But should some fairer, happier rival

All thy affection tear from me
My heart may break ;--but its latest sigh will

Be pour'd in breathing a prayer for thee.

POOR JACK.
Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see,

'Bout dangers, and fear, and the like;
A tight water boat and good sea-room give me,

And 'ten't to a little i'll strike. Though the tempest top-gallant mast smack-smooth

should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouze ev'ry thing

tight,
And under reef'd foresail we'll scud.
Avast! nor don't think me a milk-sop so soft,

To be taken for trifles aback;
For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day

About souls, heav'n, mercy, and such,
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay;

Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch:
But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,

Without orders that come down below,
And many fine things, that prov'd clearly to me,

That providence takes us in tow.
For, says he, Do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft

Take the topsails of sailors aback,
There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

I said to our Poll (for you see she would cry)

When last we weigh'd anchor for sea, What argufies sniv’ling and piping your eye;

Why, what a big fool you must be: Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for

us all,
Both for seamen and lubbers ashore,
And if to Old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

Why, you never will hear of me more.
What then? all's a hazard; come, don't be so soft,

Perhaps I may laughing come back;
For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch

All as one as a piece of the ship,
And with her brave the world, without offering to flinch,

From the moment the anchor's a-trip.
As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,

Nought's a trouble from duty that springs;
For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino my friend's,

And as for my life, 'tis the king's.
Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As with grief to be taken aback:
That same little cherub that sits up aloft,
Will look out a good birth for poor Jack.

MARIAN'S COMPLAINT.

SINCE truth has left the shepherd's tongue,
Adieu the cheerful pipe and song;
Adieu the dance at closing day,
And ah! the happy morn of May.
How oft he told me I was fair,
And wove the garland for my hair;

How oft for Marian culld the bow'r,
And fill's my cap with ev'ry flower.

No more his gifts of guile I'll wear,
But from my brow the chaplet tear;
The crook he gave in pieces break,
And rend his ribbons from my neck.

How oft he vow'd a constant flame,
And carv'd on ev'ry oak my name!
Blush, Colin, that the wounded tree
Is all that will remember me.

THE BROWN JUG. Dear Tom, this brown jug, that now foams with mild

ale, (In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale), Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul, As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl. In boozing about 'twas his praise to excel, And among jolly topers he bore off the bell. It chanc'd, as in dog-days he sat at his ease, In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you please, With a friend and a pipe, puffing sorrow away, And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay, His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut, And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had dissolv'd it again, A potter found out in its covert so snug, And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug. Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale, So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the yale.

HOW SWEET IS THE GLOAMING.

TUNE_" Bonnie Dundee.” How sweet is the gloaming, when carelesly roaming,

The red setting sun sinking low in the west, The moon faintly beaming, one star lonely gleaming,

As Nature does gradually sink into rest.
Then by the pure fountain, beside the steep mountain,

I wander, Eliza, to muse upon thee,
My heart fondly wishing, its ae darling blessing,

That thou wad be constant to love and to me.
Then tho' the sea part us, dame Fortune desert us,

And tear me reluctant away from thy arms,
Yet aft on my pillow, when toss'd on the billow,

I'll pleasantly dream I possess all thy charms.
And when sad I waken, and find I'm mistaken,

And thrice have given vent to the heart-rending sigh, Bright hope soon returning, will ease my fond mourning, And soothingly whisper, we'll meet bye and bye. *

MY AIN FIRESIDE.

I HAE seen great anes and sat in great ha's,
Mony lords and fine ladies a' cover'd wi' braws;
At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been,
Where the grand shine o' splendour has dazzl’d my een;

* This little piece is from the pen of ALEXANDER FULLARTON, oldier, 91st Regiment. It indicates a mind strongly susceptible " the finer sympathies with the sublime objects of nature, and Hive to all the romantic tenderness of love. We are not sorry to ee the soldier become at times a prey to those feelings he is ofen called upon, in the way of his duty, to violate with unrelentnag apathy.

But a sight sae delightfu', I trow, I ne'er spied, As the bonny blythe blink o' mine ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, O cheery's the blink o' mine ain fireside. Ance mair, gude be thanket, round my ain heartsome · ingle, Wi' the friends of my youth I cordially mingle; Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad, I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad. Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear, But truth to delight me, and friendship to cheer ; Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried, There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside. When I draw in my stool on my cosey hearthstane, My heart loups sae light I scarce ken’t for my ain; Care's down on the wind, it is clean out o sight, Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the night. I hear but kend voices, kend faces I see, And mark saft affection glent fond frae ilk e'e; Nae pluckings o' flattery, nae boastings of pride, 'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, Othere's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside.

THE KEBBUCKSTON WEDDING. Auld Watty of Kebbuckston brae,

With lear and reading of books auld farren, What think ye! the body came owre the day, And tauld us he's gaun to be married to Mirren.

We a' got a bidding,

To gang to the wedding, Baith Johnnie and Sandy, and Nelly and Nanny;

And Tam o' the Knowes,

He swears and he vows, At the dancing he'll face to the bride wi' his graunie