The boa's'n pipes the watch below, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho! Then here's a health afore we go, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! A long long life to my sweet wife and mates at sea; An' keep our bones from Davy Jones where'er we be, An' may you meet a mate as sweet as Nancy Lee; Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, Yeo-ho! we go across the sea ; The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, The sailor's wife his star shall be. A BIRD IN THE HAND THERE were three young maids of Lee, There were three young maids of They were fair as fair can be, He may take the one, or the two, or the three, If he 'll only take them away from Lee. These three old maids of Lee. DOUGLAS GORDON "Row me o'er the strait, Douglas Gordon, Row me o'er the strait, my love," said she, "Where we greeted in the summer, Douglas Gordon, Beyond the little Kirk by the old, old Never a word spoke Douglas Gordon, They floated to the little Kirk, "Give me a word of love, Douglas Gordon, Just a word of pity, O my love," said she, "For the bells will ring to-morrow, Douglas Gordon, My wedding bells, my love, but not for you and me. DARBY AND JOAN DARBY dear, we are old and gray, Darby dear, when the world went wry, Darby, dear, but my heart was wild Darby, dear, 't was your loving hand Hand in hand when our life was May, Hand in hand when the long night-tide THE POET IN THE CITY THE Poet stood in the sombre town, The sound of the Spring's light tread. He thought he saw in the pearly east Out of the smoke, and noise, and sin To leave the struggle of want and wealth, And the battle of lust and pride!" He bent his ear, and he heard afar The growing of tender things, No wonder round those urns of mingled clays WHAT curled and scented sun-girls, almond-eyed, With lotos-blossoms in their hands and hair, Have made their swarthy lovers call them fair, With these spent strings, when brutes were deified, And Memnon in the sunrise sprang and cried, That Tuscan potters fashioned in old days, And love-winds smote Bubastis, and the And colored like the torrid earth ablaze, bare Black breasts of carven Pasht received the For The very shadows loved him well And now no more be smiling walks Through greenwood alleys full of sun, And, as he wanders, turns and talks, Though none be there; The children watch in vain the place Where they were wont, when day was done, To see their poet's sweet worn face, Yet dream not such a spirit dies, The frail soul-covering, racked with pain, Weep not; but watch the moonlit air! The beams pierce heaven from bar to bar, DE ROSIS HIBERNIS AMBITIOUS Nile, thy banks deplore Their Flavian patron's deep decay ; Thy Memphian pilot laughs no more To see the flower-boat float away; Thy winter-roses once were twined Across the gala-streets of Rome, And thou, like Omphale, couldst bind The vanquished victor in his home. But if the barge that brought thy store Had foundered in the Lybian deep, It had not slain thy glory more, Nor plunged thy rose in salter sleep; Nor gods nor Cæsars wait thee now, No jealous Pæstum dreads thy spring, |