When in manhood promoted, and burning for fame,
Still in peace and in war Harry Bluff was the same;
So true to his love, and in battle so brave,

The myrtle and laurel entwine o'er his grave.
For his country he fell, when by victory crown'd,—
The flag shot away, fell in tatters around:

The foe thought he'd struck-but he sung, avast!
And the colours of England he nail'd to the mast.
Then he died like a true British sailor.

GAFFER GREY.
[T. HOLCROFT.]

"Oh! why dost thou shiver and shake,
Gaffer Grey?

And why doth thy nose look so blue ?"
""Tis the weather that's cold,
'Tis I'm grown very old,

And my doublet is not very new,
Well-a-day!"

"Then line thy worn doublet with ale,
Gaffer Grey,

And warm thy old heart with a glass."
"Nay, but credit I've none,
And my money's all gone;
Then say how may that come to pass,
Well-a-day!"

"Hie away to the house on the brow,
Gaffer Grey,

And knock at the jolly priest's door."
"The priest often preaches
Against worldly riches,

But ne'er gives a mite to the poor.
Well-a-day!"

"The lawyer lives under the hill,
Gaffer Grey?

Warmly fenced both in back and in front."

"He will fasten his locks,
And will threaten the stocks,
Should he evermore find me in want.
Well-a-day!"

"The squire has fat beeves and brown ale,
Gaffer Grey,

And the season will welcome you there."
"His fat beeves and his beer,

And his merry new year,
Are all for the flush and the fair.
Well-a-day!"

"My keg is but low, I confess,
Gaffer Grey.

What then? while it lasts, man, we'll live."
"The poor man alone,

When he hears the poor moan,

Of his morsel a morsel will give.
Well-a-day!"

HERE'S A HEALTH TO ALL GOOD LASSES.

Here's a health to all good lasses,
Pledge it merrily, fill your glasses,

Let the bumper toast go round;
May they live a life of pleasure,
Without mixture, without measure,

For in that true joys are found.

GLORIOUS APOLLO.
[Music by S. WEBBE.]
Glorious Apollo from on high beheld us
Wandering to find a temple for his praise,
Sent Polyhymnia hither to shield us,

Whilst we ourselves such a structure might raise.
Thus, then, combining,

Hands and hearts joining,

Sing we, in harmony, Apollo's praise.

Here, every generous sentiment awaking,
Music inspiring unity and joy,

Each social pleasure giving and partaking,
Glee and good humour our hours employ.
Thus, then, combining,

Hands and hearts joining,
Long may continue our unity and joy.

THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

[C. DIBDIN.]

'Twas post meridian, half-past four,
By signal I from Naney parted,
At six she linger'd on the shore,

With uplift hands and broken hearted.
At seven, while taughtening the forestay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy,
At eight we all got under weigh,

And bade a long adieu to Nancy.

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors ever cheery,
On the mid-watch so jovial sung,

With tempers labour cannot weary;
I, little to their mirth inclined,

While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy, And my warm sighs increased the wind, Look'd on the moon, and thought of Nancy.

And now arrived that jovial night,

When every true-bred tar carouses, When o'er the grog, all hands delight

To toast their sweethearts and their spouses:
Round went the can, the jest, the glee,
While tender wishes fill'd each fancy,

And when, in turn, it came to me,
I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy.

Next morn a storm came on at four,
At six, the elements in motion,
Plunged me and three poor sailors more
Headlong into the foaming ocean:

Poor wretches! they soon found their graves;
For me, it may be only fancy,

But love seem'd to forbid the waves,

To snatch me from the arms of Nancy.

Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,

Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattie, When a bold enemy appear'd,

And, dauntless, we prepared for battle. And now, while some loved friend or wife, Like lightning rush'd on every fancy, To Providence I trusted life,

Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy.

At last, 'twas in the month of May,
The crew, it being lovely weather,
At three A.M. discover'd day

And England's chalky cliffs together.
At seven up channel how we bore,

While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy,

At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore,

And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy.

MARCH TO THE BATTLE FIELD.

[O'MEABA.]

March to the battle-field,

The foe is now before us

;

Each heart is Freedom's shield,

And heaven is shining o'er us!
The woes and pains, the galling chains,
That kept our spirits under,

In proud disdain we've broke again
And torn each link asunder

March to the battle-field,
The foe is now before us!
Each heart is Freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us!
Who for his country brave

Would fly from her invader?
Who, his base life to save,

Would, traitor-like, degrade her?
Our hallow'd cause, our home and laws,
'Gainst tyrant Power sustaining;
We'll gain a crown of bright renown,
Or die, our rights maintaining!
March to the battle-field,

The foe is now before us;
Each heart is Freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us!

HAIL TO THE CHIEF WHO IN
TRIUMPH ADVANCES.

Sir W. SCOTT.]

[Music by Sir H. R. BISHOP.
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances,
Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green pine;
Long may the tree in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line.
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap enew,

Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow:
While ev'ry Highland glen

Sends our shout back agen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho, ieroe!"

Ours is no saplin, chance sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain,

The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade.

Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock;