Wan was her cheek, which hung on my shoulder, Damp was her hand-no marble was colder;

I felt that I never again should behold her,

Savourna, &c.

When the word of command put our men into motion,
Savourna, &c.

I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wide ocean,
Savourna, &c.

Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder,
Pleas'd with the voyage, impatient for plunder,
While
my bosom with grief was nigh torn asunder,
Savourna, &c.

Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love,
Savourna, &c.

All my pay and my booty I hoarded for you love,
Savourna, &c.

Peace was proclaimed; escap'd from the slaughter,
Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her;
But sorrow, alas! to the cold grave had brought her,
Savourna, &c.

KITTY OF COLERAINE.

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping
With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,
When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled,
And all the sweet butter-milk water'd the plain.

"O what shall I do now?-'twas looking at you now;
Sure sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again;
"Twas the pride of my dearie: O Barney M'Cleary!

You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine."

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her

That such a misfortune should give her such pain; A kiss then I gave her, and before I did leave her, She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again.

'Twas hay-making season, I can't tell the reason, Misfortune will never come single, 'tis plain; For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster,

The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.

COME, ANNA! COME, THE MORNING DAWNS.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Born 1785-Died 1806.

Come, Anna! come, the morning dawns,
Faint streaks of radiance tinge the skies;

Come, let us seek the dewy lawns,

And watch the early lark arise;
While nature, clad in vesture gay,
Hails the loved return of day.

Our flocks, that nip the scanty blade,
Upon the noon shall seek the vale;
And then, secure beneath the shade,
We'll listen to the throstle's tale;

And watch the silver clouds above,
As o'er the azure vault they rove.

Come, Anna! come, and bring thy lute,
That with its tones, so softly sweet,
In cadence with my mellow flute,
We may beguile the noontide heat;
While near the mellow bee shall join,
To raise a harmony divine.

And then at eve, when silence reigns,
Except when heard the beetle's hum,
We'll leave the sober tinted plains,
To these sweet heights again we'll come;
And thou to thy soft lute shall play,
A solemn vesper to departing day.

BE HUSH'D, BE HUSH'D, YE BITTER WINDS.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds,
Ye pelting rains, a little rest;

Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts,
That wring with grief my aching breast.

Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To triumph o'er an artless maid;
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To leave the breast by him betray'd.

When exiled from my native home,

He should have wiped the bitter tear;
Nor left me faint and lone to roam,

A heart-sick weary wanderer here.

My child moans sadly in my arms,
The winds they will not let it sleep:
Ah, little knows the hapless babe

What makes its wretched mother weep!

Now lie thee still my infant dear,
I cannot bear thy sobs to see,
Harsh is thy father, little one,

And never will he shelter thee.

Oh, that I were but in my grave,
And winds were piping o'er me loud,
And thou, my poor, my orphan babe,
Were nestling in thy mother's shroud.

THE ARETHUSA.

PRINCE HOARE.

Died 1834.

Come all you jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold,

Huzza to the Arethusa!

She is a frigate tight and brave,

As ever stemm'd the dashing wave:
Her men are staunch,

To their favourite launch,

And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we'll all expire,
On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring-fleet she went out,
The English channel to cruize about,
When four French sail in shew so stout,
Bore down on the Arethusa.

The fam'd Belle Poole straight-a-head did lie,
The Arethusa seem'd to fly,

Not a sheet or a tack,

Or a brace did she slack,

Though the Frenchmen laugh'd and thought it stuff,
But they knew not, a handful of men how tough,
On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France,
We with two hundred did advance,
On board of the Arethusa.
Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, ho!
The Frenchmen they cried out, hallo!
Bear down, d'ye see,

To our admiral's lee.

No, no, says the Frenchman, that can't be;
Then I must lug you along with me,
Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchmen's land,
We forc'd them back upon their strand,
For we fought till not a plank would stand,
Of the gallant Arethusa.

And now we've driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill a glass,

To his favourite lass!

A health to our captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew,
On board of the Arethusa.