Wi' alter'd voice quoth I, "Sweet lass, That's dearest to thy bosom ! I've served my king and country lang,— Sae wistfully she gazed on me, She gazed-she redden'd like a rose- She sank within my arms, and cried, I am the man; and thus may still "The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, And come, my faithful sodger lad, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!" For gold the merchant ploughs the main, [CHARLES DIBDIN was born in Southampton in the year 1745. He was intended for the Church, but his love of music caused him to relinquish all thoughts of the clerical profession. In 1762, he appeared on the boards of Richmond Theatre, but he did not excel as an actor, though his light dramatic pieces and musical compositions were eminently successful. His spirit-stirring sea-songs were very popular. For some time he enjoyed from Government a pension of 200l. a-year, but on a change of ministry he lost it. Such were his improvident habits, that, had it not been for his friends, who purchased for him an annuity, he would have been plunged in the direst poverty. He died in the year 1814.] O, Go, patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like; A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me, Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, And under reef'd foresail we'll scud : Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback; For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft, I heard our good chaplain palaver one day For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see, And a many fine things that proved clearly to me. For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, I said to our Poll-for, d'ye see, she would cry- What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye? Why, what a d -'d fool you must be! Can't ye see, the world's wide, there's room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore ? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, You never will hear of me more. What then? All's a hazard: come, don't be so soft: For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft, D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, Nought's a trouble from a duty that springs, For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's, And as for my life 'tis the king's. Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft As for grief to be taken aback! For the same little cherub that sits up aloft Will look out a good berth for poor Jack ! THE THREE WARNINGS. BY MRS. PIOZZI.—1740-1822. [THIS well-pointed little story is so superior in finish to the ordinary productions of the reputed authoress that it has often been regarded as owing most of its merits to Dr. Johnson, whose friendship with Mrs. Thrale, afterwards Mrs. Piozzi, is a matter of literary history.] HE tree of deepest root is found THE Least willing still to quit the ground; So much, that in our latter stages, This great affection to believe Be pleased to hear a modern tale. When sports went round, and all were gay, And looking grave--" You must," says he, Quit your sweet bride and come with me." What more he urged I have not heard, |