When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best,
Is o'er the hills and far awa?
Its no the frosty winter wind,
Its no the driving drift and snaw;
But ay the tear comes in my e'e,
To think on him that's far awa.

My father put me frae his door,
My friends they hae disown'd me a',
But I hae ane will take my part,
The bonnie lad that's far awa.

A pair o' gloves he gave to me,
And silken snoods he gave me twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonnie lad that's far awa.

The weary winter soon will pass,
And spring will cleed the birken-shaw;
And my sweet babie will be born,

And he'll come home that's far awa.

THE SAILOR BOY.

THE sea was calm, the sky serene,
And gently blew the eastern gale,
When Anna, seated on a rock,

Watch'd the Lavinia's less'ning sail.
To Heaven she thus her pray'r address'd:
'Thou who canst save or canst destroy!
From each surrounding danger guard
My much lov'd little sailor boy.

'When tempests o'er the ocean howl, And even sailors shrink with dread, Be some protecting angel near,

To hover o'er my William's head:

He was lov'd by all the plain;
His father's pride, his mother's joy;
Then safely to their arms restore
Their much-lov'd little sailor boy.
'May no rude foe his course impede,
Conduct him safely o'er the waves;
O may he never be compell'd

To fight for power or mix with slaves; May smiling peace his steps attend, Each rising hour be crown'd with joy, As blest as that when I again

Shall meet my much-lov'd sailor boy.'

THE WOOD-ROBIN.

STAY, Sweet enchanter of the grove,
Leave not so soon thy native tree;
O, warble still those notes of love,
While my fond heart responds to thee.
O, warble still those notes of love,
While my fond heart responds to thee.
Rest thy soft bosom on the spray,
Till chilly autumn frowns severe;
Then charm me with thy parting lay,
And I will answer with a tear.
Then charm me with thy parting lay,
And I will answer with a tear.

But soon as spring, enrich'd with flowers,
Comes dancing o'er the new-dress'd plain,
Return, and cheer thy natal bowers,

My Robin, with those notes again. Return, and cheer thy natal bowers, My Robin, with those notes again.

THE SEAMAN'S JOURNAL.-By Dibdin.
'Twas past meridian half past four,
By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she linger'd on the shore,

With uplift hands and broken-hearted:
At seven, while taught'ning the fore-stay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy;
At eight we all got under weigh,

And bade a long adieu to Nancy.

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
When careless sailors, ever cheery,
On the mid-watch so jovial sung,

With tempers labor cannot weary.
I little to their mirth inclin'd,

While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy, And my warm sighs increas'd the wind, Look'd on the moon and thought of Nancy. And now arriv'd that jovial night,

When every true-bred tar carouses, When o'er the grog all hands delight

To toast their sweethearts and their spouses: Round went the can, the mirth, the glee, While tender wishes fill'd each fancy; And, when in turn it came to me,

I heav'd a sigh, and toasted Nancy.

Next morn came on a storm at four;
At six the elements in motion
Plung'd me, and three poor sailors more,
Headlong into the foaming ocean;
Poor wretches, they soon found their graves!
For me, it may be only fancy,

But love seem'd to forbid the waves

To snatch me from the arms of Nancy.

Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,
Scarce winds and waves had ceas'd to rattle,
When a bold enemy appear'd,

And dauntless we prepar'd for battle.
And now, while some lov'd friend or wife,
Like lightning, rush'd on every fancy,
To Providence I trusted life,

Put up a prayer and thought on Nancy.

At last, 'twas in the month of May,
The crew, it being lovely weather,
At three, A. M. discover'd day,

And England's chalky cliffs together.
At seven, up channel, how we bore,

While hopes and fears possess'd my fancy! At twelve, I gaily jump'd on shore,

And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy.

NEW WORDS TO "AULD LANG SYNE."
By a Kentuckian."

SHALL all the hues of morn decay
At sober eve's decline;

And all that's lovely fade away,
Of auld lang syne? &c. &c.

Shall boyhood's joys be all forgot,
Those joys no longer mine;
And Friendship's self remember not
Dear days o' auld lang syne? &c. &c.

Is love, too, all a fabled dream,
An image of the mind;
And her I lov'd, an April beam
Of auld lang syne? &c. &c.

Then fill the flowing goblet up
With love-inspiring wine,
And beauty's self shall kiss the cup,
To auld lang syne, &c. &c.

HEAVING THE LEAD.-By Pearce. FOR England, when, with fav'ring gale, Our gallant ship up channel steer'd, And scudding under easy sail,

The high blue western land appear'd, To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

By the deep-NINE.'

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well known object kept in view-An abbey-tower, a harbor-fort,

Or beacon to the vessel true; While oft the lead the seaman flung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

" By the mark-SEVEN.'

And as the much lov'd shore we near, With transport we behold the roof Where dwelt a friend or partner dear, Of faith and love a matchless proof!! The lead once more the seaman flung, And to the watchful pilot sung,

6 Quarter less--FIVE.'

Now to her birth the ship draws nigh, With slacken'd sail she feels the tide ; 'Stand, clear the cable!' is the cryThe anchor's gone, we safely ride.