOE can bunish thy sear."

The Shepherd embrac'd her and swore
For a
 [...] to be co
 [...]en and true,
To leave his fair 
 [...]h
 [...]er no more,

[Page 45] The nymphs of the plain to pursue.
Young CHLOE has beauties in store,
While PALLIMEL'S equall'd by few;
And now the fond couple explore
Enjoyments—incessantly new!

SONG XXXV. THE FEMALE AUCTIONEER:

WELL here I am;—"And what of that?"
Methinks I hear you cry.
Why, I am come—and that is pat—.
To sell, if you will buy;
A female auctioneer I stand,
Yet not to seek for pelf;
Ah! no—the lot I have in hand
Is but to sell MYSELF!

And I am going, going, going!—

Who bids for me?

Ye bachelors—I look at you,
And pray don't deem me rude,
Not rate me either scold or shrew,
A coquette or a prude:
My hand and heart I offer fair;
And should you buy the lot,
I vow to make you e'ev my care.
When Hymen ties the kno
 [...]

'And I am going, going, going—

Who bids for me?

[Page 46]
Tho some may deem me pert, or so,
Who deal in idle 
 [...]rise;
Pray where's the girl, I wish to know,
Who'd not become's wife?—
At least I own I really would,
In spite of all alarms,

Dear Bachelors—now be so good—
Do take me to your arms:

For I am going, going, going!—

Who bids for me?

SONG XXXVI. WASHING WEEK.

HEY! what's the bustle? what's the stir?
The cat is kick'd, and whipp'd the cur;
Women scold, and laugh, and sing,
And Scandal stretches wide her wing.
One must not look, nor write nor speak,
And all because 'tis 
Washing Week.

How comfortless, and lost to glee,
While Delia too is lost to me—
Lost to me while at the rub
See her dip, and see her rub,
Gods! that one so sweet and fair.
Should the 
 [...]ask so arduous share!
Muse, behold the charming maid,
Not of soap or suds afraid.
But this you must not sing or speak,
For this is busy 
Washing Week.

[Page 47]
Bring the dram and warm the beer,
Give the washer-woman cheer;
Bring bread and cheese, and then the tea,
Liquor of garrulity,
Betty hangs the cloths to dry.
Bandage o'er her head and eye.
What ails Betty? why her tooth
Tells she does not love with truth:
But the truth we must not speak,
For this is surely 
Washing Week.

But, lo! it rains—go strip the line,
Clouded Sol forgets to shine.
Never were such dismal means,
Women scold like scalded fiends:
Above, below, and all around,
Peace is no where to be sound:
Sooner I a shirt would lack,
Sooner wear one e'er so black,
Than be doom'd with mind so meek,
To undergo one 
Washing Week.

In my humble hut, at ease,
O grant me, Heaven a little peace!
Grant my mind a little rest,
And let my enemies, oppress'd,
Contend with thunder, wind, and waves,
When tempests howl, and ocean raves!
No! might revenge chastisement deal,
O! let them feel all that I feel,
Where I, in conner snug, my beak
Conceal, afraid to move or speak—
Sad victim of sweet 
Washing Week.

[Page 48]

THE NIGHTINGALE. SONG. XXXVII.

LOVELY tenant of the grove,
Queen of songsters, friend of love,
Sweetest warbler of the spray—
Why thus hate the solar ray,
Why so lonely and so coy,
Shunning every scene of joy,
Why delight in Luna's beam,
That silvers o'er the limpid stream

Learn, kind querist, in the shade,
Vows of muto
 [...]l love are made,
My voice inspires the genial glow,
That raptur'd lovers, only, know;
'Tis mine in some sequester'd haunt,
To bid the maiden's bosom pant,
To bid the willing vielding soul,
Submit to Cupid's sweet control.

I hate the glare of gairish day,
When Folly flaunts her hours away,
When noise and business, care and strife,
Emporson all the bliss of life.
But if my bosom fain would prove,
The balmy joys of generous love,
Hither hast when Luna's beam,
Silvers o'er the limpid stream.

[Page 49]

SONG XXXVIII. LITTLE ANNE.

CAN aught be more fair to the eye,
Than the blush of the maldenly year?
Can aught with the orchard bloom vie,
When in May its sweet blossoms appear?
Can aught like the eglantine please,
On the rose budding? Tell me, what can?
O thrice more attracting than these
Is the cheek of my sweet little Anne.

What can charm like the spring of the field,
When it trickles transparently by?
On what sweeter pleasure can yield,
Than a look on the gems of the sky?
What can win like the tremulous 
 [...]ew,
Which the zephyrs on gossamer fan?
O, thrice more enchanting to view,
Is the eye of my sweet little Anne.

Can aught like the morring delight
When is dawns 
 [...]; peaceable day?
Or bew
 [...]e
 [...] like the pi
 [...]net of right
When she steals in good humour away?
Is there aught like 
 [...]he s
 [...]e
 [...]ess of eve,
When serene as when nature began,
The sort sun takes his m
 [...]o
 [...] 
 [...] leave?
Yes, the smiler of 
 [...] 
 [...]le Anne.

Can aught more de
 [...]i
 [...]c
 [...]s be 
 [...]'d
Th
 [...] 
 [...]e ex
 [...]e fice fruit of the p
 [...]ne?
More 
 [...]v
 [...]ing can aught be groc
 [...]a
 [...]m'd
Than the elegant 
 [...] of the vine?

[Page 50] Is there aught can in flavor exceed
Ev'ry beverage precious to man?
O yes, these are tasteless indeed,
To the kiss of my sweet little Anne,

Thrice more than the sunsetting hour,
Or the dawn of the morning benign,
More delightful than spring's sweetest flow'
Or the mirth making juice of the vine,
More serene than the gems of the sky,
And more soft than the down of the swar
Is the cheek, is the lip, is the eye,
Is the smile of my sweet little Anne.

SONG XXXIX. ITALIAN.

DEAR is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and warbles there;
Close by my cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.

In orange groves and myrtle bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,

I charm the fairy-footed hours
With my lov'd lute's romantic sound;
Or crowns of living laurel weave,
For those that win the race at eve.

[Page 51]
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
The ballet danc'd in twilight glade,
The canzonet and roundelay
Sung in the silent green-wood shade;
These simple joys, that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.

HUMOUR. SONG XL.

To flatter great-men when dead, who never did any good when living, an excellent Poet (Dr. Golasmith) has contrived the following expedient, in order to avoid the wear and tear of conscience, when an eulogium must be attempted.

YE Muses! pour the pitying tear
For POLLIO, snatch'd away:
Oh! had he liv'd another year!
—
He had not died to day.

Oh! were he born to bless mankind
In virtuous times of yore,
Sages themselves had fallen behind!
—
Whene'er he went before.

How sad the groves and plaine appear,
And sympathetic sheep;
Ev'n pitying hills would drop a tear!
—
If hills hod learn'd to weep.

[Page 52]

His bounty, in exalted strains,

Each card might well display:

Since none implor'd relief in vain!

— That went reliev'd away.

And, hark! I hear the tuneful throng
His obsequies forbid;
He still shall live, shall live as long!
—
As ever DEAD MAN 
did!

THE REFORMED RAKE—[ORIGINAL.] SONG XLI.

AS free as air I've rov'd till now,
Lov'd every Maid but cautious how,
Ne'er languished but admir'd;
In every step I mark'd a grace,
I found a charm in every face,
A look my bosom fir'd

Oft times I've lov'd but knew n
 [...] smart;
Women are welcome to my heart,
As well the brown as fair;
And I pronounc'd the man uncone,
Who only dares to wed but one,
And wed a wife in care.

So much your sex possess my soul,
I could 
 [...]o less than love the whole,
Nor bound to one would be;
I flatter'd all, to all! bow'd,

[Page 53] Eternal love to all I vow'd,
Yet still my mind was free.

If e'er I saw a falling tear,
I promis'd fair but not sincere,
I pity'd and no more;
If e'er a moment's pain I knew,
I hie'd to some new fair—I flew,
And then my pain was o'er.

When rancour fell spread war's alarms,
And Cupid he proclaim'd to arms,
And wav'd his banners high;
As well in combat as in line,
Intrigue was all your sex with mine,
I fear'd no conquest nigh.

At last a fly discerning Maid,
In innocence found ambuscade,
And clos'd me from retreat;
I struggl'd but lay'd down my arms,
And own'd the force of female charms,
And smil'd at the defeat.

SONG XLII. A DREAM.—[NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.]

ONE night 
I dreampt 
I lay most easy
Down by a murmuring river's side,
Where lovely banks were spreak with daisy,
And pleasant streams did gently glide.

[Page 54] 'Twas still all around me and all over,
Spreading branches were display'd;
Till interwoven in due order,
They soon became a pleasant shade.

With sudden raptures of delusion,
Lull'd with slumber and sweet ease,

I thought 
I saw my lovely 
Susan
Through the green and blooming trees;
The moon gave light, 
I could discern her,

I saw my goddess move along;
With grace she mov'd each charming seature,
And thus the fair one sweely sung:

"You noisy winds give over blowing,
Cease awhile that 
I may hear,
If sweet 
Adonis be now roving
Thro the groves or vallies near.
"Ye friendly shades of night, convey me,
To adore my darling joy;
Ye Gods 
 [...]nd Goddesses, pray guide me,
T
 [...] my dear and darling 
Boy.

Then she s
 [...] down and tun'd her spinet,
Which made the groves to echo round,
And awoke the early lark and linnet,
Which in concert join'd her sound.
Gods! with what dignity she moved,
While her hair hung careless down;
Her milk-white breasts the moon disclosed,
Which might have gain'd a monarch's crown.

Then 
I fancy'd she drew near me,
With a blush and melting air;
While her aspect seem'd to fear me,

[Page 55] Ev'ry grace was center'd there.
Then in my arms with trembling kisses,

I enclos'd th' angelic dame;
While in the height of all my blisses,

I awoke—
It was a dream!

SONG XLIII. THE COUNTRY LIFE.

A SWEET country life is delightful & charming,
When walking abroad in a fine summer's morning;
Your cities, nor your towns, nor your lofty high towers,
Cannot be compared to my sweet shady bowers.

Your fiddle nor your fife, your flute, nor your spinet,
Cannot be compared to my lark and sweet linnet;
'Tis down as I lye on a sweet bed of roses,

I'm charm'd with the notes of the black birds and thrushes,

Young JEMMY, the plough-boy, gets up in the morning,
Feeding of his flock by the side of the fountain;
He sees lovely NANCY among the green rushes,
She sings sweeter notes than the black birds or thrushes.

In the sweet month of May she 
 [...] moun­tains,

[Page 56] Milking of her cows by the side of the fountains:
Your city's costly di'monds you may vainly fancy,
While 
I on banks of vi'lets am charm'd with my NANCY.

I value not a fig your silks nor your laces,
Your ribbonds, nor your gauzes, nor other excesses;
Her own country wearing, to me is most endearing;
Her pretty fringed mantle, her spinning and weav­ing.

And now to conclude my favorite song and ditty.

I ask my country fair ones, who dress neat and pretty,
Never to forsake their own country's employment,
The cities and the towns cannot give such enjoyment.

SONG XLIV. JEMMY'S BIRTH DAY.
[NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.]

'TWAS on one morning something soon
Twas early in the month of June,

I heard a tuneful voice;
Saying—O blessed be the morn,
On which my dear'st JEMMY was born,
Ye nymphs and swains rejoice.

Ten crowns, ten pounds 
I will maintain,
That 
I may sport upon the plain,

[Page 57] Where harmless flocks do play;
These harmless lambs shall comfort m
 [...],
Crown'd with fresh roses they shall be,
On this my dear JEMMY's birth-day.

O then 
I cast my eyes around,
The fairest creature there 
I found,
With whitest roses on;
But still she kept her constant tune.
Welcome, welcome sweet 
tenth of June,
Whereon my dear JEMMY was born.

I'll range the sea from shore to shore,
I'll view the spacious earth all o'er,
And ne'er forget my tune;
I'll drink his health in wine and beer,
His birth-day comes but once a year,
'Tis the auspicious 
tenth of June.

SONG XLV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

THE fair one is false to her word,
I seek her, but feek her in vain;
Can her lip of delight, so ador'd,
Oh! bid me of falihood complain?

How happy I welcom'd the morn!
How bright seem'd the sun to my eyes!
But ev'ning surveys me forlorn,
And her shadows descend on my sighs.

[Page 58]

Hope! whisper no more to my heart,

That to bless it my idol is near!

Fate dooms us forever to part,

And dashes my bliss with a tear [...]

Yet, bark! 'tis the voice of my love!
'Tis the music of PHILIDA'S tongue:
Ah! no, 'tis a sound from the grove;
Alas! 'tis the Nightingale's song.

SONG XLVI. A WISH.

MINE be a Cot beside a hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow oft beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her straw built nest
Oft shall the pilgrim list the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the d
 [...]w
And 
Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing,
In russer gown and apron blue.

The viliage church, among the tree
 [...],
Where first our marriage-vows were given,

[Page 59] With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point, with taper spire, to heav'n.

SONG XLVII. THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

I'M lonesome since I cross'd the hills,
And o'er the moors that's sedgy,
Such heavy thoughts my mind doth fill
Since parting from my Sally.
In search for one that's fine and gay,
And several doth remind me,
Blest be the hour I past away,
With the girl I left behind me,

The hours I remember well,
When constancy reminds me,
A pain within my breast I feel,
When first she own'd she lov'd me;
But now I'm bound to Brighton Camp,
Kind heaven then pray guide me,
And send me back safe home again,
To the girl I left behind me.

I'd tune my lays to sing her praise,
Had I the tougue of Homer,
With compliments most elegant,
I'd recompence my lover.

 [...]et the night be e'er so dark

 [...] e'er so wet or wi
 [...]dy,

[Page 60] I will return safe back again,
To the girl I left behind me.

Her golden hair in ringlets were,
Her eyes like di'monds shining,
Her slender waste, her carriage chaste,
She left the swain repining;
Ye gods above pray hear my prayer,
The beautions fair who binds me,
And send me safe back home again,
To the girl I left behind me.

The bee shall lavish, make no store,
The dove become a ranger,
The falling waters cease to roar,
Whene'er 
I mean to change her;
If ever I return that way,
And she has not declin'd me,
I'll reconeile myself and stay,
With the girl I left behind me.

SONG XLVIII. THE TEMPEST OF WAR.

LET the tempest of war
Be heard from afar,
With trumpets' and cannons' alarms
With trumpets' and cannons' alarms;
Let the brave, if they will,
By their valor and skill,
Seek honor and conquest in arms.

[Page 61]
To live safe, and retire,
Is what 
I desire,
Of my flocks and my Chloe possest;
For in them 
I obtain
True peace without pain,
And the lasting enjoyment of rest.

In some cottage or cell,
Like a shepherd to dwell,
From all interruption at case;
In a peaceable life,
To be blest with a wife,
Who will study her husband to pleases

SONG XLXI. FRIENDSHIP.

FRIENDSHIP to every willing mind
Opens a heav
 [...]nly treasure:
There may th
 [...] sons of 
 [...] find
Sources or real p
 [...]eatu
 [...]e.
See what emp
 [...]ymen
 [...]s men pursue,
Then y
 [...]u will 
 [...]wo
 [...]m
 [...] words are true;
Friendship alone un
 [...]olds to view
Sources of teal pleasure.

Poor are the j
 [...] which s
 [...]ols esteem,
Fading a
 [...]d 
 [...]ansit
 [...]ry;
Mir
 [...] is a 
 [...]e
 [...]ing as a dr
 [...]am,
O
 [...] a de
 [...]sive story;

[Page 62] Luxury leaves a fling behind,
Wounding the body and the mind;
Only in Friendship can we find
Pleasure and solid glory.

Beauty, with all its gaudy shows,
Is but a painted bubble;
Short is the triumph, wit bestows,
Full of deceit and trouble;
Fame, like a shadow, flees away,
Titles and dignities decay;
Nothing but Friendship can display
Joys, that are free from trouble.

Learning (that boasted glitt'ring thing)
Scarcely is worth possessing,
Riches, forever on the wing,
Cannot be call'd a blessing,
Sensual pleasures swell desire;
Just as the fuel feeds the fire;
Friendship can real bliss inspire,
Bliss that is worth possessing.

Happy the man who has a friend,
Form'd by the God of nature;
Well may he feel and recommend
Friendship for his Creator.
Then as our hands in Friendship join,
So let our social powers combine,
Rul'd by a passion most divine,
Friendship with our Creator.

[Page 63]

SONG L. JOCKEY TO THE FAIR.

'TWAS on the morn of sweet May day,
When nature painted all things gay,
Taught birds to sing, and lambs to play,
And gild the meadows rare:
Young Jockey early in the dawn,
Arose, and tript it o'er the lawn;
His Sunday's coat the youth put on;
For Jenny had vow'd away to run
With Jockey to the fair.

For Jenny had vow'd, &c.

The chearful parish bells had rung,
With eager steps he trudg'd along,
With flow'ry garlands round him hung,
Which shepherds us'd to wear:
He tapt the window—Haste my dear,
Jenny impatient, cry'd, who's there?
'Tis I, my love, and no one near;
Step gently down, you've nought to fear,
With Jockey to the fair.

My dad and mammy's fast asleep,
My brother's up, and with the sheep;
And will you still your promise keep,
Which I have heard you swear?
And will you ever constant prove?

I will by all the powers of love,
And ne'er deceive my charming dove;
Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love,
With Jockey to the sair,

[Page 64]
Behold the ring, the shepherd cry'd,
Will Jenny be my charming bride?
Let cupid be our happy guide,
And hymen meet us there.
Then Jockey did his vows renew,
He would be constant, would be true;
His word was pledg'd—away she flèw
O'er cowslips, tipt with balmy dew,
With Jockey to the fair.

In rapteres meet the joyful throng,
Their gay companions blithe and young;
Each join the dance, each join the song,
And hail the happy pair:
In turns there's none so fond as they,
They bless'd the kind propitious day,
The smiling morn of blooming May,
When lovely Jenny run away
With Jockey to the fair,

SONG LI. THE NUN.

SURE a lass in her blossom, at the age of nineteen,
Was ne'er so distress'd as of late 
I have been;

I know not, 
I vow, any harm 
I have done,
But mother oft tells me, she'll have me be nun.

But mother, &c.

Don't you think it a pity, a girl such as 
I.
Shou'd be sentenc'd to pray, and to fast and to cry;

[Page 65] With ways so devout I'm not like to be won,
And my heart it loves frolic too well for a nun.

To hear the men flatter, and promise, and swear,
Is a thousand times better to me, 
I declare;
I can keep myself chaste, nor by wiles be undone;
Nay, besides, I'm too handsome, 
I think, for a nun.

Not to love or be lov'd, oh, 
I never can bear,
Nor yield to be sent to—one cannot tell where,
To live or to die, in this case were all one;
Nay, 
I sooner would die, than be reckon'd a nun.

Perhaps but to teaze me, she threatens me so,
I'm sure were she me she wou'd stoutly say no;
But if she's in earnest, 
I from her will run,
And be married in spite, that 
I may'nt be a nun.

SONG LII. THE HERMIT.

AT the close of the day, when the Hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweet of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
'Twas then by the side of a mountain reclin'd,
A Hermit his nightly complaint thus began,
Tho mournful his 
 [...]mbers, his soul was resign'd
He thought as a sage, tho he felt as a man.

[Page 66]
"Ah! why thur abandon'd to darkness and woe,
Why thus lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?
For spring shall return, and a lover beslow;
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,
Mourn sweetest complainer, man calls thee to 
 [...]urn;
O sooth
 [...] him, whose pleasures like thine pass away,
Full quickly they pass—but they never return.

Now gilding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon half extinguish'd her cresent displaye,
But lately 
I mark'd, when majestic on high,
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again,
But man's faded glory what change shall renew!
Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;

I mourn, but ye woodlands, 
I mourn not for you
For morn is approaching your charms to restore,
Persom'd with fresh fragrance and glitt'ring with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter 
I mourn?
Kind nature the embryo 
 [...]l
 [...]ssom still save;
But when shall spring v
 [...] the mouldering 
 [...]n!
O when shall is d
 [...]wn on the night of the grave!

 [...], by the gla
 [...]e of false science betray'd,

 [...], and 
 [...]zzles to blind:

 [...] thought
 [...] we
 [...] to 
 [...]oam, from shade onward to sh
 [...]de,

 [...] before me and sorrow behind,

[Page 67] O pity great Father of light, then 
I cry'd,
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee!
Lo, humbled in dust, 
I relinquiso my pride;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.

And darkness and doubt are now flying away,
No longer 
I roam in conjecture sorlorn;
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effolgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom,
On the cold cheek of death smiles & roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

SONG LIII. THE MILK-MAID.

