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Behold the Hour.
Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare
To thy new lover hie,
What peace is there !
BEHOLD THE HOUR.
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive:
Thou goest, thou darling of my heart! Sever'd from thee, can I survive ?
But fate has will’d, an' we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell,
Yon distant isle will often hail : “E'en here I took the last farewell;
There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.”
Along the solitary shore,
While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wistful eye : Happy thou Indian grove, I'll say,
Where now my Nancy's path may be ! While thro’ thy sweets she loves to stray,
Oh, tell me, does she muse on me?
TUNE—“Saw ye my father?”
WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,
That danc'd to the lark's early song ? Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring
At evening, the wild woods among?
No more a-winding the course of yon river,
An' marking sweet flow'rets so fair : No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,
But sorrow and sad sighing care.
Is it that summer 's forsaken our valleys,
An' grim surly winter is near ? No, no! the bees humming round the gay roses,
Proclaim it the pride of the year.
Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long too well have I known
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.
Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow: Come, then, enamour'd an’ fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.
On the Seas and far away.
ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.
TUNE_“O'er the hills," &c.
On the seas and far away,
for him that's far away.
When in summer's noon I faint,
At the starless midnight hour,
As the storms the forest tear,
Peace, thy olive wand extend,
TUNE-"Wae is my heart.” Was is my heart, an' the tear 's in my e’e; Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me: Forsaken an' friendless, my burden I bear, An' the sweet voice of pity ne'er sounds in my ear.
Love, thou hast pleasures, an’ deep ha’e I lov’d;
Deluded Swain, the Pleasure.
Oh, if I were happy, where happy I ha'e been,
DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE.
TUNE-"The collier's dochter."
DELUDED Swain, the pleasure
The fickle fair can give thee
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.
The billows on the ocean,
The breezes idly roaming,
They are but types of woman.
Oh! art thou not ashamed
To doat upon a feature ?
Despise the silly creature.
Go, find an honest fellow;
Good claret set before thee;
And then to bed in glory.