REST, WEARY TRAVELLER. REST, weary traveller! rest thee to-day, Where the cottager's welcome, invites thee to stay; And what to the heart is more grateful and dear, Than the welcome that waits on the cottager's fare? Rest, weary traveller! And bright is the smile hospitality wears, When the stranger at evening arrives at the door; And sweet is the accent which cheerfulness bears, Which thus bids him enter, and wander no more. Wander no more! A BLOOMING FLOWER. A BLOOMING flower my Julia chose Less fragrant than her breath the rose, A bee, attracted by the flow'r, The honey flew to sip; He left the charmer of an hour, Too soon my fair one felt the smart, THE CHILD OF A TAR. In a little blue garment, all ragged and torn, His head quite uncover'd, a look quite forlorn, No mother I have, and no friend I can claim, My father has fought for his country and fame, Look down on my sorrows, and pity the fate Of a poor little child of a tar. By cruelty drove from a neat rural cot, Where once with contentment he dwelt; No friend to protect us, my poor mother's lot, Bow'd down by misfortune, death made her his own, Distress'd and quite friendless, she left me to moan, A poor little child of a tar. Thus plaintive he mourn'd, when a sailor that pass'd, Stopp'd a moment to give him relief; He stretch'd forth his hand, and a look on him cast, What, William! he cry'd, my poor little boy; Thy sorrows shall cease, nor shall grief more annoy I'LL LOVE THEE EVER DEARLY. LET others breathe the melting sigh, And swear they love to madness; And tho' no pray'rs, nor vows are mine, Then lady, tho' I scorn the wiles That love too oft discovers; Ne'er spurn the heart that woo's in smiles, LASH'D TO THE HELM. In storms, when clouds obscure the sky, The wind and rain, I'd think on thee, my love. When rocks appear on every side, In varied shapes when death appears, The wind and rain, I'd think on thee, my love. But should the gracious pow'rs be kind, I'd tempt again, But tender joys improve; Should happy be, And think on nought but love. QUEEN MARY'S LAMENTATION. I SIGH and lament me in vain, These walls can but echo my moan, Alas! it increases my pain, When I think of the days that are gone. Thro' the grate of my prison I see The birds as they wanton in air, My heart it now pants to be free, Above, tho' opprest by my fate, I burn with contempt for my foes, Tho' fortune has alter'd my state, She ne'er can subdue me to those. False woman! in ages to come Ye roofs, where cold damps and dismay BEWARE OF LOVE. DEEP in the fountain of this beating heart, I'll ne'er forget the love, the gratitude I owe. Blythe as the rays that cheer the blushing morn, Through coast or climate as we range: |