And now he must rise at break of morn,
And walk till noon spite of gout or corn;
Must fast on dry bread a month or more-
He ne'er had fasted so before !
And still at each meal he'd fain say "No,"
But Robin he swore it should be so.
The month it had gone, the gout gone too: "Ho! ho!" Robin cried, "sir priest, you'll do ! But now it is fit you pay your fee,
So your gems and gold remain with me!"
The monk lik'd it not; the monk said "No," But Robin he swore it should be so.
LOVE WAKES AND WEEPS.
[T. MOORE.]
LOVE wakes and weeps,
While beauty sleeps!
O for music's softest numbers!
To prompt a theme
For beauty's dream,
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers.
Through groves of palm
Sigh gales of balm,
Fireflies on the air are wheeling ;
While through the gloom
Comes soft perfume,
The distant beds of flowers revealing.
O wake and live!
No dream can give
A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling;
No longer sleep,
From lattice peep,
And list the tale that love is telling.
A LYRE its plaintive music poured
Forth on the wild wind's track;
The stormy wanderer jarr'd the chord,
But gave no music back.
Oh! child of song!
Bear hence to heaven thy fire,
What hopest thou from the reckless throng,
Be not like that lost lyre!
Not like that lyre !
A flower its leaves and odours cast
On a swift-rolling wave;
Th' unheeding torrent darkly pass'd,
And back no treasure gave.
Oh! heart of love!
Waste not thy precious dower!
Turn to thine only home above,
Be not like that lost flower!
Not like that flower!
JACK RATLIN.
[CHARLES DIBDIN.]
JACK RATLIN was the ablest seaman,
None like him could hand, reef, or steer,
No dang'rous toil but he'd encounter,
With skill, and in contempt of fear.
In fight a lion,-the battle ended,
Meek as the bleating lamb he'd prove;
Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit,
Yet he did sigh, and all for love.
The song, the jest, the flowing liquor,
For none of these had Jack regard;
He, while his messmates were carousing,
High sitting on the pendant yard,
Would think upon his fair one's beauties,
Swear never from such charms to rove;
That truly he'd adore them living,
And, dying, sigh-to end his love.
The same express the crew commanded
Once more to view their native land,
Amongst the rest, brought Jack some tidings;
Would it had been his love's fair hand!
Oh! Fate her death defac'd the letter-
Instant his pulse forgot to move!
With quiv'ring lips, and eyes uplifted,
He heav'd a sigh !-and died for love.
J. E. NOLAN.]
[Music by R. GREENE,
THE motto of Britons is "On, boys, on!"
For old time, as we know, cannot wait;
And he who employs the full power of his will,
By that will may command his own fate.
Then on, boys, on!
Never heed if you've failed in the past;
Whatever your aim, if you work with a will,
You'll be sure to attain it at last!
The true British soldier by his colours will standThe sailor nail them to the mast;
Such men are the boast and the pride of our land, And will be so while England shall last !
Not only the soldier and sailor, but all,
Must engage for a time in the strife;
And if we but uso all the means we possess
We must win in this battle of life!!
Then on, boys, on! &c.
ALONG the lonely mountain side
At morn I chanced to stray,
When summer shone in blooming pride,
And all the world looked gay.
I met a maid with tartan plaid,
As fair as e'er was seen;
I ask'd her name, she blushing said—
"I'm Rose of Hazeldeen."
Sweet Rose of Hazeldeen,
Dear thou'lt ever be to me,
Sweet Rose of Hazeldeen.
Her breath, like flowering thorns, was sweet,
As starlight was her eye;
With every grace and charm replete,
She like the fawn swept by.
The birds sing sweeter to mine ear,
The flowers are fairer seen;
All Nature smiles when she is near-
Sweet Rose of Hazeldeen.
Sweet Rose of Hazeldeen, &c.
I LOVE the night, when the moon streams bright
On flowers that drink the dew,
When cascades shout as the stars peep out
From boundless fields of blue.
But dearer far than moon or star,
Or flowers of gaudy hue-
Or gurgling trills of mountain rills,
I love, I love, love you!
I love to stray at the close of day,
Through groves of forest trees,
When gushing notes from song-birds' throats,
Are vocal in the breeze.
I love the night, the glorious night,
When hearts beat warm and true,
But far above the night, I love,
I love, I love, love you!
[Air-" Heigh ho! my Jackey."
DRINK to her who long
Hath wak'd the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman's heart was made
For minstrel's hands alone;
By other fingers play'd
It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her who long
Hath wak'd the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
At Beauty's door of glass,
When Wealth and Wit once stood,
They ask'd her, "Which might pass?"
She answered, "He who could."
With golden key, Wealth thought
To pass-but 'twould not do;
While Wit a diamond brought
Which cut his bright way through!
Then here's to her who long
Hath wak'd the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy!
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