O Nancy! when thou'rt far away,

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
O can that soft and gentle mien,

Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
Nor sad regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! can'st thou love so true,
Through perils keen with me to go,
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of woe?
Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay,

Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear,
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Robert Burns affirmed this song to be the most beautiful composition of its kina in the English language.

DEAR BETTY.

SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS.

DEAR Betty, come give me sweet kisses,
Far sweeter no girl ever gave;
But why, in the midst of our blisses,
Do you ask me how many I'd have?
I'm not to be stinted in pleasure;

Then prithee, dear Betty be kind;
For as I love thee beyond measure,
To numbers I'll not be confined.

Count the bees that on Hybla are straying,

Count the flowers that enamel the fields,
Count the flocks that on Tempé are playing,
Or the grains that each Sicily yields;
Count how many stars are in Heaven;
Go reckon the sands on the shore,
And when so many kisses you've given,
I still will be asking for more.

To a heart full of love let me hold thee,
A heart, that dear Betty is thine;
In my arms I'll for ever enfold thee,

And curl round thy neck like a vine.
What joy can be greater than this is?

My life on thy lips shall be spent;
But those who can number their kisses
Will always with few be content.

Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, Bart., wrote a great number of political and other songs, which, with his other works were published in 1822, in 3 vols., from the original MSS. in the possession of his grandson the Earl of Essex, with notes by Horace Walpole. This song-the only one of the many which is a shade above mediocrity-is an imitation of Martial, lib. vi. Ep. xxxiv. The greater portion of the songs of this writer were produced between 1730 and 1745.

WHEN LOVELY WOMAN.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH, born 1731, died 1774.
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.1

1 "For elegant simplicity of language, harmony of versification, and pointed neatness of composition," says Dr. Aikin in his 'Vocal Poetry,'" there are not perhaps, to be found in the language two more finished stanzas than these, which are introduced in 'The Vicar of Wakefield." It may be doubted whether Dr. Aikins's eulogium be deserved. To die is not an 'art.' And, independently of this verbal objection, the philosophy of the song is not irreproachable.

THE THORN.

JOHN O'KEEFFE. The Music by Shield.

FROM the white blossom'd sloe, my dear Chloe requested A sprig her fair breast to adorn;

No, by Heavens! I exclaim'd, may I perish,

If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn!

When I show'd her the ring and implored her to marry
She blush'd like the dawning of morn.

Yes, yes! I'll consent, she replied, if you promise,
That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn.

PRETTY LITTLE SUE.

From "The Myrtle and the Vine," A.D. 1780.
My fair, ye swains, is gone astray,
The little wand'rer lost her way;
In gathering flow'rs the other day;

Sing high, sing high, sing low;
O lead her home, ye gentle swains,
Who know an absent lover's pains,
And bring in safety o'er the plains
My pretty little Sue.

Whene'er a charming form you see,
Serenely grave, sedately free,
O bring her, for it must be she;

Sing high, sing high, sing low:
When such a tuneful voice you hear
As makes you think a syren's near,
O bring her, for it is my dear,
My pretty little Sue.

But rest my soul, and bless your fate,
The gods who formed her so complete,
Will safely guard her harmless feet,

Sing high, sing high, sing low:
O lead her home, ye gentle swains,
Who know an absent lover's pains,
And bring in safety o'er the plains
My pretty little Sue.

IF "TIS LOVE TO WISH YOU NEAR

CHARLES DIBDIN, born 1745, died 1814.

IF 'tis love to wish you near,
To tremble when the wind I hear,
Because at sea you floating rove;
If of you to dream at night,

To languish when you're out of sight,
If this be loving-then I love.

If, when you're gone, to count each hour,
To ask of every tender power

That you may kind and faithful prove;
If, void of falsehood and deceit,
I feel a pleasure now we meet,
If this be loving-then I love.
To wish your fortune to partake,
Determin'd never to forsake,
Though low in poverty we strove ;
If, so that me your wife you'd call,

I offer you my little all;

If this be loving-then I love,

HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED. R. B. SHERIDAN, born 1751, died 1816.

HAD I a heart for falsehood framed,

I ne'er could injure you;

For though your tongue no promise claimed,
Your charms would make me true:

To you no soul shall bear deceit,

No stranger offer wrong,

But friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

But when they learn that you have blest
Another with your heart,

They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
And act a brother's part;

Then lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

COUNTY GUY. '

SIR WALTER SCOTT, born 1771, died 1832.

O County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea:

The lark his lay, who trill'd all day,

Sits hush'd his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour!
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade,
Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high born Cavalier.

The star of love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky;

Now, high and low the influence know:
But where is County Guy.

OH! SAY NOT WOMAN'S HEART IS BOUGHT.

J. HOWARD PAYNE.

From the Opera of Clari, the Maid of Milan.

OH! say not woman's heart is bought
With vain and empty treasure;

Oh! say not woman's heart is caught
By every idle pleasure.

When first her gentle bosom knows
Love's flame, it wanders never;
Deep in her heart the passion glows,
She loves, and loves for ever.

Oh! say not woman's false as fair,
That like the bee she ranges!

Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare,
As fickle fancy changes.

Ah! no, the love that first can warm,
Will leave her bosom never;

No second passion e'er can charm,
She loves and loves for ever.