Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Charms of melody, or, Siren medley

THE CHARMS OF MELODY.
l"35
Mary of the Dale.
■'♦T'WAS at the cool and fragrnnt hour,
- J. When evening fteals upon the iky,
Wlien lovers feelc the filent bow'r,
Young William taught the grove to iigh :
His heav'nly form and beauteous air,
Were like the flow'ry vale ;
Yet did he figh, and all for love
Of Mary of the dale.
When o'er the mountain peep'd the day,
Opprefs'd v.-ith grief he'd often flray,
O'er rifing hill and fertile lawn,
To Iigh and weep his cares away :
Tho' he had charms to win each- fair
That dwells within the vale,
Tet did he figh, and all for love
OfMary of thedale.
■The merry dance, the cjiearful fong,
. Could now no more a charm impart;
iJo more his hours glide fmooth along.
For grief lay heavy at his heart :
His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd.
Was like the primrofe pale.
Sighing he dy'd, and all for love
Of Mary of the dale.
The Fields were gay.
THE fields were gay, and fweet the hay.
The gypfies fat upon the grafs ;
Both lad and lafs by you were fed, '
'Twas all to cheat your filly lafs.
When'er we met, with kiffes fweet.
The fpeeches foft you did impart •
The hawthorn bufliihould make you blitfti,
■"Twas there you did betray my heart.
Maid cf the Mill.
Jack's Revenge.
WHEN laft from the Straits we had fairly call
anchor,
I went, bonny Kitty to hail,
With quintables ftor'd, for our voyage was a fpanker,
And bran-new v;as every fail.
But I knew well enough how, with words fweet as
'honey,
They trick us poor tars of our gold.
And when the fly gypfies have finger'd the money,
The bag they give poor Jack to hold.
So I chas'd her, d'ye' fee, my lads, under falfe colours,
Swore my Viiflies were all at an end.
That I fported away all my good looking dollars.
And borrow 'd my togs of a friend :
Oh! then had you feen her, no longer my honey,
'Twas varlet, audacious, and bold.
Begone from ^y fight, now yoii've fpent all your
money.
For Kitty the bag you-may hold.
With that I took out double handfuls of fhiners.
And fcornfully bid her good bye,
'Twould have done your heart good had you then
feen her fine airs,
Howifhe'd leer, and (he'd fob, and flie'd figh :
Bat I ftoodwell the broadfide — while jewel and
honey
She call'd mc — I put up the gold.
And bearing-away, as I lack'd all the money.
Left the bag for Ma'am Kitty tohoid.
What argufies Pride ahd Ambition.
WHAT argufies pride and ambition?
Soon or late Death muft take us in totf s
Each bullet has got its commiflion,
And when our time's come we muft go :
Then drink and fing, hang pain and fprrow,
The halter was made for the neck.
He that's now 'live and lufty — to-morrow
Perhaps may be ftretch'd on the deck.
There was little Tom Linftock, of Dover,
Got kiil'd, and left Polly in pain.
Poll cry'd, but her grief was foon over.
And then flie got married again.
Then drink, &Ca
Jack Junk was ill us'd by Bet Crocker,'
And fo took to guzzling the llufF,
'Till he tumbl'd in old Davy's locker.
And there he got liquor enough.
Then drink, &fe.
For our prize money then to the proftor.
Take of joy while 'tis going our freak ;
For what argufies calling the doftor,
When the anchor of life is apeak.
TJiett drink, ^e.
The Chace.
TT7"HEN faintly gleams the doubtful day,
^ ^ Ere yet the dew drops on the thorn
Bbrrow^ a hiftre-from the ray.
That tips wii^h gold the dancing corn,
Health bids awake and homage pay.
To him vs-ho gave another morn. :
And, well with llrengfh his nerves to brace,
Urges the fportfman to the chace.
Do we.purfue the timid hare.
As trembling o'er the lawn fhe bounds?
Still of her fafety have we care.
While feeming death her fteps furroundj,
We the defencelefs creature fpare,
Andinftant flop the well taught faoiuds*
For cruelty Ihould ne'er difgrace
The wcll-earh'd pleafure of the chace.
Do we purfue the fubtle fox.
Still let him brakes and rivers try.
Through marfhes wade, ot climb the rocks.
The deep mouth'd hounds ihall following-fly;
And while he ev'ry danger moeks,
Unpitied let the culprit die.
To quell his cruel artful race.
Is labour worthy of the chace.
Return'd with fhaggy fpolls well ftor'd.
To our convivialjoys at night.
We toaft, and firft our country's lord.
Anxious who moft fliill do him right ;
The fair next crowns the focial board ;
Britons fliould love as well as fight.
For he who flights the tender race,
Is held unworthy of the chace.
The Oak,
THE fapling oak loft in the dell.
Where tangled brakes its beauties fpoii,
And ev'ry infant ftioot repel,
Droops hopelefs o'er the 'xhaufted foil:
At length the woodman clears around
Where e'er the noxious thickets fpread ;
And high from the reviving ground.
The foreft's monarch lifts his head.