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,

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

O, 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 wond'rous fair, And were the wrinkles stronger still,

While 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,

And still, my love, thy lad is proud,
Old as he is, he's proud to see
The younkers anxious for thy love,

Come fondling round their Gran'am's knee! O! bless the day you did approve,

And bade me hope, and bade me love!

5

O Mary! much I owe thy care,

Life's best of blessings still you gave,
But now, our various duties past,
Our nearest prospect is the grave:
Yet conscious of a virtuous life,

We shrink not from the solemn scene,
Sigh-sigh we must, that we shall part,
But soon, we trust, to meet again,
Where endless pleasures we shall prove,
Nor ever, ever cease to love.

XXIX.

MY HUSBAND.

ADTERED FROM THE SCOTCH SONG OF

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JOE.

1

My Husband, O my Dear, John,

When we at first did wed, Your locks were like the raven,

And you held up your head;