AS t'other day milking 
I sat in the vale.
Young Damon came up to address his soft late,
So sudden, 
I started, and gave him a frown,
For he frighted my cow, and my milk was kick'd down.

Lord bless the! says 
I, what a dence can you mean,
To come thus upon me, unthought of, unseen!

I ne'er will approve of the love you pre
 [...]end,
For, as muschief began, perhaps mischief may end.

I little thought now he'd his passion advance,
But p
 [...]tty c
 [...]s
 [...] made up the mis
 [...]honce,
He b
 [...]gg'd a kind kiss, which 
I gave him, I vow,
And 
I laid my own self, all the fault on the cow.

[Page 68]

How many ways love can the bosom invade?

His bait prov'd too strong, alas [...] for a maid;

Ho hinted that wedlock was what he'd be at,

But I thought it was best to say nothing of that.

I flatter all over where'er he comes nigh.
For if he should press, 
I should surely comply;
And ne'er shall be angry, my heart itself tells,
Tho' he stings down my milk, or does any thing elses

SONG LIV. RETURN, ENRAPTURED LOVE,

Composed by the unfortunate Maj. Andre, during hi [...] Confinement.

RETURN, enraptur'd hours,
When Delia's heart was mine;
When she with wreaths of flow'rs
My temples did entwine!
No jealousy nor care
Corroded in my breast,
And visions light as air
Presided o'er my rest.

Since I'm remov'd from state,
And bid adieu to time,
A
 [...] 
 [...] unhappy fate

 [...] not re
 [...]ne;
But ma
 [...] the mighty 
 [...]ove
H
 [...] 
 [...] with happiness
 [...]

[Page 69] This grant, ye pow'rs above!
And take my soul to bliss!

Now, hightly round my bed,
No airy visions play,
Nor flow'rets deck my head,
Each vernal holiday:
But far from these sad plains
The lovely Delia flier,
While rack'd with jcalous pains
Her wretched Andre dies.

SONG LV. THE SHEPHERDESS.

O'ER moorlands and mountains rude, barter, and bare,
As wearied and wilder'd I roam,
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,
And leads me o'er lawns to her home.
And leads me, &c.

Yellow sheafs from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd,
Green rushes were strew'd on the floor,
Her casements sweet woodbines crept wantonly round.
And deck'd the sod seat at her door.
And deck'd, &c.

[Page 70]

We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast,

Fresh fruit, and she cull'd me the best,

Whilst thrown from my guard by some glances she cast,

Love slily stole into my breast.

I told my soft wishes, she sweetly reply'd,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine)
I have rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd,
Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine.

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek,
So simple tho' sweet were her charms,
I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.

Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if on the banks by the stream,
Reclin'd on her bosom I sink into sleep,
Her image still soltens my dream.

Together we range o'er the slow rising hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,
Or rest on the rocks where the streamlet distills,
And mark out new themes for my muse:

To pomp or proud tides she ne'er coul'd aspire,
The damser's of humble descent;
The cottager Peace is well known for her sire,
The shepherds have nam'd her Content.

[Page 71]

SONG LVI. THE MILLER's WEDDING.

LEAVE, neighbours, your work, and to sport and to play;
Let the tabor strike up, and the village be gay;
No day thro' the year shall more cheerful be seen,
Nor Ralph of the Mill marries Sue of the Green.

CHORUS.
I love Sue, and Sue loves me,
And while the wind blows,
And while the mill goes,
Who'll be so happy, so happy as we?

Let lords and fine folks, who for wealth take a bride,
Be marry'd to day, and to-morrow be cloy'd;
My body is stout, and my heart is as sound,
And my love, like my courage, will never give ground.

CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.
Let ladies of fashion the best jointures wed.
And prudently take the best bidders to bed;
Such sighing and sealing's no part of our bliss,
We settle our hearts, and we seal with a kiss.

CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.
Tho' Ralph is not courdy, nor none of your beaus,
Nor bounces, nor statters, nor weats your fine cloaths,
In nothing he'll follow the folks of high life,
Nor e'er turn his back or his friend or his wife

[Page 72]

CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.

While thus I am able to work at my mill,

While thus thou art kind, and thy tongue but lies still,

Our joys shall continue, and ever be new,

And none be so happy as Ralph and his Sue:

CHORUS—I love Sue, &c.

SONG LVII, THE LINNETS.

AS bringing home the other day
Two Linnets 
I had ta'en,
The pretty warblers seem'd to pray
For liberty again.
Unheedful of their plaintive notes,

I sang acro's the mead;
In vain they tan'd their downy throats,
And flutter'd to be free'd.

As passing through the tufted grove,
Near which my cottage stood,

I thought 
I saw the queen of love
When Chlora's charms 
I view'd.

I gaz'd, 
I lov'd, 
I press'd her stay
To hear my cender tale;
But all in vain, she fled away.
Nor could my sighs prevail,

[Page 73]
Soon thro' the wound that love had made
Came pity to my breast:
And thus as 
I, her passion bade,
These feather'd pair address'd:
"Ye little warblers, chearful be,
Remember not ye flew;
For 
I, who thought myself so free,
Am far more caught than you."

SONG LVIII. OVER THE MOORS.

THE last time 
I came o'er the moor,

I left my love behind me;
Ye powers! what pain do 
I endure,
When soft ideas mind me?
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd
The beaming day ensuing,

I met betimes my lovely maid
In fit retreat for wooing.

Beneath the cooling shade we lay,
Gazing and chastely sporting;
We kiss'd and promis'd time a
 [...]ay,
Till night spread her black curtain.

I pitied all beneath the shies,
Ev'n kings, when she was nigh me.
In raptures 
I beheld her eyes,
Which could but ill deny me,

Sould I be call'd where cannons roar,
Where mortal steel may wound me.

[Page 74] Or cast upon some foreign shore,
Where dangers may surround me;
Yet hopes again to see my love,
To feast on glowing kisses,
Shall make my cares at distance move,
In prospect of such blisses.

In all my soul there's not one place
To let a rival enter;
Since she excels in ev'ry grace,
In her my love shall center.
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow,
Their waves the Alps shall cover;
On Greenland's ice shall roses grow,
Before 
I cease to love her.

The next time 
I go o'er the moor,
She shall a lover find me;
And that my faith is firm and pure,
Tho' 
I left her far behind me;
Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain
My heart to her fair bosom;
There, while my being does remain,
My love more fresh shall bloslom.

SONG LIX. CORYDON AND PHILLIS.

HER sheep had in clusters crept close to a grove,
To hide from the heat of the day:
And Phillis herself, in a woodbine alcove,
Among the sweet violets lays

[Page 75] A young lambkin, it seems, 
 [...]d been stolen from its dam,
('Twixt Cupid and Hymen a plot)
That Corydon might, as he search'd for his lamb,
Arrive at the critical spot.

As thro' the green hedge for his lambkin he peeps,
He saw the fair nymph with surprize;
Ye gods, if so killing, he cry'd, while she sleeps,
I'm lost if she opens her ey
 [...]s;
To tarty much longer would hazzard my heart,
I'll homeward my lambkins to trace.
But in vain honest Corydon strove to depart,
For love held him fast to the place.

Cease, cease, pretty birds, what a chirping yor keep,
I think you too loud on the spray;
Don't you see, foolish lark, that the charmer's asleep,
You'll wake her as sure as 'tis day.
How dare that fond butterfly touch the fond maid,
Her cheeks he mistakes for the rose,
I'd put him to death, if I was not afraid,
My boldness would break her repose.

Then Phillis look'd up with a languishing smile:
Kind shepherd, said she, you mistake;
I laid myself down for to rest me awhile,
But trust m
 [...]l've long been awake.
The shepherd took courage, advanc'd with a bow,
He plac'd himself down by he
 [...] side;
And manag'd the matter, I cannot tell how,
But yesterday made her his bride.

[Page 76]

SONG LX. THE HAPPY WARNING.

YOUNG Colin once courted Myrtilla the prude,
If he sigh'd or look'd tender she cried he was rude,
Tho' he begs with devotion, some ease for his pain,
The shepherd got nothing but frowns and disdain;
Fatigu'd with his folly, his suit he gave o'er,
And vow'd that no female should fetter him more.

He strove with all caution to escape from the net:
But Chloe soon caught him, a fluish'd coquette,
She glanc'd to his glances, she sigh'd to his sighs,
And flatter'd his hopes in the language of eyes,
Alas! for poor Colin, when put to the test,
Himself and his passion prov'd all but a jest.

By the critical third he was caught in the snare,
By Fanny, gay, young, unaffected, and fair;
When she found he had merit, and love took his part,
She dally'd no longer, but yielded her heart,
With joy they submitted to Hymen's decree,
And now are as happy as happy can be.

As the rose bud of beauty soon sickens and fades,
The prude and coquette are two slighted old maids,
Now their sweets are all wested, too la
 [...]e they repent,
For transports untasted, for moments mispent;
Ye virgins, take warning, improve by my plan,
And fix the fond youth when you prudently can.

[Page 77]

SONG LXI. YANKEE PHRASES.

AS sound as a 
nut o'er the plains;
I of late whistled, 
chock full of glee;
A stranger to sorrow and pain,
As happy, 
as happy could be.

As plump as a 
partridge I grew,
My heart being lighter than 
cork;
My slumbers were calmer than 
dew—
My body was fatter than 
pork.

Thus happy I hop'd I should pass,

Sleek as 
greess down the current of time,
But pleasures are brittle as 
glass,
Although as a 
fiddle they're fine.

Jemima, the pride of the vale,
Like a 
top, nimbly danc'd o'er our plains;
With envy the 
lasses were pale—
With wonder stood gaping the 
swains

She smil'd like a 
basket of chips—
As tall as a 
hay pole her size—
As sweet as 
molasses her lips—
As bright as a 
button her eyes,

Admiring, I gaz'd on each charm,
My peace that would trouble so soon,
And though not of danger nor harm,
Any more than a 
man in the moon,

[Page 78]

But now to my sorrow I find,

Her heart is as hard as a brick,

To my passion forever unkind,

Though of love I'm fell as a ti [...].

I sought her affections to win,
In hopes of obtaining relief,
Till I like a 
batchet grew thin,
And she like a 
haddock grew deaf,

I late was as fat as a doe,
And playsome and 
stright as a 
cat;
But now I'm as dull as a 
b
 [...],
And lean, and as week as a 
r
 [...]t.

Unless the unpitying fates.
With passions as ardent should 
cram her,
As certain as 
death or as 
rates,
I soon shall be dead as a 
hammer.

SONG LXII. JEMIMA, IN REPLY TO THE YANKEE PHRASES.

