WHEN William Tell was doom'd to die,
Or hit the mark upon his infant's head-
The bell toll'd out, the hour was nigh,
And soldiers march'd with grief and dread!
The warrior came, serene and mild,
Gaz'd all around with dauntless look,
Till his fond boy unconscious smil❜d;
Then nature and the father spoke.
each valiant Swiss his grief partakes, For they sigh,
Poor William Tell! once hero of the lakes.
But soon is heard the muffled drum,
And straight the pointed arrow flies,
The trembling boy expects his doom,
All, all shriek out-" he dies! he dies!"
When lo! the lofty trumpet sounds!
The mark is hit! the child is free!
Into his father's arms he bounds,
Inspir'd by love and liberty!
And now each valiant Swiss their joy partakes,
For mountains ring,
Whilst they sing,
Live William Tell! the hero of the lakes.
THE COTTAGE ON THE MOOR.
THO' distant on some foreign land,
Where golden waters roll,
Where Phoebus beats the sea-girt strand,
Or hides him near the pole.
Still to my mind my country dear,
At each remove, returns;
Tho' cold her clime, and bleak her year,
For her my bosom burns.
Tho' I had India's boasted store;
Tho' rich Peru were mine;
Give me the cottage on the moor,
And all their wealth were thine.
THE MAID OF LODI.
I SING the maid of Lodi,
Who sweetly sung to me,
Whose brows were never cloudy,
Nor e'er distort with glee.
She values not the wealthy,
Unless they're great and good,
For she is strong and healthy,
And by labour earns her food.
And when her day's work's over,
Around a cheerful fire,
She sings, or rests contented;
What more can man desire?
Let those who squander millions
Review her happy lot,
They'll find their proud pavillions
Far inferior to her cot.
Between the Po and Parma
Some villains seiz'd my coach, And dragg'd me to a cavern, Most dreadful to approach;
By which the maid of Lodi
Came trotting from the fair;
She paus'd to hear my wailings,
And see me tear my hair.
Then to her market basket
She tied her poney's rein;
I thus by female courage
Was dragg'd to life again.
She led me to her dwelling,
She cheer'd my heart with wine,
And then she deck'd a table,
At which the gods might dine.
Among the mild Madonas
Her features you may find;
But not the fam'd Corregios
Could ever paint her mind.
Then sing the maid of Lodi,
Who sweetly sung to me;
And when this maid is married,
Still happier may she be.
HER HAIR IS LIKE THE GOLDEN CLUE.
HER hair is like the golden clue,
Drawn from Minerva's loom;
Her lips carnation dropping dew,
Her breath is a perfume.
Her brow is like the mountain snow,
Gilt by the morning beam;
Her cheeks like living roses blow,
Her eyes like azure stream.
Adieu, my friend, be I forgot,
And from thy mind defac'd;
But may that happiness be thine
Which I can never taste.
THE HUMBLE ROOF.
WHEN first this humble roof I knew,
With various cares I strove;
My grain was scarce, my sheep were few,
My all of life was love.
By mutual toil our board was dress'd,
The spring our drink bestow'd;
But when her lips the brim had press'd
The cup with nectar flow'd.
Content and peace the dwelling shar'd,
No other guest came nigh;
In them was giv'n, though gold was spar'd,
What gold could never buy.
No value has a splendid lot,
Which has not means to prove,
That, from the palace to the cot,
The all of life is love.
COULD love be found in woman's breast
As fervent as my own,
This weary soul might hope to rest
In beauty's arms a welcome guest,
And with her purer spirit share
The load of life-too great to bear
Through this wide world alone!
Could love be found in woman's breast,
Like mine averse to roam,
This weary soul might hope to rest
In beauty's arms, for ever blest,
And my poor love, an outcast boy,
Might then a kindred heart enjoy,
And find a lasting home!
WHEN THE FANCY STIRRING BOWL.
WHEN the fancy stirring bowl
Wakes its world of pleasure,
Glowing visions gild my soul,
And life's an endless treasure.
Mem❜ry decks my wasted heart,
Fresh with gay desires;
Rays divine my senses dart,
And kindling hope inspires.
Then who'd be grave,
When wine can save
The heaviest soul from sinking;
And magic grapes
Give angel's shapes
To ev'ry girl we're drinking!
Here sweet benignity and love
Shed their influence round me,
Gather'd ills of life remove,
And leave me as they found me.
Tho' my head may swim, yet true
Still to nature's feeling,
Peace and beauty swim there too,
And rock me as I'm reeling.
Then who'd be grave, &c.
On youth's soft pillow tender truth,
Her pensive lesson taught me;
Age soon mock'd the dream of youth,
And wisdom wak'd and caught me.
A bargain then with love I knock'd.
To hold the pleasing gipsy,
When wise to keep my bosom lock'd,
But turn the key when tipsy.
Then who'd be grave, &c.
When time assuag'd my heated heart,
The grey-beard blind and simple,
Forgot to cool one little part,
Just flush'd by Lucy's dimple.
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