Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
She sung of rustic liberty , Of wand ' ring out for charity ; Where she mi . xt with the happy poor , And ever found an open door : She sung their cheerful fires at night , Where babies sport in sweet delight ; She sung of long carousing days , When miry ware the roads and ways : She sung the Hedge-house merry cvesv ,
Where tinkers get them roaring fou . Until the vera moor doth s-agger , - And dances drunk as any beggar ; Or when they si ' t wi * tale and sang , And pass the night sae dark and fang ; Where still thev dance , tho' they be poor , And turn auld Care out at the door ; Still looking forward for Ihe fair Where they maun sell their humble ware :
She sung the rising of the sun , Which gilds ihe glitt ' ring dews of morn : And she sung of sweet meand ' ring , Down the village paths a wand ' ring ; Or where the lark springs oft ' the lawn , And wildly hails the golden dawn ; Or where the linnet and the thrush Sport in ey'ry dewy bush ; Or where the cuckoofrom the bow'r
, , Wakes the fresh ' ning April hour : And oh ! she sung the flow ' ry stream , All shaded from the sunny beam . So sweet her simple strains did flow , All Nature ' s bosom seem'd to glow . I panted for a rustic life ,
I sicken'd at the town and strife ; 1 long'd for soft simplicity , To wander with wild liberty . I pass'd the night so pleasant here , I parted with a falling tear : I parted sad , and yet wi'joy , And wi' a smile , and yet a sigh . I saw a beggar ' s life was health , Content and was a' their wealth
peace ; No more desponding in despair , Nor brooding o ' er our warklly care ; Come let us laugh wi' liberty , Wi' them wha stroll for charily ; Wha sell ill-humour wi' their ware , And drinking drown it at ihe fair ; Be blithe and gay , since life is short , And Heav ' n smiles while monals sport
. But hark ! yon linnet on the spray , She calls us out to holiday ; Gome let us join her in the song , For hark . ' yon death bell ' s restless tongue Tolls pne into his dreary tomb , And warns us of ihe certain doom , Where we shall never sing no more ! Ne laughne dancene pensive !
, , pore Ne more to loiter o'er the lawn , When Nature wakes the dulcet dawn ; Ne more beneath the milk-white thorn To breathe the incense of the morn , ; Ne by the ' stream , or in tlie barn , Ne Venus in the smiling horn ; But with oblivion , and alone ; : Eternal be , forgot—and gone 1
A SONG , On Ihe threatened hn > a . ii , m by BUONAPARTE . BRITONS , have vou heard their boast ? Frenchmen will invade your coast ; Nay , to rob you quite of rest ,
From his lofty Alpine nest , Buo ^ A . ABTE fierce shall come , And frigh : you wiii his Fe , Fa , Fum . . Wantley's Dragon crack'd the stones Lii-e ha . el mus ; just so your bones This redoubtable Itaian , Wi'h his army , all rabscallion , 'Swears he'llcrack , when heron come , friht with his
To g you Fe , Fa , Fum ! Like the mighty Hannibal , Marching on with great and-small , He shall sweep away thro' France , And come to lead you such a dance , As soon shall make you crv—he ' scome To eat us up!—Great Ft , Fa , Fum . ' Xerxes' drank a river
army , Tho' but arm'd with bow and quiver ; What then , with his thuiid ' ring cannon , To Buonapartes ' s Thames or Shannon ? Woe betide us , should he come , This blust ' ring Blue-Beard , Fe , Fa , Fum , From his vengeance , tho' to screen , The pathless ocean rolls between , Tho' its billows vainly roar
, Broken by our rocky shore ; Yet secure he swears ' he'll come , This mighty Grumbo , Fe , Fa , Fum . True , that Howe their naval pride Humbled un the briny tide ; True , that Bridport too , his dance Taught the vap ' ring fleet of France ; Still shall Buonaparte come
, And grind us with his Fe , Fa , Fum . Say , ye Dens , can naval story Rival brave St . Vincent ' s glory ? Own , ye Dutch , that all your spirit Strove in vain with Duncan ' s merit ; Yet both must crouch when he shall come , This giant grim , this Fe , Fa , Fum .