YE nymphs who unthinkingly rove,
As merry as 
crickets at eye:
Beware of 
Kadanda's false love—
For the shepherd will surely deceiver.

I once was as chearful as you,
And 
prar
 [...]'d like a 
co
 [...] o'er the plain,
While swift as an 
arret
 [...] I flew,
I laugh'd at each am
 [...]rou
 [...] swai
 [...]

[Page 79]

My locks were as black as a crow,

And I dress'd like a butterfly gay;

My skin was as white as the snow,

And I sung like a lark all the day.

As unfixt as the 
wind or the 
weather,
I car'd not a 
fig what was said;
My heart was as light as a 
feather,
But now it's as heavy as 
lead!

For of late, as I rambled the grove,

Kadanda I met the mean while:
He gaz'd—whin'd—and talk'd so of love
I thought his wo
 [...]ds smoother than 
 [...].

His eyes were as blue as the 
sky,
And his ringlets were 
 [...]os
 [...]er than 
silk;
His bosom was big with a sigh,
And his heart seem'd as warm as 
new milk,

His passion he swore was as strong
As 
mustard, and firm as a 
rock;—
That his love should continue as long—
I believ'd every word that he spoke!

He now has forsaken me quite,
Some other 
Jemima to follow;
But her favors the 
 [...] will slight,
For his heart, like a 
pumpkin is hollow.

I mourn li
 [...] a 
dove all the day,
And my face is grown lean as a 
r
 [...]ke:
My body is so pined away,
That I'm almost as poor as a 
s
 [...]ke

[Page 80]

My locks are grown grey as a rat,

Which the swains us'd to praise and admire,

And my eyes are as blind as a bat,

And with weeping become red as fire.

Now, flat as a 
pancake I lie;
By love—cruel love 
I'm undone;

I am sick as a 
horse,—and shall die
For 
Kadanda, as sure as a 
gun.

SONG LXIII. ODE TO APRIL.
ORIGINAL— First published in [...] MINERVA.

MILD as the beauty of fourteen,
Meek child of Auster, ope thine eye;
Assume thy waving robe of green,
Nor fear the blasts that faintly sigh.

Unveil, sweet Nymph, thy timid face,
Once more thy dimpled cheek display;
With silent step and modest grace,
Thro groves and woodlands steal thy way.

There quick unfold the embryo leaf,
And wake the warblers' Hyblean song;
Chase from the cot the form of grief,
And hush the sigh that floats along.

[Page 81]

Then trip with frolic step the plain,

And throw thy airy mantle wide;

Till nature, clad in green again,

Exults and laughs on every side.

Next deck the brooks' indented brink
With cowslips, pinks and vi'lets gay,
And while these flowers thy infl'ence drink,
Call forth the kids and lambs to play.

Last, to the garden's purlieus haste,
The snowdrops virgin bud unfold;
Enclose in green each arid waste,
And tinge the crocus' vest with gold.

'Tis done, and all the charms of Spring
Descend in mild but copious show'rs;
Hark! hear the groves with music ring,
Behold the grass, the plants, the flow'rs!

Winds of the North, restrain your breath,
Ye frosts, no more your wings expand!
Nor unrelenting doom to death
These beauteous works of April's hand.

For soon the Nymph will yield her sway
Without a sigh or wish to reign,
Press'd by her flaunting sister May;
Adorn'd with chaplets gay and vain.

[Page 82]

SONG LXIV. ON YOUNG OLINDA.

WHEN innocence and beauty meet,
To add to lovely female grace,
Ah, how beyond expression sweet,
Is every feature of the face!

By virtue ripen'd from the bud;
The flower angelic odours breeds;
The fragrant charms of being good
Makes gaudy vice to smell like weeds,

Oh, sacred Virtue! tune my voice,
With thy inspiring harmony;
Then I shall sing of rapt'rous joys,
Which fill my soul with love of thee;

To lasting brightness be refin'd,
When this vain shadow flies away;
Th' eternal beauties of the mind
Will last when all things else decay.

SONG LXV. REAL BEAUTY.

YOU tell me I'm handsome, (I know not how true)
And easy, and chatty, and good humour'd too;
That my lips are as red as the rose bud in June,
And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in tune,

[Page 83] All this had been told me by twenty before;
But he that would win me must flatter me more,
But he that would win me must flatter me more,

If beauty from virtue receive no supply,
Or prattle from prudence how wanting am I!
My ease and good humour short raptures will bring,
My voice, like the nightingale's, knows but a spring:
For charms such as these, then your praises give o'er,
To love me for life, you must love me still more,
To love me, &c.

Then talk not to me of a shape, or an air,
For Chloe the wanton can rival me there;
'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay,
And brightens good humour, as sunshine the day.
For that if you love me, your flame may be true,
And I, in my turn, may be taught to love too,
And I, in my turn, &c.

SONG LXVI. THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH.

ONE April morn, reclin'd in bed,
Just at the hour, when dreams are true,
A faity form approach'd my head,
Smiling beneath her mantle blue.

"Fie, fie," she cried, "why sleep so long
When she, the nymph you dearly love,

[Page 84] Now roves the vernal flowers among,
And waits for you in yonder grove."

"Hark, you may hear her cherub voice,
The voice of 
Health is sweet and clear;
Yes, you may hear the birds rejoice,
In symphony, her arbour near."

I rose and hasten'd to the grove,
With eager steps and anxious mind
I rose, the elfin's truth to prove,
And hop'd the promis'd nymph to find.

My fairy took me by the hand,
And cheerfully we stepp'd along;
She stopp'd, but on the new plough'd land,
To hear the russet wood-lark's song.

We reach'd the grove, I look'd around,
My fairy was no longer near;
But of her voice I knew the sound,
As thus she whisper'd in my ear.

"The nymph, lair 
Health, you come to find,
Within these precincts loves to dwell;
Her breath now fills the balmy wind;
This path will lead you to her cell."

I bended to the primrose low,
And ask'd if 
Health might there reside;
"She left me," said the fl
 [...]wer, "but now
For yonder vi'let's purple pride."

I qustion'd next the vi'let's queen,
Where buxom 
Health was to be found?

[Page 85] She told me that she late was seen
With cowslips toying on the ground.

Then thrice I kiss'd the cowslips pale,
And in their dew drops bath'd my face,
I told them all my tender tale,
And begg'd their aid coy 
Health to trace.

"From us," exclaim'd a lovely flower,
The nymph has many a day been gone,
But now she rests within the bower,
Where yonder hawthorn blooms alone."

Quick to that bower, I ran, I flew,
And yet no nymph I there could find;
But fresh the breeze of morning blew,
And spring was gay, and Flora kind.

If I return'd sed
 [...]te and slow,
What if the nymph I could not see?
The blusit that pase'd along my brow
Was proof of bet divinity.

And still her votary to prove,
And still her dulcet smiles to share,
I'll tread the fields, I'll haunt the groves,
With untir'd steps and fondest care.

[Page 86]

SONG LXVII. NEW FASHIONS.

[The late hair powder tax in Great Britain requires an annual guinea for the privilege of locks "well mealed." They who pay it are called "Guinea pigs." Unpowdered people are called "swine." [...]he term "crop" is applied to that prudent beau, who wears his hair short. The following is an excellent Song at the expence of these absurdities.]

GOOD people all attend to me, I'll sing a mer­ry tale sir;
About the various nove
 [...]ties and titles that prevail, sir,
For now both lords and ladies too, or wear the hair or wig, sir;
If they throw flour on their heads, are called Guin­ea Pigs, sir,
Squeak, squeak, squeak,
Pretty guinea pigs, sir,
Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Then for the rest, who
 [...] hungry maws a guinea can't afford, sir,
T
 [...] are by pride and folly's law, call'd Swine, upon my word, sir:
And if, to save appearances they clip their hair a­way sir,
Why, then, we call them simple crops, and laugh at them all day, sir,
Ha! ha! ha!
A pretty he
 [...]d of Swine, sir!
Grunt, grunt; grunt.

[Page 87]
Twas yesterday I saw a beau come tripping through a square, sir,
Two pounds of powder on his sconce, to screen his want of hair, sir,
He met a tailor on the road, a little dapper dog, sir,
And push'd him from him with disdain, crying, dam'me, you're a hog, sir,
Hog, hog, hog,
A little dirty hog, sir!
Hog, hog, hog.

The taylor bristl'd up his locks, and snapt his shears in fury,
Saying, tho' your tail is now so long, I warrant these shall cure ye;
To call a man like me a hog!—& a very pretty rig, sir!—
You saucy sn
 [...]b nos'd puppy dog, nay curse me, you're a pig, sir!
Pig, pig, pig,
A stupid long ta
 [...]l'd pig, sir,
Pig, pig, pig.

The taylor flourishing his shears, then seiz'd his tail so neatly,
That is a trice he whipt it off, he doekt him most completely;
The beau stood trembling by his side, while stich louse, full of gig, sir,
Cry'd, Smoke a beau, who's lost hie ta
 [...]l! a stump tail'd Guinea pig, sir,
Crop, crop, crop,
A pig without a tail, sir,
Crop, crop, crop.

[Page 88]
Then we have coats without the skirts, call'd Spen­cers, by the mob, sir,
And hat
 [...] with crowns twelve inches round, to fit each kiddy's o
 [...], sir,
Besides our ladies in their caps have feathers niddy noddy, sir,
And round their necks they puddings were, and gowns without a body, sir,
Oh! oh! oh!
Our ladies have no bodies, sir,
No, no, no.

Likewise our females, on their heads place turbans, like a Turk, sir,
And golden chains hang down their breasts, of orn
 [...] ­mental work, sir,
Those beauties they contrive to shew, which poor men soon bewitches,
Indeed, I'm told it for a fact, they often wear the breeches,
Lack! lack! lack!
Women wear the breeches, sir,
Lack! lack! lack!

Now prosper well, my neighbors all, and let th
 [...] fashions pass, sirs,
May every one have health and strength both pig and swinish class, sirs,
Then let us always merry be, or hot or cold the weather,
And may we ever well agree like loving pigs to­gether,
Bow, wow, wow,
Fal de riddle, tiddle iddle,
Bow, wow, wow.

[Page 89]

SONG LXVIII. THE DECLINE OF AUTUMN

THE bosom of earth is all matted with leaves,
The honors of autumn decay;
Brown Ceres no longer exhibits her sheaves
To the golden ey'd monarch of day.
With dissonant guns, hills and vallies resound,
The swains through the cuppices rove;
The partridges bleed on the arable ground,
The pheasants lie dead in the grove.

