網頁圖片
PDF

At length the wish'd-for morrow

Broke thro' the hazy sky;
Absorb'd in silent sorrow,
Each heav'd the bitter sigh:

The dismal wreck to view,
Struck horror to the crew,

As she lay,
On that day,

In the bay of Biscay O!
Her yielding timbers sever,

Her pitchy seams are rent;
When Heav'n, all bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercy sent!

A sail in sight appears,
We hail her with three cheers!

Now we sail,
With the gale,

From the bay of Biscay 0!

THE HEAVING OF THE LEAD. For England, when with fav’ring gale,

Our gallant ship up channel steer'd, And scudding under easy sail,

The high blue western land appear'd; To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

By the deep nine !
And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view, An abbey tow'r, a harbour fort,

Or beacon to the vessel true; While oft the lead the seaman flung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

By the mark seven!

And, as the much-lov'd shore we near,

With transport we behold the roof, Where dwells a friend, or partner dear,

Of faith and love a matchless proof;
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,

Quarter less five!
Now to her birth the ship draws nigh;

We shorten sail-she feels the tide-
Stand, clear the cable! is the cry;

The anchor's gone-we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night, We hear the seaman, with delight,

Proclaim-All's well!

FAIR MODEST FLOWER. TUNE_" Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." FAIR modest flower, of matchless worth!

Thou sweet, enticing, bonny gem, Blest is the soil that gave thee birth,

And blest thine honour'd parent stem. But doubly blest shall be the youth,

To whom thy heaving bosom warms;
Possess'd of beauty, love and truth,

He'll clasp an angel in his arms.
Tho' storms of life were blowing snell,

And on his brow sat brooding care,
Thy seraph smile would quick dispel

The darkest gloom of black despair. Sure Heaven hath granted thee to us,

And chose thee from the dwellers there, And sent thee from celestial bliss,

To show what all the Virtues are. *

* Written by Mr. William Reid, Glasgow.

THE BEAUTIFUL MAID. When absent from her, whom my soul holds most dear

What medley of passions invade!
In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fear,

I endure for my beautiful maid.
In vain I seek pleasure to lighten my grief,

Or quit the gay throng for the shade;
Nor retirement, nor solitude yield me relief,

When away from my beautiful maid.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
Ye mariners of England,

Who guard our native seas,
Who for these thousand years have brav'd

The battle and the breeze;
Your glorious standard launch again,

And match another foe,
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow.

While the stormy winds do blow,
While the stormy winds do blow,
While the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your fathers,

Will start from every wave;
The deck it was their field of fame,

The ocean was their grave;
Where Blake, the boast of freedom, fought,

Your manly hearts will glow,
As you sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow.

While the stormy winds, fc.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-wave,

Her home is on the deep :
With thunder from her native oak,

She quells the floods below,
As she sweeps through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow.

While the stormy winds, 8c.

The meteor-flag of England

Must yet terrific burn,
Till the stormy night of war depart,

And the star of peace return,
Then to our faithful mariners

The social can shall flow,
Who swept through the deep,
While the stormy winds did blow.

While the stormy winds did blow,
While the stormy winds did blow,
While the battle raged long and loud,
And the storms of war did blow.

THE SPOTLESS MAID. The spotless maid is like the blooming rose, Which on its native stem unsully'd grows; But if some hand the tender stalk invades, Lost is its beauty, and its colour fades.

Whoever leaves a virtuous maid behind,
Tho' distant-still he views her in his mind;
Reflection tells, that absence must improve
The dear delight of meeting those we love.

HOPE TOLD A FLATTERING TALE.
Hope told a flatt'ring tale,

That joy would soon return;
Ah! nought my sighs avail,

For love is doom'd to mourn.
Ah! where's the flatt'rer gone?
From me for ever flown;
The happy dream of love is o'er,
Life, alas! can charm no more.

TOGETHER LET US RANGE THE FIELDS.
TOGETHER let us range the fields,

Impearld with the morning dew,
Or view the fruits the vineyard yields,

Or the apples clustering bough;
There in close embow'rd shades,

Impervious to the noontide ray,
By tinkling rills or rosy beds,

We'll love the sultry hours away.

DEAREST ELLEN, I'LL LOVE YOU NO MORE. When the rose-bud of summer its beauties bestowing,

On winter's rude banks all its sweetness shall pour; And the sunshine of day in night's darkness be glowing,

Oh! then dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more. When of hope, the last spark which thy smile us’d to

cherish, In my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er; And the pulse of this heart which adores you shall perish,

Oh! then dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.

« 上一頁繼續 »