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From my sight let the curse be eternally driv'n,
Where my reason so fatally stray'd ; That no more I may offer an insult to Heav'n,
Or give man a cause to upbraid.
BY WM, SMYTH, ESQ.
What dreaming drone was ever blest
By thinking of the morrow?
To all the fools of sorrow :
The heart, its own defender;
And never beat surrender.
On comes the foe—to arms—to arms—
We meet—'tis death or glory :
Or fame in Britain's story :
And ruffians would enslave thee :
Who would not die to save thee ?
'Tis you, 'tis I, that meets the ball ;
And me it better pleases
Than drivel on in elbow-chair,
With saws and tales unheeded,
Nor longer lov'd nor needed.
But thou-dark is thy flowing hair,
Thine eye with fire is streaming ;
Health sits in triumph beaming:
Fill high the wine to beauty;
Thy country and thy duty !
Who thirsts for more knowledge is welcome to roam,
seek a new clime who is wretched at home;
Old England, brave boys, good enough is for me,
1.feel that I'm happy, though taxes run high,
THE FLOWING BOWL.
WHENE’ER the gods, like us below,
To keep it up design,
Which makes them more divine :
The glitt'ring star and ribbon blue
That deck the courtier's breast,
Though by its king carest :
For liberty let patriots rave,
And ban the courtly crew,
The loaves and fishes 100 :
The son he wants old square-toes gone,
And miss is mad to wed ;
The undertaker dead :
In the social amusements of life let me live,
At the festival board, where my Phoebe can share
Time was meant for a blessing, not dealt as a curse,
Let the waiter bring clean glasses,
With a fresh supply of wine ; For I see by all your faces,
In my wishes you will join.
It is not the charms of beauty,
Which I purpose to proclaim ; We a while will leave that duty,
For a more prevailing theme.
To the health I'm now proposing,
Let's have one full glass at least ; No one here can think’t imposing
Tis the founder of the feast !
S O N G LXIX.
BY DR. GRANT.
CARE, thou canker of our joys,
Now thy tyrant reign is o’er ; Fill the mystic bowl, my boys,
Join the bacchanalian roar.
Seize the villain, plunge him in,
See the hated miscreant dies : Mirth and all thy train come in, Banish
sorrow, tears, and sighs.