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The Bourbon flowers grow pale
When I hang out my pennon;
With pike and cutlass clashing,
And all my cannon flashing.
Come with me and see
The golden islands glowing,
The flocks of India lowing ;
The dews of eve drop manna,
And men adore thee, Anna,
NANINE, OR THE EMIGRANT.
M. G. LEWIS.
There a lovely maid was weeping, rable as Who can female tears withstand ? Hush'd at once the boatswain's ditty,
Gently dipp'd his silent oar;
“ Prithee, sweetheart, weep no more."
Then on land he sprung so lightly,
While, with mingled hopes and fears,
Shone her blue eyes through her tears.
Left exposed to want and danger,
Friendless on a foreign shore; “ Ah !” she said, “ you vainly, stranger,
Kindly tell me, weep no more.
“ Far from home in exile roving,
Who shall now my shelter be, Lost each friend, so loved, so loving,
Now what heart shall feel for me? Poor Nanine, thy brain is turning,
Poor Nanine, thy heart is sore, Poor Nanine, thy tears are burning,
Die, Nanine, and weep no more.”
“ Mark,” he cried, “ yon distant city,
There my shelter thine shall be, Mark my bosom, swell’d by pity,
There's a heart which feels for thee; All my wealth I here surrender,
'Tis not gems or shining ore; 'Tis a heart, warm, honest, tender,
Take it, sweet, and weep no more.”
Gently tow'rds his boat he led her,
Soon it touch'd his native strand, There his labour clothed and fed her,
There he gain'd her heart and hand. Still with love his eyes behold her,
Still, though many a year is o'er, Does he bless the hour he told her,
“ Prithee, sweetheart, weep no more !”
I WENT TO SEA.
WENT to sea with heavy heart,
Yet from my thoughts did ne'er depart CAN Her image night and morn:
Storms lour'd, waves rollid, and lightning flew,
The first word, when on English ground,
While of these thoughts my mind was full,
DAVY JONES'S LOCKER.
I now sing,
Weigh'd anchor and cast out for sea, de For he never refused for his country and
king To fight, for no lubber was he; To hand, reef, and steer, and bouse everything tight Full well did he know every inch, Though the toplifts of sailors the tempest should
smite, Jack never was known for to flinch. Aloft from the mast-head one day he espied Seven sail which appear'd to his view, “ Clear the decks, sponge the guns," was instantly
cried, And each to his station then flew, And fought until many a noble was slain, And silenced was every gun; 'Twas then that old English valour was vain, For by numbers, alas ! they're undone. Yet think not bold Jack, though by conquest dismay'd Could tamely submit to his fate; When his country he found he no longer could serve, Looking round, he address’d thus each mate; “What's life, d'ye see, when our liberty's gone ? Much nobler it were for to die; So now for Old Davy”-then plunged in the main ; E'en the cherub above heaved a sigh.
OLD ENGLAND'S WOODEN WALLS.—1800. HROUGH winds and wave sin days that
are no more SV I held the helm and ne'er ran foul of A
shore, In pitch-dark night my reck’ning proved so true I rode out safe the hardest gale that blew, And when for fight the signal high was shown Through smoke and fire Bob Boreas straight bore
down; But though my timbers are not fit for sea, Old England's wooden walls my toast shall be.
From age to age, as ancient story shows,
WHEN LAST IN THE DREADFUL.
T HEN last in the Dreadful your honour
set sail NAVAVSI On Newfoundland banks there came on Se
a hard gale, There was thunder, and lightning, and cold whistling
hail, Enough the old gemman to scare.