But for whiskey, and that sort of spirits, Why, them--I would rather lay here,* gra. Then get along with, etc. SEND THE BOWL ROUND MERRILY. I. SEND the bowl round merrily, Laughing, singing, drinking; Here's to the devil with thinking! With sweetly-smiling lasses— Laughing, singing, drinking; Toast it, toast it cheerily Here's to the devil with thinking! II. Once I met with a funny lass, * Putting his hand on his paunch. Left for her my bonny glass- But she proved damn'd uncivil, And thought to peck like a hen, Sir; So I pitch'd the jade to the devil, And took to my glass again, Sir. III. Now I'm turn'd a rover, In love with every petticoat; No matter whom it may cover, Or whether it's Jenny's or Betty's coat ; And, if the girls can put up With any good thing in pieces, My heart I'll certainly cut up, And share it with all young Misses. Then send the bowl, etc. IV. A bumper round to the pretty ones! Here's to the girl with the blue eyes! Here's to her with the jetty ones, Where the languishing dew lies! Could all such hours as this is Be summ'd in one little measure, And die in a surfeit of pleasure! THE DAY OF LOVE, I. THE beam of morning trembling Affection's early look. Thus love begins-sweet morn of love! II. The noon-tide ray ascended, Diffused a glow as splendid As passion's riper dream. Thus love expands-warm noon of love! III. But evening came, o'ershading The glories of the sky, Like faith and fondness fading From passion's alter'd eye. Thus love declines-cold eve of love! THE PROBABILITY. I. My heart is united to Chloe's for ever, No time shall the link of their tenderness sever; And, if Love be the parent of joy and of pleasure, Chloe and I shall be bless'd beyond measure. II. Come, tell me, my girl, what's the sweetest of blisses? "I'll show you," she cries, and she gives me sweet kisses; Ah, Clo'! if that languishing eye's not a traitor, It tells me you know of a bliss that is greater. III. "Indeed and I do not ;"-then softly she blushes, And her bosom the warm tint of modesty flushes"I'm sure if I knew it, I'd certainly show it, "But Damon, dear, maybe you know it." THE SONG OF WAR. I. THE Song of war shall echo through our mountains, Till not one hateful link remains Till not one tyrant tread our plains, Or hear, oh Peace! thy welcome lay Resounding through her sunny mountains. II. The song of war shall echo through our mountains, Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say, "Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away, "And Freedom comes, with new-born ray, "To gild your vines and light your fountains." Oh! never till that glorious day Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, Or hear, oh Peace! thy welcome lay Resounding through her sunny mountains. |