AH, be not vain. In yon flower-be… As rare a pearl, did I appear, As ever grew in ocean shell, To dangle at a Helen’s ear. So was I till a cruel blast

center A new song to an old tune. AWAY to the pic-nic at Ryton, aw… Went off in the sunrise our younke… And many were bonny and many were…

JUST let the Owl of Evil howl; To mourners of each rank and stati… Come, troll the Golden Bowl! And quaff me with a deep potation. Each sparkling droplet to the soul

BALOO, my sweet baby—the blossom… I dandle’t till weary, and sigh, With not a bare drop in my bosom To silence its pitiful cry. The red moon above us right rarely…

HER harp she takes, from string t… Her little snowy fingers, glancing… Into Night’s ear a wild spell fli… And all the while my heart is danc… Why thus, fond heart, thus dancest…

‘ADIEU!’ she cried, and with tha… Adown the star-lit valley fleeted, And Echo from her tower on high, With cruel tongue, the word repeat… ‘What?—Never!’ cried I, yet posse…

DON’T spur us so: you’ll ever fi… When you will ride at giddy paces There’s always something in the wi… At which ere long you’ll twist you… What, we’re but steeds whom no one…

A SONG in devotion I sing to my… Ah! be startled not to discover I… To fold in my arms and possess wha… And many a time is the theme of my… My manhood’s dissolved at the sigh…

LET England beware, ere for war… She incur not the mark of the beas… That she march not her power the… Of the blood-imbued wolf of the E… It might be her gain that State t…

MY little boy, thy laughter Goes to my bosom core, And sends me yearning after The days that are no more. Adown my cheek is stealing

PARTLY from deference to the opinion of a few well-wishers, and partly from an impression that it would be proper so to do, I beg leave to state that the author of the following Lyrics ...

DUSKIER than the clouds that li… ‘Tween the coal-pit and the sky, Lo, how Willy whistles by Right cheery from the colliree. Duskier might the laddie be

MUST all the passion which I’ve… So long to hide be paid with scorn… And must a bosom framed for love, Be doomed a hopeless love to mourn… And must thou still its homage spu…

AS I came down from Earsdon Town… A-lilting of a lay, Whom did I meet but she, the swee… The blue-eyed Lotty Hay. A crimson blush her cheek did flus…

AT Backworth sung till echo rung, A bard whose feelings were, In what to young and old he sung Of little Dolly Dare. ‘Tho’ Lizzy’s sweet and Polly’s n…