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O'er me wave the willow, and long may it

flourish Bedew'd with the tears of Wife, Children

and Friends.

4 Let us drink, for my song growing graver and

graver To subjects too solemn insensibly tends, Let us drink,-pledge me high! Love and

Virtue shall flavour The glass that I fill to Wife, Children and

Friends. And if, in the hope this fair island to plunder

The tyrant of France to invade us pretends, How his legions will shrink when our arm’d

freemen thunder The war-cry of Britons, Wife, Children

and Friends!

XXVII.

LOVE AT FIFTY.

BY MR. DIBDIN.

1 When I told you your cheeks wore the blush of

the rose,

That the spring was the type of your youth, That no lily a tint like your neck could

disclose, I made love in the language of truth:

Yet the loveliest rose, once the summer away,

Of its bloom leaves no vestige behind ;
But your bloom, when the summer of life shall

decay,
Fresh as ever shall glow in your mind.

2 See the Bee, as from flower to flower he roves,

The sweets of the garden explore, And in winter to feast on the banquet he loves,

Lay in his industrious store: So all your employment thro' life's busy day,

Is the sweets drawn from goodness to find, Reason's feast to supply, and cheat winter away,

From that source of perfection, your mind.

3 And thus, as the seasons of life pass away,

We enjoy ev'ry various scene; The spring all expanding, the summer all gay,

The autumn all mild and serene :

You are yet in your summer ; but when on your

head,
While from all admiration you find,
Silver winter its honours shall sacredly shed,
Still summer shall bloom in

your

mind.

XXVIII.

THE SONG OF SEVENTY.

BY J. B.

1
I told you, Mary, told you true,
If love to favour had a claim,

That all its wishes warm'd my breast,
And

you were still my constant theme; I told you then if mine you were, The pride of rank you must forego,

And all the pomp of dress resign,

For wealth I had not to bestow;
And, Mary, thou did’st not reprove,
And bade me hope, and bade me love!

2

0, Mary, on thy lovely neck,
The diamond shone with sweeten'd glance,

And graceful was the silken robe,
That mark'd thy motions in the dance,
And joyous were the pompous croud,

Thy birth entitled thee to join ; Yet pomp, and wealth, and friends you left,

To be acknowledg'd, Mary-mine, Thou lovely did'st my suit approve, And bade me hope, and bade me love!

3

'Tis long now, Mary, since we met,

Stiff are my joints and hoar my hair ; E'en your cheeks too the wrinkles mark,

And yet, my love, you're wondrous fair, And were the wrinkles stronger still,

Wbile accents cheerful grac'd your tongue, How could I think but on those smiles

And accents that adorn'd thee young, When thou, love, did'st my suit approve, And bade me hope, and bade me love !

4

How often, Mary, has my heart

With secret rapture beat thy praise, While on your breast our infants hung,

I mark'd their mother's tender gaze,

4
For tho' thou gladly would'st fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

5 But well thou play'd’st the huswife's part, And all thy threads with curious art, Have wound themselves about this heart,

My Mary!

6 Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,

My Mary!

7
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,

My Mary!

8
For could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,

My Mary!

9
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently prest, press gently mine,

My Mary!

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