Your favours prepare, my companions, with speed;
Assist me my blushes to hide,

A twelvemonth ago, on this day I agreed
To be my lov'd Corydon's bride.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM

Oh! the days are gone, when beauty brigh
My heart's chain wove;

When my dream of life from morn till night
Was love, still love!

New hope may bloom,

And days may come,
Of milder, calmer beam;

But there is nothing half so sweet in life,
As love's young dream!

Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life,
As love's young dream!

Though the bard to a purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;

Though he win the wise, who frown'd before
To smile at last;

He'll never meet
A joy so sweet

In all his noon of fame,

As when first he sung to woman's ear
His soul-felt flame,

And at every close she blush'd to hear
The one lov'd name!

Óh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot,
Which first love trac'd ;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste!

'Twas odour fled

As soon as shed,

'Twas morning's winged dream! 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream!

Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream.

LOVE'S GARLAND.

How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain, And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove, And sweet is the breeze that blows over yon mountain, Yet none is so sweet as the lad that I love.

Then I'll weas

him a garland,

A fresh flowing garland.

With lilies and roses,

And sweet blooming posies;

A garland I'll weave for the lad that I love.

It was down in the vale, where the sweet Torza gliding,
Its murmuring stream ripples through the dark grove.
I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding,
To ease the foul sighs of the lad that I love,
Then I'll weave, &c.

A CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn!
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.

Blow, breezes, blow, &c.

Utawas tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayer,
Grant us cool heavens and favouring air!
Blow, breezes, blow,

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that nature bad shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green :
'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh no, it was something more exquisite still.

'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near,
Who made each dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the blest charms of nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love

Sweet vale of Ovoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best,
Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should

cease,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

THE GIRL OF MY HEART.

I have parks, I have grounds, I have deer, I have hounds,
And for sporting a neat little cottage;

I have youth, I have wealth, I have strength, I have health,
Yet I mope like a beau in his dotage.
What can I want but the girl of my heart,

To share those treasures with me;

For had I the wealth which the Indies impart,

No pleasure would it give me,

Without the lovely girl of my heart, &c.

My domain far extends, and sustains social friends

Who make music divinely enchanting ;

We have balls, we have plays, we have routs, public days,

And yet still I feel something is wanting:

What should it be but the girl of my heart,

To share those treasures with me:

And had I the wealth which the Indies impart,

No pleasure would it give me,

Without the lovely girl of my heart, &c.

There was a gay man-milliner, his name was Timmy Twist, And at making caps and bonnets he'd a mighty pretty fist; With his snips and shreds, and fitting heads, his gauze and gimp, long thread and needle,

O he lov❜d a pastry-cook and thought her heart to wheedle. Whack falare, bow wow.

There was a spruce shoe-maker a dabster at an awl,
They call'd him Billy Boot, and he kept a pretty stall;
With his last and shoe, and lap-stone too, his waxend, gird.
ing strap and hammer,

O he lov'd this pastry-cook too, and told her many a
Whack falare, &c.

crammer.

Miss Patty Puff thus lov'd by both, and loving both they say Was like the donkey in the tale, between two sacks of hay; With her flames and darts, and apple tarts, her ices, trifles, cherry brandy,

O she knew not which to choose, for she thought 'em both the dandy. Whack falare, &c.

The rivals fought the seconds charg'd their pistols for

attacks,

Timmy Twist's with cotton balls, and Billy Boot's with cobler's wax :

With their jeers and jokes a funny boax, their powder, priming, and their paces,

Though they'd courage in their hearts, they'd the dish-
clout in their faces.
Whack falare, &c.

The second signal gave to fire, when Timmy swoon'd away,
And Billy, not observing it, ran off without delay;
With his paste and pegs, and nimble legs, while both the
seconds laugh and hoot him,

Oh! he stuck fast in a hedge, and roar'd lest Tim should
come and shoot him.
Whack falare, &c.

Now all you modern heroes who'd your credit save from fright,

Be sure and tell the constables when challenges you write, With your guns and swords, and great big words that off weak stomachs come so clever,

O they'll bind you to the peace, and then you may brag a much as ever. Whack falare, &o.

EVELEEN'S BOWER

Oh, weep for the hour,

When to Eveleen's bower

The lord of the valley with false vows came;
The moon hid her light

From the heavens that night,

And wept behind the clouds o'er the maiden's shame. The clouds past soon

From the chaste cold moon,

And heaven.smil'd again with her vestal flame
But none will see the day

When the clouds shall pass away,

Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame,

The white snow lay
On the narrow path-way

Where the Lord of the valley cross'd over the moor, And many a deep print

On the white snow's tint,

Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door
The next sun's ray
Soon melted away

Ev'ry trace of the path where the false lord came;
But there's a light above

Which alone can remove

That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame.

JACK'S DELIGHT.

Sweet is the ship that, under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale,

Sweet, O sweet's the flowing can;

Sweet to poise the labouring oar,

That tugs us to our native shore,

When the boatswain pipes the barge to man,
Sweet sailing with a flowing breeze,
But O! much sweeter than all these
Is Jack's delight, his lovely Nan.

The needle, faithful to the north,
To show of constancy the worth,

A curious lesson teaches man ;