The coats of the hedges look languidly green,
The swallows relinquish the meads;
Rude winter approaches with horrible mien,
The flowers give place to the weeds.
The Sun too is lazy, and slumbers a bed,
As loathing so early to rise;
When risen, how dim looks his vapoury head,
How faint he illumines the skies.

No more on the poles hang the clustering hops,
Or form a magnificent shade,
No more on the skirts shines the flowery drops,
For Autumn, their nurse, has decay'd.
The gale that was wont to approach us so kind
Grows sharp and flies hastily by;
To give us sweet kisses no longer inclined,
It bids the tear start from my eye.

O see, while I speak, from the gun's level'd 
 [...]im
Death pierces the birds of the air;
Ye rovers, will naught your hard conduct reclaim.

[Page 90] And move your hard boi
 [...]s to spare?
No nothing, ye cry 
 [...]ich onani
 [...]ous voice,
While ridicult tells from your 
 [...]ngu
 [...],
Ye think not, ye cruel o
 [...]es, us ye rejoic
 [...].
How once the poor innoc
 [...]nt
 [...] sung!

To others such baroa
 [...]ous soor
 [...]s I r
 [...]fig
 [...],
And fi
 [...] to my 
 [...]lorime
 [...]'s ari
 [...]s;
Her 
 [...]a
 [...]ctisied love shall be totally mine,
Fo
 [...] cirtue adds force to her charms,
On the base of religion, my fair, may 
 [...],
To crown 
 [...]s with bloestings, 'tw
 [...] give
 [...]
To 
 [...]i
 [...] our fouls mount from the earth to the skies,
And give as a foretaste 
 [...]f 
 [...].

SONG LXIX. THE UNIVERSITY. A new Song.

WHENE'ER with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true,
Who studied with me at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.

(Weeps, and pulls out a blue bandkerchief, with which he wipes his eyes;—gazing [...]derly at ist, he proceeds)—

Sweet 'kerchief, check'd with heave
 [...]ly blue
Which once my love 
 [...] in;
Alas! Matilda then was true,
At least, I thought so as the U—

[Page 91] —niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.

(At the repetition of this line, Rogens clanks his chains in cadence.)

Barb
 [...]! barb
 [...]! alas! how swist you hew,
Her ne
 [...] po
 [...] waggon trotting in!
Y
 [...] bo
 [...]e Matilda from my view:
For
 [...]o
 [...]n I languisned at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.

This saded form! this pallid hue;
This blood my veine is clotting in,
My years a
 [...] many, they were few
When fi
 [...]l I entered at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.

There first for thee m
 [...] passi
 [...]n grew.
S
 [...]ea! sweet Matilda Pottingen!
Thou wast the d
 [...]ghter of my Tu­tor,
Law Profess
 [...]r at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.

Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu!
That kines and priests are plotting in;
Here doom'd to staive 
 [...]n watter gru­ol,
never shall I fee the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.

[Page 92]

SONG LXX. INVITATION [...]O SPRING.— Original.

By a Young LADY— [...]irst published in the MINERVA.

AGAIN, thou rosy dimpled Maid return!
And on the wings, of zephyrs borne,
Come waft your genial gales;
Scatter your fragrance all around,
With flow'ry carpets spread the ground
And dress our hills and dales.

And when we view, with gladsome eyes,
Those various seenes which round us rise,
How rapt'rous is the sight!
May they call forth our praise and love
To him who reigns supreme above,
With wonder and delight.

He sends his blessings all around,
With choicest gifts our days are crown'd
And pleasures on us wait;
Tho oft we see our wishes flown,
And pleasing expectation gone,
We count our mis'ry great.

What if we can't his meaning trace,
Yet just and right are all his ways,
And for improvement sent;
Do not then murmur nor repine,
But always bless the hand divine,
And banish discontent.

[Page 93]
Let virtue be our guide and friend,
And prudence all our steps attend—
Our faces light with smiles;
No wint'ry clouds should lower there,
But reigh sweet SPRING, thro'out the year,
To sweeten all our toils.

When Summer comes in brighter blaze,
And o'er our land Sol pours his rays,
With his all conquering heat;
May no infectious ills prevail,
But health be wafted with each gale—
Thus, grows our BLISS complete.

SONG LXXI. THE GRASSHOPPER.

Set to Music, by E. Ma [...].

LITTLE insect that on high,
On a spire of springing grass,
Tipsy with the morning dew,
Free from care thy life doth pass:

So may'st thou, companion sole,
Please the lonely mower's ear,
Where no treach'rous winding snake.
Lurks beneath to work thy fear.

At in chirping plaintive notes,
Then the hasty sun doth chide,
And thy murm'ring music floats,
Summer's charming to abide.

[Page 94]

If a pleasant day arrive,

Soon a pleasant day is gone,

While we reach to seize the prize,

Swift the winged bliss is flown.

Pain and sorrow dwell with us,
Pleasure scarce a moment reigns,
Thou thyself find'st summer short,
But the winter long remains.

SONG LXXII. A BALLAD,—

By Robert Burns, E [...].

THEIR groves c' sweet mystal, let foreign lands reckon.
Where bright beaming summers exhale the per­fume,
Far dearer to me, yon long gren o' green breeckan,
With the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.

Far dearer to me yon humble bronm bowers,
Where the blue-bell and goman lurk lowly un­seen;
For there, lightly troping, among the wild flowers,
A lisi'ning the honet, oft wanders my Jean.

The rich is the breeze, in their gay funny vallies,
And call'd Caiedonis blast on the wave;

[Page 95] Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud pallace,
What are they?—the haunt of the tyrant & slave!

The slave's spicy forests, and gold b
 [...]bb
 [...]ing foun­tains,
The brave Caledonian views. wi
 [...] disdain;
He wanders as free as the wind on the mountains,
Save love's willing fetters, the chain
 [...] of his Jean.

SONG LXXIII. HOPE AND FEAR.

HOPE and fear alternat
 [...] 
 [...]ising.
Strive for empire o'er my heart;
Ev'ry peril now despising,
Now at ev'ry breath I start.

Teach, ye learned sages, teach me,
How to stem this beating tide;
If 
 [...]ea've any enles, to teach me,
Haste and be the week one's guide.

Thus our trials, at a distance,
Wisdom's science promise aid;
Ye
 [...], 
 [...]o need of their astistance,
We attemce to grasp a f
 [...]ace,

[Page 96]

SONG LXXIV. SINCERITY.

BELIEVE my sighs, my tears, my dear,
Believe the heart you've won;
Believe my vows to you sincere,
Or, Peggy, I'm undone:
You say I'm fickle, apt to change
At every face that's new;
Of all the girls I ever saw,
I ne'er lov'd one like you.

My heart was once a flake of ice;
Till thaw'd by your bright eyes;
Then warm'd and kindled in a trice
A flame that never dies:
Then take and try me, and you'll find
A heart that's kind and true;
Of all the girls I ever saw,
I ne'er lov'd one like you.

SONG LXXV. THE PRUDENT BACCHANALIAN.

WHERE social mirth with pleasure reigns,
We joc
 [...]ndly repair:
And Bacchus fills our sprightly veins
With antedotes to care.

[Page 97]

But, lest the jolly god should claim

More worship than his due,

The glass is held by Reason's dame,

Who seeks her tribute too.

To please them both should be our care,
For much to both we owe;
She arms us strong against despair,
And he despels our woe.

Then who to either doth refuse,
Shall find this fatal truth;
A dullness one will sure produce,
The other rob his youth.

SONG LXXVI. FRIENDSHIP.

THIS world, my dear MIRA, is full of deceit,
And 
Friendship's a jewel we seldom can meet;
How strange does it seem, that in searching around,
The source of 
Content is so rare to be found!

When 
Fortune is smi
 [...]ing, what crouds do appear,
Their i
 [...]dness to of
 [...]er—their friendship sincere!
Yet change but the prospect, and point out distress,
No longer to coart you, they'll cagerly press.

How mu
 [...]h to be priz'd and 
 [...] it a 
friend,
In whom we may a
 [...]ways with 
 [...]ty depend

[Page 98] Our joys, when extended, will always increase,
And our griess, when divided, are hush'd into peace.

O grant me kind Heaven, a friend that's sincere,
To soften each grief and dissolve ev'ry care;
Who's sweet conversation is void of deceit,
Whose moral instructions are always a replete.

O 
 [...]hen how co
 [...]ented I'd pass this long life!
Now nothing but sorrows, imbitter'd with strife!
With joy, too, I'd wait the approach of my end,
And cheerfully die in the arms of my FRIEND.

SONG LXXVII. THE SLEIGH RIDE.

WHAT pleasure can compare
To a seighing with the Fair,
In the evening, the evening, in cold and frosty weather?
When rapidly we go,
As we 
gingle o'er the snow,
And tantarra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza! and tantarra sings ev'ry brave 
 [...]llow.

When to 
Watertown we get,
And the 
 [...] on the spit,

 [...] we dance, boys, we dance, boys, and drive away all 
 [...],
'Tis 
 [...]en your m
 [...]k and tea

 [...]e place to strong sangree,

[Page 99] And we banish, huzza! we banish, huzza! and we 
 [...]anish the C
 [...]res of tomorrow.

When the turkey's roasted brown,
To the supper we sit down,
And keep it up, and keep it up, sings ev'ry Jovial fellow;
With the wine glass in his hand,
H
 [...] never makes a stand,
But 
guzzler, huzza! but 
guzzler, huzza! and 
guzzles, it away till he's mellow.

Now for 
Boston we prepare,
And the night is cold and clear,
And we're 
stowing close, we're 
stowing close, because it's chilly weather;—
O then what 
fun we feel,
When the sleigh it takes a heel,
And we're 
huddl'd, huzza! and we're 
huddl'd, huz­za! and we're 
huddl'd brave boys altogether.

'Tis then the ladies cry

O lad
 [...]—O dear!—O my!
And we 
scrabble, boys—we 
scrabble, boys, all from the 
 [...]nowy weather:
Then in the sl
 [...]igh again,
Do we 
scamper o'er the plain,
And cantarra, huzza! and cantarra, huzza! and can­tarra sings ev'ry brave sellow.

[Page 100]

SONG LXXVIII. THE PURSUIT.

HOW sweet through the woodlands, with fleet hound and horn,
To waken shrill echo, and taste the fresh morn:
But hard is the chase my sond heart must pursue,
Since Daphne, fair Daphne is lost to my view.

Affist me, chaste Diana, the nymph to regain,
More wild than the roe-buck, and wing'd with disdain;
In pity o'ertake her, who wounds as she flies,
Though Daphne's pursu'd, 'tis Myrtillo that dies.

