She came, his cold hand softly touched, But O, his sister's jealous care (A cruel sister she!) Forbade what EMMA came to say, 'My EDWIN! live for me!' Now homeward as she hopeless wept The Churchyard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl screamed Her Lover's Funeral Song! Amid the falling gloom of night, In every bush, his hovering shade! Alone, appalled, thus had she passed The visionary vale, When, lo! the death bell smote her ear, Sad sounding in the gale. Just then, she reached, with trembling step, Her agèd mother's door. 'He's gone!' she cried, and I shall see That angel face no more! 'I feel! I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side!' From her white arm down sank her head, THE RECRUITING SERJEANT'S SONG. . ADIEU! for a while, to the town and its trade! Our Country, my Boys! calls aloud for our aid; It never was known, that true hearts like our own From hardships, or hazards, would flinch! Let our foes then unite! We will shew them, in fight, What Britons can do at a pinch! A slave may he be! who will not agree 'That the brave and the free (such, Britons! are we!) Live but for their Country and King!' THE BIRKS OF [ENDERMAY OR] INVERMAY. THE smiling Morn, the breathing Spring, Invite the tuneful birds to sing; And while they warble from each spray, Let us, AMANDA! timely wise, Like them, improve the hour that flies; For soon the Winter of the year, [The lav'rocks now and lintwhites sing! The rocks around with echoes ring! The mavis and the blackbird vie In tuneful strains to glad the day! The woods now wear their summer suits! To mirth all Nature now invites! Let us be blythsome then and gay Among the Birks of Invermay! 'Behold, the hills and vales around, 'Hark! how the waters, as they fall, A SONG FOR RANELAGH GARDENS. YE Belles! and ye Flirts! and ye pert Little Things! Who trip in this frolicsome Round, Pray tell me, From whence this indecency springs, What means the cocked hat, and the masculine Air; The VENUS, whose statue delights all Mankind, And kindly should seem, by the Artist designed, Then learn, with her beauties, to copy her Air; Our fancies will paint what you cover with care; The blushes of Morn, and the mildness of May, O, be but yourselves! and our homage we'll pay; But if, Amazon-like, you attack your Gallants, You may do very well for Sisters and Aunts! |