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JOHN O'KEEFFE. The Music by Shield.
FROM the white blossom'd sloe, my dear Chloe requested

A sprig her fair breast to adorn;
No, by Heavens! I exclaim’d, may I perish,

If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn!

When I show'd her the ring and implored her to marry

She blush'd like the dawning of morn.
Yes, yes! I'll consent, she replied, if you promise,

That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn.

From “The Myrtle and the Vine," A.D. 1780.
My fair, ye swains, is gone astray,
The little wand'rer lost her way;
In gathering flow'rs the other day;

Sing high, sing high, sing low;
O lead her home, ye gentle swains,
Who know an absent lover's pains,
And bring in safety o'er the plains

My pretty little Sue.
Whene'er a charming form you see,
Serenely grave, sedately free,
O bring her, for it must be she;

Sing high, sing high, sing low:
When such a tuneful voice you hear
As makes you think a syren's near,
O bring her, for it is my dear,

My pretty little Sue.

But rest my soul, and bless your fate,
The gods who formed her so complete,
Will safely guard her harmless feet,

Sing high, sing high, sing low:
O lead her home, ye gentle swains,
Who know an absent lover's pains,
And bring in safety o'er the plains

My pretty little Sue.


CHARLES DIBDIN, born 1745, died 1814.
IF 'tis love to wish you near,
To tremble when the wind I hear,
Because at sea you floating rove;
If of you to dream at night,
To languish when you're out of sight,
If this be loving—then I love.
If, when you're gone, to count each hour,
To ask of every tender power
That you may kind and faithful prove ;
If, void of falsehood and deceit,
I feel a pleasure now we meet,
If this be loving—then I love.
To wish your fortune to partake,
Determin'd never to forsake,
Though low in poverty we strove;
If, so that me your wife you'd call,
I offer you my little all;
If this be loving-then I love,


R. B. Sheridan, born 1751, died 1816.
Had I a heart for falsehood framed,

I ne'er could injure you;
For though your tongue no promise claimed,

Your charms would make me true:
To you no sou shall bear deceit,

No stranger offer wrong,
But friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And lovers in the young.
But when they learn that you have blest

Another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,

And act a brother's part;
Then lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,
For friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And lovers in the young.

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SIR Walter Scotr, born 1771, died 1832.
O County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea :
The lark his lay, who trill'd all day,

Sits hush'd his partner nigh;
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour!

But where is County Guy?
The village maid steals through the shade,

Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,

Sings high born Cavalier.
The star of love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
Now, high and low the influence know:

But where is County Guy.



From the Opera of Clari, the Maid of Milan.
Oh! say not woman's heart is bought

With vain and empty treasure ;
Oh! say not woman's heart is caught

By every idle pleasure.
When first her gentle bosom knows

Love's flame, it wanders never;
Deep in her heart the passion glows,

She loves, and loves for ever.
Oh! say not woman's false as fair,

That like the bee she ranges!
Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare,

As fickle fancy changes.
Ah! no, the love that first can warm,

Will leave her bosom never ;
No second passion e'er can charm,

She loves and loves for ever.


LORD BYRON, born 1788, died 1824. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'Tis vain to speak, to weep, to sigh;

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in the word-Farewell! Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again My soul nor deigns, nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel, I only know I loved in vain

I only feel-Farewell! Farewell !


I saw thee weep—the big bright tear

Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear

A violet dropping dew :
I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee cease to shine:
It could not match the living rays

That filled that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the heart.



WHEN we two parted,

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years.
Pale grew the cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss!
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow,
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame,
I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame,

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-

Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I know thee,

Who knew thee too well !
Long, long shall I rue thee

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met,

In silence I grieve,
That my heart would forget,

Thy spirit deceive !
If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears!

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