SONG LXXIX. SALLY.

Set to Music by Holeyoke.

MY Sally is fair as the flow'rs,
Which the face of the vallies adorn;
She is sweet as the rose after show'rs,
And brushing, and mild as the morn.

In her carriage, whenever she moves,
Such ease and such elegance shine,
That surely the graces and loves,
Have conspir'd to make her divine,

But shepherds, ah! great is my pain,
Her breast is a stranger to love,

[Page 101] My vows she rejects with disdain,
No entreaties the virgin can move,

When I meet the fair nymph in the grove,
And tell her how hard is my lot,
She will not give ear to my pain,
But hastens away to her cot.

Then whither, ah tell! shall I rove?
Or where, shall I seek for relief.
I'll make my sad plaints to the groves,
And the hills shall reecho my grief.

But still with fond hopes I am blest,
Methinks she will pity my state;
Then Sally, speak peace to my breast,
And pity before 'tis too late.

SONG LXXX. BEAUTIES of the MIND and the FORM compar [...].

STELLA and Flavia every hour
Unnumber'd hearts surprize;
In Stella's mind rests all her power,
But Flavia's in her eyes

More boundless Flavia's conquests are,
And Stella's more confin'd;
A
 [...]l can discern a face that's 
 [...]air.
But few a lovely mind.

[Page 102]

O'er rea [...]ms enrich'd where plenty sm [...]es,,

Is tandes Stella's reign;

While Flavia o'er unbounded wilds

Extends her vast domain.

Cease, Flavia, then to boast your face,
Your beauty's only store,
Each day will m
 [...]ke thy charms decrease,
But add to Stelin more.

SONG LXXXI. THE HUE AND CRY.

OYES, my good people draw near,
My story surpasses belief;
Yet deign for a moment to hear,
And assist me to eatch a stray thief.

Have you chane'd a fair damsel to meet,
Adorn'd like an angel of light,
In a robe that flow'd down to her seet,
No snow on the mountains so white?

Silver flowers bespangl'd her shoe,
Amber locks on her shoulders were spread,
Her waist had a glrdle of blue,
And a beaver plum'd hat had her head.

Her sleps an impression scarce leave;
She bounds 
 [...] the meadow so soon.

[Page 103] Her smiles are like Autumn's clear eve,
And her looks as serene as his noon

She seems to have nothing to blame,
Deceitful and meek as the dove;
But there lives not a thief of such fame,
She has pilfer'd below and above.

Her cheek has the blushes of day,
Her neck has outdone the swan's wing;
Her breath has the odours of May,
And her eye has the dew of the spring.

She has robb'd of its crimson, the rose,
She has dar'd the carnation to strip,
The bee who has plunder'd them knows,
And would fain fill his hive at her lip,

She has stol'n for her forehead so ev'n
All beauty by sea and by land,
She has all the fine azure of heav'n
In the veins of her temple and hand,

Yes, yes, she has ransack'd above,
And beggar'd both nature and art;
She has got all we honour and love;
And from me she has pilfer'd my heart,

Bring her home, honest friend, bring her home,
And set her down safe at my door,
Let her once my companion become,
And I swear she shall wander to more.

Bring her home, and I'll give a reward,
Whose va
 [...]ue can never be told;

[Page 104] More precious than all you regard,
More in worth than a house full of gold.

A reward such as none but a dunce,
Such as none but a madman would miss;
O yes, I would give you, for once,
From the charmer you bring me—a Kiss.

SONG LXXXII. THE WILLOW.

GENTLE willow, lend thy shade,
Hang thy sheltering foliage low,
Screen, ah screen a wandering maid,
Screen her from yon world of woe.

Lower still thy branches bend,
Waving as the zephyrs play,
Till they to the stream descend,
And shield me from oppressive day.

So may that stream unceasing flow,
And deck thee in eternal green!
So may thy shade yet deeper grow,
Till not a sunbeam pierce between!
And Philomel with sweetly plaintive song,
Forever chant thy verdant boughs among!

[Page]

PART II. AMERICAN PATRIOTIC SONGS.

SONG I. HAIL COLUMBIA.

HAIL Columbia! happy land!
Hail ye heroes, heaven-born band,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone
Enjoy'd the peace your valor won—
Let Independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost,
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm, united let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.

[Page 106]
Immortal PATRIOTS! rise once more,
Defend your rights, defend your shore;
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Invade the s
 [...]rine where sacred lies,
Of toil and blood, the well-earn'd prize.
While offering peace, sincere and just,
In Heaven we fix a manly trust,
That truth and justice will prevail,
And every scheme of bondage fail—
Firm, united let us be,
Rallying, &c.

Sound, sound the trumph of Fame,
And let WASHINGTON'S great name
Ring thro' the world with loud applause,
Ring thro' the world with loud applause,
Let ev'ry clime to freedom dear,
Listen with a joyful ear,
With equal skill, with god-like power,
He governs in the fearful hour
Of horrid war, or guides with ease,
The happier times of honest peace.
Firm, united let us be,
Rallying, &c.

Behold the Chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,
The rock on which the storm will beat,
The rock on which the storm will beat,
But arm'd in virtue, firm and true,
His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and You.
When hopes were sinking in dismay,
When glooms obs
 [...]'d Columbia's day,

[Page 107] His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolv'd on Death or Liberty.
Firm, united let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.

SONG II. ADAMS AND LIBERTY.

YE sons of Columbia who bravely have fought,
For those rights, which unstain'd from your sire
 [...] had descended,
May you long taste the blessings your valour has bought,
And your sons raap the soil which your fathers defended.
Mid the reign of mild peace,
May your nation increase,
With the glory of Rome and the wisdom of Greece,

And ne'er may the sons of Columbia be staves,

While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its wavest.

In a clime, whose rich vales feed the marts of the world;
Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commo­tion,
The Trident of commerce should never be hurl'd,
To incense the legitimate powers of the ocean.
But should P
 [...]rates invade,
Though in thunder arry'd,

[Page 108] Let your cannon declare the free charter of trader

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway
Had justly ennobled our nation in story,
Till the dark cloud of faction obseur'd our young day,
And envelop'd the sun of American glory;
But let Traitors be told,
Who their Country have sold,
And barter'd their God for his image in gold,

That ne'er will the sons, &c.

While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And society's base threats with wide dissolution;
May Peace, like the Dove, who return'd from the flood,
Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution!
But though peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,
If bought by our sov'reignty, justice or fame.

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

'Tis the fire of the stint, each American warins;
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision
Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms.
We're a World by ourselves, and disdain a divi­sion.
While, with patriot pride,
To our Laws we're allied,
No foe can subdue us, no faction divide;

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Our mountains are crown'd with imperial oak,
Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nour­ish'd;

[Page 109] But long ere our nation submits to the yoke,
Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flour­ish'd.
Should invasion impend,
Every grove would descend
From the hill tops they shaded, our shores to defend,

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm,
Left our liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion;
Then let clouds thicken round us, we heed not the storm,
Our rea'm fears no shock, but the earth's own e
 [...]plesion.
Fots 
 [...]til us in vain,
Though their fleets bridge the main,
For our altars and laws with our lives we'n maintain,

And ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Should the tempest of war overshadow our land,
Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder;
For, unm
 [...]v'd at its portal, would WASHINGTON stand,
And rep
 [...]he with his bre
 [...]t the assaults of the thunde
His sword from the 
 [...]
O
 [...]h seabbard, w
 [...] 
 [...],
And cored
 [...] with its point, every 
 [...]n to the deep.

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Let Fame to the world sound Ameri
 [...] vai
 [...]e:
No intrigue can her sons from their Government;

[Page 110] Her pride is her ADAMS—his Laws are her choice,
And shall flourish till Liberty slumbe's forever!
Then unite heart and hand,
Like Leonidas' band.
And swear to the God of the ocean and land,

That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,

While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls its waves.

SONG III. INDEPENDENCE.— For the 4th of JULY.

FOR ages on ages by Tyrany bound,
The Genius of Freedom in fetters was kept,
Truth, reason and virtue reclined around,
Nor wonder'd religion, why liberty slept.

The regions of day whence that Sol wheels his car,
Were lost to the splendors of life giving light;
And Europe herself though she beam'd as a star,
Saw the portal of morn, oft clouded by night.

At length from his chambers near 
Schuylkill's domain,
Burst forth on the world, in a moment of time,
The full Sun of truth in the person of 
Paine,
And instant he fir'd all the westernmost crime.

The lightning that stream'd from his heav'n form'd eye,
As electrical fire soon melted each chain,
And blest Independence, the fourth of July,
On aquiline pinions swift sped o'er the main.

[Page 111]

Old Europe astonish'd was smote with dismay,

Her tyrants turn'd pale as they read the decree;

While myriads of men who in slavery lay,

Exulting pronounc'd, "let us dare to be free."

Here's a health to the morn—'tis mark'd as divine,
The noble
 [...]t, the grandest of works is begun,
And 
Paine in the zenith of glory shall shine,
Till nature's right hand aims a blow at the sun.

SONG IV. LIBERTY.

UNFOLD, Father 
Time, thy long records unsold
Of noble atchievements accomplish'd of old;
When men, by the standard of Liberty led,
Undauntedly conquer'd, or cheerfully 
 [...]led;
But know, 'midst the triumphs these moments reveal,
Their glories shall fade, and their lustre turn pale;
Whilst France rises up and confirms the decree,
That tears off her chains, and bids millions be free.

As spring to the fields or as dew to the flower,
To the earth parch'd with hear, as the suft dropping shower;
As health to the wretch that lies languid and wan,
Or as rest to the weary, is freedom to man:
Where freedom the light of her countenance gives,
There only he revels, there only he lives;
Seize then the glad moment, and holl the decree,
That bids millions rejoice, and a nation be free.

[Page 112]
Too long had oppression and terror entwin'd,
Those fancy-form'd chains that enslave the free mind;
Whilst dark superstition with nature at strife,
Had lock'd up for ages the fountains of life:
But the daemons are fled, the delusion is past,
And reason and virtue have conquer'd at last;
Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree,
That bids millions rejoice, and a nation be free.

France! we share in the rapture thy bosom that fills,
Whilst the spirit of 
Liberty bounds o'er thine hills.
Redundant, benceforth, may thy purple juice flow,
Prouder wave thy green woods, and thine olive trees grow:
For thy brows may the hand of philosophy twine,
Blest emblems! the myrtal, the olive and vine;
And 
Heav'n thro' all ages confirm the decree,
That tears off thy chains, and bids millions be free.

