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But when my seven long years are out,
Oh then I'll marry Sally,
Henry Carey, ,
O MEMORY! thon fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
And turning all the past to pain :
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe!
The wretch condemn'd with life to part
Still, still on hope relies;
Bids expectation rise.
Adorns and cheers the way;
Emits a brighter ray.
WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY. WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray, What charm can sooth her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
To hide her shame from every eye,
The rose had been wash’d, just wash'd in a show'r,
Which Mary to Anna convey’d,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And swinging it radely, too rudely alas !
I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground.
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
* This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile, And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
THE BRAES OF YARROW.
‘Tuy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream!
When first on them I met my lover;
When now thy waves his body cover!
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow.
To bear me to his father's bowers;
To 'squire me to his father's tow'rs;
The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow;-
Alas, bis watery grave, in Yarrow !
My passions I as freely told him!
That I should never more behoid him !
It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow;
gave a doleful groan through Yarrow.
• His mother from the window look’d,
With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walk'd
The green-wood path to meet her brother : They sought him east, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorouglı; They only saw the cloud of night,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow! No longer from thy window look,
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother; No longer walk, thou lovely maid !
Alas, thou hast no more a brother! No longer seek him east or west,
And search no more the forest thorough; For, wandering in the night so dark,
He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. The tear shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow; I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.'-
No other youth became her marrow;
PLATO'S ADVICE." Says Plato, why should man be vain,
Since bouwteous beaven hath made him great? Why look with insolent disdain
On those andeck'd with wealth or state? • An alteration of a song written by the Rev. Matthew Pil. kington, beginning
Why, Lycidas, should man be vain.
Can splendid robes or beds of down,
Or costly gems that deck the fair, Can all the glories of a crown
Give health, or ease the brow of care?
The humble and the hanghty die;
In dust, without distinction lie.
Who once the greatest titles bore;
And all their honours are no more. So glides the meteor through the sky,
And spreads along a gilded train, But when its short-liv'd beauties die,
Dissolves to common air again. So 'tis with us, my jovial souls,
Let friendship reign while here we stay ; Let's crown onr joys with flowing bowls, When Jove us calls we must obey.
I ENVY NOT THE PROUD THEIR WEALTH.
I envy not the proud their wealth,
Their equipage and state ;
I ask not to be great.
A joy unknown to kings ;
Seem vain and empty things.