Such the vaunt of Frenchmen vain , Conquer'd on the boundless main ; Such the projects they are brewing , Reeking with their country ' s ruin ; But , assassins , . ethim come , Your Corsican—j ' our Fe , Fa , Fum . . Let him come!—He soon shall know Britain rises to the blow ;
Let him come 1—He soon shall feel ! Our hearts of oak , our hands of steel ! Yes , ye atheists ! let him come , And do his worst , your Fe , Fa , Fum . The laurels he so long hath worn , From his brow shall soon be torn : Soon shall sink , to rise no more , His fame , upon our i ' avqiir'd shore ! . We are ready!—Let him come , This fierce Italian , Fe , Fa , Fum .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
She sung of rustic liberty , Of wand ' ring out for charity ; Where she mi . xt with the happy poor , And ever found an open door : She sung their cheerful fires at night , Where babies sport in sweet delight ; She sung of long carousing days , When miry ware the roads and ways : She sung the Hedge-house merry cvesv ,
Where tinkers get them roaring fou . Until the vera moor doth s-agger , - And dances drunk as any beggar ; Or when they si ' t wi * tale and sang , And pass the night sae dark and fang ; Where still thev dance , tho' they be poor , And turn auld Care out at the door ; Still looking forward for Ihe fair Where they maun sell their humble ware :
She sung the rising of the sun , Which gilds ihe glitt ' ring dews of morn : And she sung of sweet meand ' ring , Down the village paths a wand ' ring ; Or where the lark springs oft ' the lawn , And wildly hails the golden dawn ; Or where the linnet and the thrush Sport in ey'ry dewy bush ; Or where the cuckoofrom the bow'r
, , Wakes the fresh ' ning April hour : And oh ! she sung the flow ' ry stream , All shaded from the sunny beam . So sweet her simple strains did flow , All Nature ' s bosom seem'd to glow . I panted for a rustic life ,
I sicken'd at the town and strife ; 1 long'd for soft simplicity , To wander with wild liberty . I pass'd the night so pleasant here , I parted with a falling tear : I parted sad , and yet wi'joy , And wi' a smile , and yet a sigh . I saw a beggar ' s life was health , Content and was a' their wealth
peace ; No more desponding in despair , Nor brooding o ' er our warklly care ; Come let us laugh wi' liberty , Wi' them wha stroll for charily ; Wha sell ill-humour wi' their ware , And drinking drown it at ihe fair ; Be blithe and gay , since life is short , And Heav ' n smiles while monals sport
. But hark ! yon linnet on the spray , She calls us out to holiday ; Gome let us join her in the song , For hark . ' yon death bell ' s restless tongue Tolls pne into his dreary tomb , And warns us of ihe certain doom , Where we shall never sing no more ! Ne laughne dancene pensive !
, , pore Ne more to loiter o'er the lawn , When Nature wakes the dulcet dawn ; Ne more beneath the milk-white thorn To breathe the incense of the morn , ; Ne by the ' stream , or in tlie barn , Ne Venus in the smiling horn ; But with oblivion , and alone ; : Eternal be , forgot—and gone 1
A SONG , On Ihe threatened hn > a . ii , m by BUONAPARTE . BRITONS , have vou heard their boast ? Frenchmen will invade your coast ; Nay , to rob you quite of rest ,
From his lofty Alpine nest , Buo ^ A . ABTE fierce shall come , And frigh : you wiii his Fe , Fa , Fum . . Wantley's Dragon crack'd the stones Lii-e ha . el mus ; just so your bones This redoubtable Itaian , Wi'h his army , all rabscallion , 'Swears he'llcrack , when heron come , friht with his
To g you Fe , Fa , Fum ! Like the mighty Hannibal , Marching on with great and-small , He shall sweep away thro' France , And come to lead you such a dance , As soon shall make you crv—he ' scome To eat us up!—Great Ft , Fa , Fum . ' Xerxes' drank a river
army , Tho' but arm'd with bow and quiver ; What then , with his thuiid ' ring cannon , To Buonapartes ' s Thames or Shannon ? Woe betide us , should he come , This blust ' ring Blue-Beard , Fe , Fa , Fum , From his vengeance , tho' to screen , The pathless ocean rolls between , Tho' its billows vainly roar
, Broken by our rocky shore ; Yet secure he swears ' he'll come , This mighty Grumbo , Fe , Fa , Fum . True , that Howe their naval pride Humbled un the briny tide ; True , that Bridport too , his dance Taught the vap ' ring fleet of France ; Still shall Buonaparte come
, And grind us with his Fe , Fa , Fum . Say , ye Dens , can naval story Rival brave St . Vincent ' s glory ? Own , ye Dutch , that all your spirit Strove in vain with Duncan ' s merit ; Yet both must crouch when he shall come , This giant grim , this Fe , Fa , Fum .
Such the vaunt of Frenchmen vain , Conquer'd on the boundless main ; Such the projects they are brewing , Reeking with their country ' s ruin ; But , assassins , . ethim come , Your Corsican—j ' our Fe , Fa , Fum . . Let him come!—He soon shall know Britain rises to the blow ;
Let him come 1—He soon shall feel ! Our hearts of oak , our hands of steel ! Yes , ye atheists ! let him come , And do his worst , your Fe , Fa , Fum . The laurels he so long hath worn , From his brow shall soon be torn : Soon shall sink , to rise no more , His fame , upon our i ' avqiir'd shore ! . We are ready!—Let him come , This fierce Italian , Fe , Fa , Fum .