Miscellaneous Poems

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author, 1804 - American poetry - 227 pages
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Page 226 - the soul, To foot it we merrily lead 'em, And each bonny lass will drink off a glass, To America, Commerce and Freedom. Our cargo sold, the chink we share, And gladly we receive it ; And if we meet a brother Tar, Who wants, we freely give it.
Page 222 - SONG.* .DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine, Or
Page 225 - landsmen look pale, never heed 'em ; But toss off a glass, to a favourite lass, To America, Commerce, and Freedom, And when arrived in sight of landĽ Or safe in port rejoicing, Our ship we moor, our sails we
Page 226 - Whilst out the boat is hoisting. With eager haste the shore we reach, Our friends, delighted, greet us ; And, tripping lightly o'er the beach, The pretty lasses meet us. When the full flowing bowl, has
Page 225 - blest a life a sailor leads, From clime to clime still ranging ; For as the calm the storm succeeds, The scene delights by changing. When tempests howl along the main, Some object will remind us, And cheer with hopes to meet again Those friends we've left behind us. Then under snug sail, we laugh at the gale, And tho' landsmen look pale, never heed 'em ; But toss off
Page 71 - Her form was faultless, and her mind, Untainted yet by art, Was noble, just, humane and kind, And virtue warm'd her heart. But ah, the cruel spoiler came, Admir'd her charms and youth: He feign'd to feel love's pow'rful flame, And vow'd eternal truth.
Page i - I MUST REMAIN ACCOUNTABLE FOR ALL MY FAULTS, AND SUBMIT, WITHOUT SUBTERFUGE, TO THE CENSURES OF CRITICISM, WHICH I SHALL NOT
Page 185 - stores The golden sheaves all safe from spoil ; While from her horn gay Plenty, pours Her treasures to reward his toil. To solemn temples let us now repair,' And bow in grateful adoration there
Page 199 - stores The golden sheaves all safe from spoil ; While from her horn gay Plenty pours Her treasures to reward his toil. To solemn temples let us now repair,' And bow in grateful adoration there
Page 217 - and peace, Can the wealth of the Indies afford ? I sink into rest, with content in my breast, As happy as mortal can be; From the toils of the great, ambition and state, 'Tis my pride and my boast to be free.

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