SONG V. The POLITICAL PARSON.

FULL twenty years, an honest man in black,
Wroth with the Pope, seven times a week did pray
That the old 
"scarlet whore" might go to wreck,
And soundly for his prunks and mischiefs pay.
In hopes the full assent of Heaven to win.
He importun'd, "Bring down that man of fin,
That Antichrist, who with a mitred crown,

[Page 113] Exalts himself at home,
Where poor St. Peter once did roam,
With pilgrim staff, no shoes, and sackcloth gown—
That Antichrist, who keeps the keys of Heaven,
Seated on mountains seven:
Avenge! avenge! (he utter'd with a grin)
All who have suffer'd by the man of Sin!"

Heav'n heard, at last, the good man's constant pray'r,
And bade the 
Sans Cullotes to Rome repair—
Those bloody dogs, whom parsons hate,
Yet seem to be cominissioners of fate,
To do the very thing some people pray'd for,
And, but for them, might long enough have staid for.
Down came the Pope, his mitre crown, and all
Europe re-echoing to his fall!
No more he gave indulgencies—no more
Assum'd Heav'n's bolts—his reign was o'er!
He fled, a vagrant, from that ancient town,
Where heroes once, of high renown,
Kings, emp'rors, senates, sent their legions fort',
Reduc'd the south—subou'd the north—
Turo' eastern worlds enfore'd their vast domain,
And westward, till no world, but ocean, did remain.

"Now (said a deacon) Priest, you have your wish!
The 
Sans Cullotes of France with fire and sword!
Have giv'n his Holiness the wish'd for dish—
Exile, expulsion—liberty restor'd.
Lo! how your pray'rs are answer'd! Heav'n is good,
The Pope, this momant, wanders without food,
Starving on some inhospitacle coast;
While 
Peter's keys to better hands they trust,
Who dare not sell Heav'n's rights—the conquer­ing host;

[Page 114] To whom was a stupendous task assign'd—
They, by dethroning Kings, regenerate mankind."

The Priest reply'd, "Deacon, you're mad I fear,
Those Infidels of France were never meant
Popes to dethrone: The matter, then, is clear,
This cannot be the final, grand event,
For which our order pray'd full many a year.
This priest, call'd Pope, sin's man, or scarlet whore,
We clergy must restore 
 [...]h
 [...]m to his pow'r,
And pray against the French—I say no more.
For tho' the Pope mght be a beast,
I'd have them know,
(This Gallic crew)

That none but Priests should maul a brother Priest,

SONG VI. COLUMBIA.

By the Rev. Dr. DWIGHT of Connecticut.

COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies!
Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold,
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold.

Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime;
Let the crimes of the East ne'er encrimson thy name,
Be freedom and science, and virtue, thy fame.

[Page 115]

To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire;

Wheimn nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire;

Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,

And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.

A world is thy realm; for a world be thy laws;
Enlarg'd as thine empire, and just as thy cause;
On freedom's broad basis, thine empire shall rise,
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.

Fair science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the East see thy morn hide the beams of her star,
New bards, and new sag
 [...]s, unrivah'd shall soar
To same, unextinguish'd, when time is no more;

To thee, 
 [...]he last refuge of virtue design'd;
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind;
Here grateful to Heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And genius and beauty in harmony blend
The graces of form shall awake pore desire,
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire;

Their sweetness unmingl'd, their manners refin'd,
And virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind,
With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.

Thy fleets to all regions thy pow'r shall display.
The nations admire, and the ocean obey;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the East and the South yield their spices & gold.

[Page 116]

As the day spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow,

And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow,

While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl'd,

Hash the tumult of war, and give peace to the world,

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread,
From war's dread confusion I pensively stray'd—
The gloom from the face of fair heav'n retir'd;
The winds ceas'd to murmur; the thunders expi
 [...]'d;

Perfumes, as of Eden, flow'd sweetly along,
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sang.
"Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies."

SONG VII. COLUMBIA RELIEVED.

TO a mouldering cavern, the mansion of woe,
COLUMBIA did often repair;
She tore the fresh laurel that bloom'd on her brow,
And threw it aside in despair.
She wept for the safe of her sons that were slain
When the flames of fierce battle were spread,
When discord and carnage, relaxing the rein,
Rode smiling o'er moun ain of dead.

As thus the bright goddess revolv'd in her breast
The wrongs which her country had borne,
A form more than human the genius address'd,

[Page 117] "Ah cease, fair COLUMBIA, to mourn.
How lift up thine eyes and thy records behold,
Inscrib'd in the archives of 
Fame,

The fourth of July, in rich letters of gold,
Foretels the renown of thy name.

From the caverns of darkness thy day-spring shall dawn,
Ye kings and ye tyrants, beware;
Your names shall decay like the vapours of morn,
Or vanish in phantoms of air.
Thy temple, O FREEDOM, with grandeur shall rise,
Unshaken by tyranny's blast;
Its basis the earth, and its summit the skies,
And firm 'as creation shall last."

CHORUS.

Then rouse, fair COLUMBIA, 
to glory aspire;

All nature with transport shall gaze:

B'en now the dark shadows of discord retire,

And Europe is lost in thy blaze.

SONG VIII. BROTHER JONATHAN.
[Perhaps not out of season.]

I WONDER what the racket means,
A cutting of such capers;
The Parson says the French are mad,
He read it in the papers,

[Page 118]

CHORUS.

Heigh bo! Billy Bow,

I b'lieve the War's a coming:

'N' if it does, I'll get a gun,

Soon's I hear them drumming.

He says as how they steal our ships,
Wherever they can get 'em;
But fags, if I were one o' the folke,
I guess I'd shoot and hit 'em.

An' father says, they told him poz,
When he was down to Boston,
They took a swingin sight of goods;
Now I forgot the cost ont.

I think it's darned wrong, be sure,
Because we us'd 'em clever;
An' uncle vums a sailor works
Much harder than a weaver.

But rot 'em all, if that's their cut,
Mayhap they'll come to mob us;
An' so we'd better drive 'em off,
Before an' they can grab us.

An' Debby talks, if I will go,
She'll wait a year to marry;
Tho' I'm afraid to stay so long,
For fear of that there Harry.

An' I heard 'em say, a training day,
That Washington's a going;
An' Capen Toby sweare they'll fall
Like grass when he's a mowing

[Page 119]

He said, that once in t'other wars,

He run right at the bullets;

An' never minded grenadiers

No more than we do pullers.

But, deuce, I'd rather stay at home
A making wall an' haying;
An' so had Capen too, I guess,
But I 'spose there'll be no 
staying!

SONG IX. THE BLACK COCKADE—Original,

By J. L. Poor Words

to a rich Tune.

GIVE me the lad with black Cockade,
Who shews his firelock handy;
And will not sneak nor he afraid
To give the French the dandy—

Yankee doodle, doodle do,

Brimming fill your glasses;

Fight for Father, Mam and Sue,

Corn, and pork, and lasses.

Nathan sung a deuced song,
About the British nation—
As how they came, like wildcats strong,
And threaten'd us starvation:

But yankee doodle, doodle do,

We brimming fill' dour glasses.

And fought for Father, Mam and Sue.

And saved our corn, fork, and lasses

[Page 120]
And now the Frenchmen want to cat
Us out of house and home, sir,
By g
 [...]ngs, we'll give them a full treat,
When e'er they choose to come, sir—

Yankee doodle, doodle do,

Brimming fill your glasses—

Fight for Father, Mam and Sue,

Corn, and pork, and 'lasses.

Jeremy Harrow vow'd he'd go
To see 'Squire Acorn's Hitry—
I vamp, he'd stump thro' hail and snow,
Because she looks so pretty.

Yankee doodle, &c.

And when he got up to the door,
He heard a nation pother;
The 'Squite he stampt upon the floor,
And nighted His and Mother—

Yankee doodle, &c.

Why, what the duce I cryed Jeremy—
A staring like stuck pig, sir—
To see the 'Squire so plaguy high,
As it he'd burn his wig, sir.

Yankee doodle, &c.

Quoth 'Squire, I've sped from gen'ral court,
The French a
 [...]e all a coming—
And neighbor Corns alk vo
 [...]'d and swore't,
He hear'd the drums a dromming—

Yankee doodle, &c.

And l'm so mid, I'll run for life,
To tell our people 'bout it;

[Page 121] Go run and get a drum and fife—
We're ruin'd if we doubt it.

Yankee doodle, &c.

Away ran Jeremy as fast
As ever he could streak it—
I'm sure he never made such haste,
When playing at 
bide and seek it.

Yarkee doodle, &c:

Until he got to Captain Starks'
All in a sweat and fluster—
Soon Ensign Griggs and Corp'ral Parks,
Begun with guns to muster—

Yankee doodle, &c.

The town was quickly up in arms,
And at the tavern meeting,
And left their shops, and tools, and farms,
To give the French a beating.

Yankee doodle, &c.

And Capt, Starks came sword in hand,
With courage stout and bold, sir;
He had three cheers from all his band,
And honors manifold, sir.

Yankee doodle, &c.

And then we swore, if French came here,
To kill each mother's son, sir,
And had they to our town drawn near,
The deed would have been done, sir.

Yankee doodle, &c.

But tho' we'd not been told the truth,
As we had got together;
We all agreed both age and youth.
To mind ne'er wind nor weather.

Yankee doodle, &c.

[Page 122]

But for our liberties to fight

For laws and constitu [...]ion—

For Adams, property and right,

With yankee resolu [...]ion.

Yankee doodle, &c.

So each on hat put black cockade,
And swore we would st
 [...]nd by it;
Of foreign power we're not afraid,
But bodily defy it,

Yankee doodle, &c.

SONG X. ODE on the 177th Anniversary of the Landing of our FOREFATHERS at PLYMOUTH ROCK, December 22, 1620.
TUNE— President's March.

SAINTED shades, who dar'd to brave,
In Freedow's ark, the pathless wave,
Where, scarcely kenn'd by lynx eyed same;
No 
Trav'ller, but the 
Comet came,
And, landing on our wilds at laft,
Endur'd the tempest's ravening blast,
How rose your faith, when thro' the storm
Smil'd LIBERTY'S celestial sorm,
Her lyre to strains of seraphs strung,
And thus the sacred paean sung!

CHORUS.
Sons of Gory, patriot band,
Welcome to my chosen land!
To your Children leave it free,
Oa A DESERT LET IT BE!

