What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Abraham Newland Bacchus Bay of Biscay beauty blow born boys brave British Grenadiers Charles Dibdin charms cheer Cherry ripe cold County Guy cuckoo delight died doth drink e'er Ellen Evelina England English eyes fair Fal lal Falero fear fill foes fool glass glory Hark hath hear heart Hearts of oak Heav'n his soul Heaven high trolollie hopes jolly King kiss ladies land lass leather bottel lero live Lord lovers maid merrily merry mind morn ne'er never night o'er old cap pipe pleasure poetry poor poor Jack praise round row row Rule Britannia sail sailors shepherds ship sigh sing smile song sorrow Spanish Armada sport sung swain sweet Tally-ho tears tell thee There's thine thou true Twas Twill Vicar of Bray wind wine wish in Heav'n youth
Page 191 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow: While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 268 - Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
Page 55 - Going to the Wars Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. 1 Imprisoned or caged. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.
Page 144 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet,...
Page 216 - Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Page 68 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Page 143 - WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 43 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.