Here floats my foul in fancy's eye,
Her realms of bliss discover,
Bright worlds, that fair in profpect lie,
To him that's half feas over.

NOW weftlin winds, and flaught'ring guns,
Brings autumn's pleasant weather;
The gorcock springs on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer,

The moon shines bright, as I rove by night,
To muse upon my charmer.

The pairtrick lo'es the fruitfu' fells;
The plover lo'es the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lanely dells;
The foaring hern the fountains:
Thro' lofty groves the cufhet roves,
The path o' man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,.
The fpreading thorn the linnet.

Thus every kind their pleasure find,
The favage and the tender;

Some, focial join, and leagues combine,
Some folitary wander:

Avaunt, away! the cruel fway,
Tyrannic man's dominion;

The fportman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
The flutt'ring gory pinion.

But Peggy, dear, the evening's clear, Thick flies the skimming swallow, The fky is blue, the fields in view, All fading green and yellow: Come let us stray our gladfome way, And view the charms o' nature, The ruffling corn, the froited thorn, And ilka happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
While the filent moon fhines clearly;
I'll clafp thy waift, and fondly preft,
Swear how I lo'e thee dearly!
Not vernal fhowers to budding flowers,
Not autumn to the farmer,

So dear can be, as thou to me,

My fair my lovely charmer.

THE FORECASTLE SAILOR.

THE wind blew a blast from the northward,
When we steer'd from the Cape of Good Hope;
The fky look'd quite pitchy and wayward,
And the fea o'er our weather-bow broke.
The boatswain pip'd all hands to bale her,
And I came down the back-ftay fo glib;
For I am a forecastle failor,

You may fee by the cut of my jib.

Start my timbers, cried Ned Junk, of Dover,
Plump to me as I landed on deck,

With us it will foon be all over,

For the Guardian muft quick go to wreck.Well, well, we shan't live to bewail her, Cried I, and I patted his rib; Come-work like a forecastle failor,

If I don't, the gale fhiver my jib.

We were running at nine knots an hour,
When 'bout two leagues to leeward we spy'd

An island of ice like a tower,

And on it our fhip quickly hy'd.

But now 'twas no use for to bale her,
The water gain'd on her so glib;
So each, like a true-hearted failor,
Waited fate for to fhiver his jib.

Some took to the boat,

do

you

mind me,

While fome on the veffel's deck ftood, Cry'd I, may old Davy Jones take me If I fail from my captain fo good. Now Providence help'd us to bale her, And we manag'd to patch up her rib; Safe arriv'd is each true hearted failor, To rig up his weather-beat jib.

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE.

WILT thou be my dearie,

When forrow wrings thy gentle heart,
O wilt thou let me cheer thee,
By the treasure of my foul,

And that's the love I bear thee,
I fwear and vow, that only thou,
Shall ever be my

dearie,

Laffie fay thou lo❜es me;

And if thou winna be my ain,
O fay na thou'll refuse me;
If it maunna, canna be:

That thou for thine may chufe me!
Then let me, Jeanie, quickly die?
Ay trufting that thou lo'es me.

Flower of beauties hear me,
And dinna treat me wi' difdain,
A' ither ills I fear na',

Gin thou wad only smile on him:
Cou'd part wi' life to please thee,
Of joys on earth I'd ask nae mair,
If thou wilt be my

dearie.

THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

"TWAS poft meridian, half past four,
By fignal I from Nancy parted,
At fix fhe linger'd on the fhore,

With uplift hands and broken hearted.
At feven, while tight'ning the foreftay,
I faw her faint, or elfe 'twas fancy,
At eight we all got under weigh,
And bid a long adieu to Nancy.

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While carelefs failors ever cheery,

On the mid watch fo jovial fung,
With tempers labour cannot weary.
G