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Its safe and silent islands

Within the dark morass.
Woe to the heedless soldiery

Who little think us near,
On them shall light at midnight,

A strange and sudden fear,
When waking to their tents on fire,

They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us

Are bent to earth again ;
And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil ; We walk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind,

That in the pine top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves, Well known the fair and friendly moon,

The band that Marion leads, The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds, 'Tis life our fiery barbs to guide

Across the moonlight plain;

'Tis life to feel the night wind

That lifts their tossing manes, A moment in the ravaged camp.com

A moment and away,
Back to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,

Grave men with hoary hairs
Their hearts are all with Marion,

For Marion are their prayers :
The loveliest ladies greet our band

With kindliest welcoming-
With smiles like those of summer,

And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear those trusty arms,

And lay them down no more,
Till we have driven the oppressor,

For ever from our shore.

O send Lewie Gordon hame,
And the lad I daur na name,
Tho' his beck be at the wa'
Here's to him that's far awa.

O hon, my Highlandman !
O, my bonny Highlandman,
Well would I my true love kon,

Amang ten thousand Highlandmón.
O see his tartan trews,
Bonnet blue, and laigh heel'd shoes,
Philibeg aboon his knee,
That's the lad I'll gang wi.

O, hon, &c.

This lovely youth of whom I sing,
Is fitted to be a king;
On his breast he wears a star,
You'd take him for the god of war.

O hon, &c.
0! see this princely one
Seated on a royal throne,
Disasters a' would disappear ;
Then begins the jubilee year.

O hon, &c.


RECITATIVE. As through Hyde Park the vet'ran chanc'd to balt

The guards close pass’d him on a grand field day, He stopp'd and sighid-'twas age and not his fault

That kept him prisoner he was heard to say. Else had he still for Britain bravely dar'd

For George and liberty fresh courage shed ; Fougbt all those battles he had nobly shar'd

And in his country's cause his last has bled. But old, decrepit, and of strength bereft,

Few were the hairs upon his silver head; With wounds all cover'd he reluctant left

The bed of honour for a homely bed. His crutch now propp'd his tottering steps along,

And as he dimly view'd the glittering crowd, With tears of rapture, yet of anguish strong,

A soldier's firelock he address'd aloud :

Then farewell these days of glory,

At my grief you well may guess ;
Oft have I declar'd my story,

How I've lov'd my poor Brown Bess. Forty-five long years her lover,

My fond arms she used to press: Twelve sad years and more are over,

Since I've hugg'd my poor Brown Bess. Her skin, though not so soft and fair,

As some soft dames, I must confess, Yet as much good time and care

Has been employed on poor Brown Bess. Faithful still to ev'ry duty

For parade whene'er I dress ; Neat and clean—a polish'd beauty,

Ever came my poor Brown Bess, Of her fame our foes can mention,

Loud report to their distress : Soon she silence all dissension,

Such a voice had poor Browo Bess. But, alas! those times are past now,

Age and wounds my fame possess ;
Death I find approaching fast now,

So farewell my poor Brown Bess,
One request, oh! don't oppose,
Ere the turf my corpse

shall press Or the coffin quite enclose me,

By my side lay poor Brown Bess.

The kiss, dear maid, thy lips have left,

Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift

Untainted back to thine.
The parting glance that fondly gleams,

An equal love may eee,
The tear that from the eyelid streams
Can weep no change in mo.

The kiss, &c.
I ask no pledge to make me blest,

In gazing when alone ;
No one memorial for a breast,

Whose thoughts were all thine own.
By day or night, in weal or woe,

That heart no longer free.
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee.

The kiss, &c


The sea was rough, the clouds were dark,

Far distant every joy,
When forc'd, by fortune, to embark,

I went a cabin boy.
My purse soon fill'd with Frenchman's gold,

I hasten'd home with joy,
But wreck'd in sight of port, behold,

A helpless cabin boy.

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