THE

     DROVER - BOY.

I'm a merry hearted mountain drover boy,
And a Switzer brave and free :
My days are pass'd in a round of joy,
And none so blithe as me.
At morn from the hill with right good will,
My scrip I fill so gaily, O !
My horn I blow with a merry hey ho,
And away goes the drover boy.
                                                      Hey ho, &c.

I'm a captain bold of a troop so fine,
As you'd see on a summer's day,
An ill word 'gainst that brave herd of mine,
I should like to hear who'd say.
At eve to the spring my kine I bring,
My sweet little flock so gaily, O !
When my horn I blow, you should hear how they low,
At the call of the drover boy.
                                                      Hey ho, &c.

I've a pretty little dove like the snow-drop fair,
Whose smile is the soul of glee ;
An ill word of her, if any dare,
Must answer it well unto me.
At eve with the drove, as homeward I rove,
To my sweet little dove so gaily, O !
When my horn I blow, how well does she know
The call of her drover boy.
                                                      Hey ho, &c.

 Love's Roundelay.

Oh, Love is the fairy power,
That moves our chain of bliss,
'Tis another land's stolen hour,
To sweeten whole years in this.

Love is the true bright beaming here,
From woman's voice from woman's tear,
To bless our steps, to cheer our way,
Then sing to Love a Roundelay.

Oh, Love is the sweetning balm,
That Heaven's own flowrets meet
'Tis a dream sent here to calm,
Our lifetime's troubled sleep.

Love is the music humming bird,
In woman's gentle voice that's heard,
To bless our steps, &c.

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

                THE

 Coal - Black Steed.

The Knight is on his steed again,
To fields of fight he's going ;
His bride is at the castle gate,
And fast her tears are flowing !
Well may they fall, for sad the call
'To arms !'—a song he tried her :
And speed, oh speed ! thou coal-black steed,
Speed safely with thy rider.

And after many tedious days,
She hears the fight is over ;
She leaves her lonely bower again,
And hastes to meet her lover !
He soon will come—prepare his home,
And ope the portal wider ;
And speed, oh speed, thou coal-black steed,
Bear home thy gallant rider.

She hears a tramp of horses feet,
Along the path she glances ;
And nearer still upon the hill
The welcome sound advances.
She rushes out, but, Fate—he falls !
Her Page kneels down beside her ;
She saw indeed the coal-black steed,
It came without a rider.

Walker, Printer, Durham.
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