HAL THE WOODMAN.
STAY, traveller, tarry here to-night,
The rain yet beats, the wind is loud,
The moon too has withdrawn her light,
And gone to sleep behind a cloud.
'Tis seven long miles across the moor;
And should you from our cottage stray,
You'll meet, I fear, no friendly door,
No soul to tell the ready way.
Come, dearest Kate, the meal prepare,
This stranger shall partake our best;
A cake and rasher be his fare,
With ale that makes the weary blest.
Approach the hearth; there take a place;
And, till the hour of rest draws nigh,
Of Robin Hood, and Chevy Chace,
We'll sing, then to our pallets hie.
Had I the means, I'd use you well:
'Tis little I have got to boast;
But should you of our cottage tell,
Say, Hal the Woodman was your host.
Love's blind, they say,
O never, nay;
Can words Love's grace impart?
The fancy, weak,
The tongue may speak,
eyes alone the heart:
In one soft look what language lies!
O, yes, believe me, Love has eyes.
Love's wing'd, they cry-
O, never, I—
On pinions love to soar;
Deceivers rove,
But never love,
Attach'd he moves no more:
Can he have wings who never flies?
And yes, believe me, Love has eyes.
BRIGHT Chanticleer proclaims the dawn,
And spangles deck the thorn,
The lowing herds now quit the lawn,
The lark springs from the corn;
Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng,
Fleet Towler leads the cry,
Arise the burden of my song,
This day a stag must die.
With a hey, ho, chevy,
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy,
Hark, hark, tantivy,
This day a stag must die.
The cordial takes its merry round,
The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff up the gale;
The upland wilds they sweep along,
O'er fields, through brakes they fly,
The game is rous'd-too true the song,
This day a stag must die.
Poor stag, the dogs thy haunches gore,
The tears run down thy face,
The huntsman's pleasure is no more,
His joys were in the chase.
Alike the gen'rous sportsman burns,
To win the blooming fair,
But yet he honours each by turns,
They each become his care.
With a hey, ho, &c.
BLACK EYED SUSAN.
ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board,
Oh! where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among your crew?
William, who high upon the yard,
Rock'd with the billows to and fro, Soon as her well known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes below:
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest:
The noblest captain in the British fleet,
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
O Susan, Susan, lovely dear!
My vows shall ever true remain: Let me kiss off that falling tear, We only part to meet again:
Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
Believe not what the landsmen say,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In ev'ry port a mistress find;
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white;
Thus ev'ry beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
Tho' battle calls me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Tho' cannons roar, yet safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return;
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosoms spread,
No longer must she stay on board;
They kiss'd, she sighed, he hung his head:
Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land,
Adieu, she cried, and wav'd her lily hand.
THE oak of our fathers to freedom was dear,
Its leaves were his crown, and its wood was his spear;
Its head tower'd high, and its branches spread round, For its roots were struck deep, and its heart it was sound:
The bees o'er its honey-dew'd foliage play'd,
And the beasts of the forest fed under its shade.
Alas! for the oak of our fathers that stood
In its beauty, the glory, and pride of the wood.
Round its bark crept the ivy, and clung to its trunk,
It struck in its mouths, and its juices it drunk;
Its branches grew sickly, depriv'd of their food,
Its tow'ring head droop'd, by its poison subdu❜d:
No longer the bees o'er its honey-dews play'd,
Nor the beasts of the forest fed under its shade.
Alas! for the oak, &c.
The oak has receiv'd its incurable wound,
Guile has loosen'd the roots, though the heart may be
sound;
What the trav❜llers at distance, green flourishing see,
Are the leaves of the ivy that ruin'd the tree:
Disfigur'd the trunk, in its ruin is seen,
A monument now, what its beauty has been.
Alas! for the oak, &c.
FAITHLESS EMMA.
I WANDERED Once at break of day,
While yet upon the sunless sea,
In wanton sighs the breeze delay'd,
And o'er the wavy surface play'd:
Then first the fairest face I knew,
First lov'd the eye of softest blue,
And ventur'd, fearful, first to sip
The sweets that hung upon the lip
Of faithless Emma.
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