And will you ever constant prove?"
"I will by all the powers above,
And ne'er deceive my charming dove,
Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love,
With Jockey to the fair."
"Behold the ring," the shepherd cried,
"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 pledged; away she flew
With cowslips sparkling with the dew,
With Jockey to the fair.
Soon did they meet a joyful throng,
Their gay companions blithe and young;
Each joins the dance, each joins the song,
To hail the happy pair.
What two were e'er so fond as they?
All bless the kind propitious day,
The smiling morn and blooming May
When lovely Jenny ran away
With Jockey to the fair.
WHEN the wind is blowing free, boys,
What a jovial life is ours,
Who would care on the land to be, boys,
With its forest, fruit, and flowers?
When our forests of masts are sweeping past,
Such sights can the landsmen see?
As our sailing fleets with their swelling sheets,
When the winds are blowing free!
Our life is a life of freedom,
We're borne by the fresh'ning gale;
And for storms-we never heed 'em,
If we've plenty of room to sail ;
For we know that the power above us,
Our guide in the storm will be,
For the sake of the girls who love us,
When the winds are blowing free!
And then, when the sails are righted,
And night draws her gloaming screen,
We think of the vows we plighted
On the far-off village green;
We drink to our wives and sweethearts,
And fancy their forms we see,
As the vessel glides through the swelling tides,
And the wind is blowing free!
THE SHIP.
[JOHN MALCOLM.]
HER mighty sails the breezes swell,
As fast she leaves the lessening land,
And from the shore the last farewell
Is waved by many a snowy hand;
And weeping eyes are on the main
Until its verge she wanders o'er;
But, from that hour of parting pain,
Oh! she was never heard of more!
In her was many a mother's joy,
And love of many a weeping fair;
In her was wafted, in its sigh,
The lonely heart's unceasing prayer;
And oh the thousand hopes untold
Of ardent youth, that vessel bore ;
Say, were they quenched in ocean cold,
For she was never heard of more.
When on her wide and trackless path
Of desolation, doom'd to flee,
Say, sank she 'mid the blending wrath
Of racking cloud and rolling sea?
Or, where the land but mocks the eye,
Went drifting on a fatal shore?
Vain guesses all !-her destiny
Is dark ;-she ne'er was heard of more.
The moon hath twelve times changed her
From glowing orb to crescent wan:
'Mid skies of calm, and scowl of storm,
Since from her port that ship hath gone;
But ocean keeps its secret well;
And though we know that all is o'er,
No eye bath seen-no tongue can tell
Her fate-she ne'er was heard of more!
[Music by J. P. KNIGHT.
WRITE on the sand when the tide is low,
Seek the spot when the waters flow,
Whisper a name when the storm is heard,
Pause, that echo may breathe the word;
If what you wrote on the sand should last,
And echo is heard 'mid the tempest's blast,
Then believe, and not till then,
That there's truth in the vows of men.
Throw a rose on the stream at morn,
Watch at eve for the flower's return;
Drop in the ocean a golden grain,
Hope 'twill shine on the shore again;
If the rose you again behold,
If you gaze on your grain of gold,
Then believe, and not till then,
That there's truth in the vows of men.
DON'T LET THE ROSES LISTEN.
JESSICA RANKIN.]
DON'T let the roses listen,
Don't let the night-star wink,
Don't let the dew-drops glisten
Whilst I tell thee of whom I think;
I will whisper softly, lowly,
Not e'en zephyr's self shall hear,
Echo shall not catch a murmur
To tell the babbling streamlet near.
Stars would show the sweet rose blushing,
Zephyrs come with gentle sighs,
Quickly steals the cherish'd secret,
Then to other loves he flies;
Echo hears the fainted murmur,
Whispers "I will never tell,'
But the world will soon discover
The name I love so well.
Don't let the roses listen,
Don't let the night-star wink,
Don't let the dew-drops glisten
Whilst I say, 'tis of thee I think.
NOW IS THE MONTH OF MAYING.
Now is the month of maying,
When merry lads are playing,
Each with his bonny lass,
A dancing on the grass.
The spring clad all in gladness,
Doth laugh at winter's sadness,
And to the bagpipe's sound,
The nymphs tread out their ground.
'TWAS DOWN IN CUPID'S GARDEN.
"TWAS down in Cupid's garden
For pleasure I did go,
To see the fairest flowers
That in that garden grow.
The first it was the jessamine,
The lily, pink, and rose,
And surely they're the fairest flowers
That in that garden grow.
I'd not walk'd in that garden
The part of half an hour,
When there I saw two pretty maids
Sitting under a shady bow'r;
The first was lovely Nancy,
So beautiful and fair,
The other was a virgin,
Who did the laurels wear.
I boldly stepp'd up to her
And unto her did say,
Are you engaged to any young man,
Do tell to me, pray
I'm not engaged to any young man,
I solemnly do swear,
I mean to live a virgin
And still the laurel wear.
Then hand in hand together
This lovely couple went;
Resolved was the sailor boy
To know her full intent.
To know if he would slighted be,
When to her the truth he told :
Oh no! oh no! oh no! she cried,
I love a sailor bold.
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