[Page 123]
Round the consecrated ROCK,
Conven'd the patriarchal flock,
And there, while every lifted hand
Affirm'd the charter of the land,
The storm was hush'd, and round the zone
Of Heaven the 
mystic meteor shown;
Which, like the 
rainbow seen of yore,
Proclaim'd that SLAVERY'S FLOOD was o'c
That, pilgrim man, so long oppress'd,
Had found his promis'd 
place of reft.

CHORUS.—Sons of glory, &c.
Festive honors crown the day,
With garland green, and votive lay,
From whose auspicious dawn we trace
The 
birth right of our favor'd race,
Which shall descend from sire to son,
While seasons roll, and rivers run.
Secur'd by 
Corver's civic skill,
The sword of 
Standish guards it still;
For empire's wheels an ADAMS guides,
And WASHINGTON in arms presides.

CHORUS—Sons of glory, &c.
Heirs of Pilgrims, now review
The oath your fathers swore to you;
When st st around the social board,
Enrich'd from Nature's frugal hoard,
The ardent vow to Heaven they breath'd
To shield the rights their sires bequeath'd!
Let FACTION from your realm be hurl'd,—

United—you def
 [...] the world;—
And, as a TRIBUTE, scorn to yield
The 
Worm that blights your blossom'd field!

CHORUS.—Sons of glory, &c.

[Page 124]

SONG XI. The FARMER's SONG of '75.

Written by the celebrated DICKINSON, Author of the "Farmer's Letters," &c.

TUNE— "Hearts of Oak."

COME join hand in hand, brave Americans all,
And rouse your bold hearts at fair 
Liberty's call,
No tyrannus acts shall suppress your just claim,
Nor stain with dishonor America's name.

CHORUS.
In freedom we're born, and in freedom we'll live.
Steady boys, steady;
Our purses are ready,
Not as slaves but as freemen our money we'll give,
Our worthy forefathers, let's give them a cheer—
To climates unknown did courageously steer.
Thro' oceans to deserts for 
Freedom they came,
And dying bequeath'd us their freedom and fame.

CHORUS—In freedom we're born, &c.
The Tree their own hand had to 
Liberty rear'd,
They liv'd to behold growing strong and rever'd;
Then in transports they cry'd, our wishes are gain'd,
For our children shall gather the fruits of our pair.

CHORUS—In freedom we're born, 
Now 
placemen and pensioners soon shall appear

Likes LOCUSTS 
deforming the face of the year;

Suns vainly shall rise, showers vainly descend,

If we are to DRUDGE 
for others to SPEND.

[Page 125] In freedom we're born, and in freedom we'll live;
Steady boys, steady;
Our purses are ready,
Not as slaves, but as freemen our money we'll give,

CONTENTS.

ARABELLA—The Caladonian Maid Page 25
Advice to the Gentlemen Page 31
—To the Ladies Page 32
A [...] Flight Page 43
Adams and Liberty Page 107

Beautiful Lines, composed in a Hermitage Page 12
Bonny Hodge—I wont let ye Page 23
Ballau Page 94
Beauties of the Mind, and the Form compared Page 101
Brother Jonathan Page 117

Cottager Page 11
Country Life Page 55
Corydon and Phillis Page 74
Columbia Page 114
—Relieved Page 116
The Black Cockade Page 119

Dusky Night—A favorite Hunting Song Page 18
Dream Page 53
Disappointment Page 57
Decline of Autumn Page 89

[Page]Favorite Scotch Ballad Page 13
Frighted Clown Page 26
Female Auctioneer Page 45
Friendship Page 61
— Page 97
Farmer's Song of '75 Page 124

Gleaners Page 24
Girl I left behind me Page 59
Grasshopper Page 93

Hunting Song — A favorite Page 15
How D'ye Do Page 19
Hunting the Hare Page 21
Humour Page 51
Hermit Page 65
Happy Warning Page 76
Hope and Fear Page 95
Hoe and Cry Page 102
Hail Columbia Page 105

Italian Song Page 50
Invitation to Spring Page 92
Independence—For 4th July Page 110

Jemmy's Birth Day Page 56
Jockey to the Fare Page 63
Jemima in reply to Yankee Phralen Page 78

Little Anne Page 49
Linnett Page 72
Liberty Page 111

Morning Ramble—I'm in haste Page 8
[Page] Mulberry Tree Page 33
Mother's Soliloquy over her dying Infant Page 35
Monsi [...]ur Nong Tong Paw Page 37
Milk Maid Page 67
Miller's Wedding Page 71

Nightingale Page 48
Nun Page 64
New Fashions Page 86

Over the Moors Page 73
Ode to April Page 80
Ode on the 117th Anniversary, &c. Page 122

Progress of the Milk Maid's Love Page 3
Plaint of Delia Page 28
Pedlar Page 30
Pastoral Page 44
Pursuit of Health Page 83
Prudent Bachanalian Page 96
Pursuit Page 100
Political Parson Page 112

Rural Economy—Addressed to the Ladies Page 4
Rosary Page 20
Reflections at Day Break Page 34
Reformed Rake Page 52
Return, Enraptured Love Page 68
Real Beauty Page 82

Spinning. Wheel Page 5
— Page 6
Starling—You can't untie the Knot Page 7
Scenes of my Youth Page 9
[Page] Spring Page 31
Sentiment—A Song Page 36
Shakespear's Seven Ages—Paraphrased Page 40
Shepherdess Page 69
Sincerity Page 96
Sleigh Ride Page 98
Sally Page 100

The Farewell—Said to be written by Maj, Andre Page 16
The Hobbies—By Williamson Page 27
Tempest of War Page 60

University—A new Song Page 50

Woman Page 38
Washing Week Page 46
A Wish Page 58
The Willow Page 104

Yankee Phrases Page 77
Young Olinda Page 82

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

The Nightingale; or Rural songster: in two parts. Part I.--Containing favorite, innocent, entertaining and sentimental songs. Part II.--Containing the most approved patriotic songs. (Many of which are original.)

2011-05

PART I

SONG I. Progress of the MILK-MAID'S LOVE.

SONG II. RURAL ECONOMY—addressed to the LADIES.

SONG III. The SPINNING WHEEL.

SONG IV. The SPINNING-WHEEL, Another Favorite.

SONG V. The STARLING.—You can't untie the Knot.

SONG VI. MORNING RAMBLE—I'm in haste.

SONG VII. SCENES OF MY YOUTH.

SONG VIII. THE COTTAGER. [ORIGINAL.— First published in the MINERVA.]

SONG IX, BEAUTFUL LINES— Composed in a Hermitage.

SONG IX. A favorite SCOTCH BALLAD.

SONG X. A favorite HUNTING SONG.

SONG XI. THE FAREWELL.—Said to be wrote by Major ANDRE.

SONG XII. THE DUSKY NIGHT. A Favorite Hunting Song.

SONG XIII. HOW D'YE DO?

SONG XIV. THE ROSARY.

SONG XV. HUNTING THE HARE— Songs of Shepherds.

SONG XVI. BONNY HODGE— I w'ont let ye'.

SONG XVII. THE GLEANERS.

SONG XVIII. ARABELLA— The Caladonian Maid.

SONG XIX. THE FRIGHTED CLOWN.

SONG XX. THE HOBBIES.

SONG XXI. THE PLAINT OF DELIA.

SONG XXII. THE PEDLER.

SONG XXIII. THE SPRING.

SONG XXIV. ADVICE TO THE GENTLEMEN.

SONG XXV. ADVICE TO THE LADIES.

SONG XXVI. THE MULBERRY TREE.

SONG XXVII. REFLECTIONS AT DAY BREAK.

SONG XXVIII. A MOTHER's SOLILOQUY OVER HER DYING INFANT.

SONG XXIX. SONG OF SENTIMENT.

SONG XXX. MONSIEUR NONG TONG PAW.

SONG XXXI. WOMAN.

SONG XXXII. SHAKESPEARE's SEVEN AGES. PARAPHRASED.

A FLIGHT. SONG XXXIII.

PASTORAL. SONG XXXIV.

SONG XXXV. THE FEMALE AUCTIONEER:

SONG XXXVI. WASHING WEEK.

THE NIGHTINGALE. SONG. XXXVII.

SONG XXXVIII. LITTLE ANNE.

SONG XXXIX. ITALIAN.

HUMOUR. SONG XL.

THE REFORMED RAKE—[ORIGINAL.] SONG XLI.

SONG XLII. A DREAM.—[NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.]

SONG XLIII. THE COUNTRY LIFE.

SONG XLIV. JEMMY'S BIRTH DAY. [NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.]

SONG XLV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

SONG XLVI. A WISH.

SONG XLVII. THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

SONG XLVIII. THE TEMPEST OF WAR.

SONG XLXI. FRIENDSHIP.

SONG L. JOCKEY TO THE FAIR.

SONG LI. THE NUN.

SONG LII. THE HERMIT.

SONG LIII. THE MILK-MAID.

SONG LIV. RETURN, ENRAPTURED LOVE,

SONG LV. THE SHEPHERDESS.

SONG LVI. THE MILLER's WEDDING.

SONG LVII, THE LINNETS.

SONG LVIII. OVER THE MOORS.

SONG LIX. CORYDON AND PHILLIS.

SONG LX. THE HAPPY WARNING.

SONG LXI. YANKEE PHRASES.

SONG LXII. JEMIMA, IN REPLY TO THE YANKEE PHRASES.

SONG LXIII. ODE TO APRIL. ORIGINAL— First published in [...] MINERVA.

SONG LXIV. ON YOUNG OLINDA.

SONG LXV. REAL BEAUTY.

SONG LXVI. THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH.

SONG LXVII. NEW FASHIONS.

SONG LXVIII. THE DECLINE OF AUTUMN

SONG LXIX. THE UNIVERSITY. A new Song.

SONG LXX. INVITATION [...]O SPRING.— Original.

SONG LXXI. THE GRASSHOPPER.

SONG LXXII. A BALLAD,—

SONG LXXIII. HOPE AND FEAR.

SONG LXXIV. SINCERITY.

SONG LXXV. THE PRUDENT BACCHANALIAN.

SONG LXXVI. FRIENDSHIP.

SONG VIII. THE COTTAGER.
[ORIGINAL.— First published in the MINERVA.]

SONG XLIV. JEMMY'S BIRTH DAY.
[NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.]

SONG LXIII. ODE TO APRIL.
ORIGINAL— First published in [...] MINERVA.

SONG VIII. BROTHER JONATHAN.
[Perhaps not out of season.]

SONG X. ODE on the 177th Anniversary of the Landing of our FOREFATHERS at PLYMOUTH ROCK, December 22, 1620.
TUNE— President's March.