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When thronging foemen menace Spain
She dares the deed and shares the danger; And should her lover press the plain,
She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. And when beneath the evening star,
She mingles in the gay Bolero; Or sings to her attuned guitar
Of Christian knight or Moorish hero; Or counts her beads with fairy hand
Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper; Or joins devotion's choral band
To chant the sweet and hallow'd vesper : In each her charms the heart must move
Of all who venture to behold her: Then let not maids less fair reprove,
Because her bosom is not colder ;
Where many a soft and melting maid is,
The time I've lost in wooing,
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
My only books
Were woman's looks,
Like him the sprite
Whom maids by night
If once their ray
Was turned away,
And are those follies going ?
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance Is now as weak as ever.
IF I freely may discover
She should be allow'd her passions,
TO MR. HODGSON.
From on board the Lisbon Packet.
HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvas o'er the mast. From aloft the signal's streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fired; Sailors swearing, women screaming, Tell us that our time's expired.
Here's a rascal
Come to task all,
And all hands must ply the oar;
We're impatient-push from shore. “Have a care! that case holds liquor-
Stop the boat-I'm sick-O lord !” “Sick, ma'am, hang it, you'll be sicker Ere you've been an hour on board."
Thus are screaming
Men and women,
All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax, — Such the general noise and racket, Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet. Now we've reach'd her, lo! the Captain,
Gallant Kidd commands the crew; Passengers their berths are clapt in,
Some to grumble--some to spew.
“Heyday! call you that a cabin?
Why 'tis hardly three feet square; Not enough to stow Queen Mab inWho the deuce can harbour there?”
“Who, sir?- plenty
“Did they? Bacchus,
How you pack us ! Would to Heaven they did so still: Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.” Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you
Stretch'd along the deck like logsBear a hand you jolly tar, you!
Here's a rope's-end for the dogs. Hobhouse, muttering fearful curses
As the hatchway down he rolls, Now his breakfast, now his verses, Vomits forth—and d-s our souls.
Here's a stanza
Of warm water”
“ What's the matter?” “Zounds, my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.”
Now at length we're off for Turkey,
Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempests murky
May unship us in a crack.
As philosophers allow,
Laugh at all things,
Great and small things,
While we're quaffing,
Let's have laughing--
Some good wine! and who would lack it,
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 dairy, O, Barney M'Leary,
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,-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,
Misfortunes will never come single, -that's plain,
In London I never know what I'd be at,