FRIENDSHIP to every willing mind,
Opens a heavenly treasure:
There may the sons of sorrow find
Sources of real pleasure.
See what employment men pursue,
Then you will own my words are true;
Friendship alone unfolds to view,
Sources of real pleasure.
Poor are the joys which fools esteem,
Fading and transitory;
Mirth is as fleeting as a dream,
Or a delusive story;
Luxury leaves a sting behind,
Wounding the body and the mind;
Only in friendship can we find
Pleasure and solid glory.
Beauty, with all its gaudy shows,
Is but a painted bubble;
Short is the triumph wit bestows,
Full of deceit and trouble.
Fame, like a shadow, flies away;
Titles and dignities decay;
Nothing but friendship can display
Joys that are free from trouble.
Learning (that boasting, glittering thing)
Scarcely is worth possessing;
Riches, for ever on the wing,
Cannot be called a blessing.
Sensual pleasures swell desire,
Just as the fuel feeds the fire:
Friendship can real bliss inspire,
Bliss that is worth possessing.
Happy the man who has a friend,
Form'd by the God of nature;
Well may he feel and recommend
Friendship for his Creator.
Then as our hands in friendship join,
So let our social powers combine,
Rul'd by a passion most divine,
Friendship with our Creator.
MARY'S DREAM.-By Lowe.
THE moon had clim'd the highest hill,
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tower and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea;
When soft and low a voice she heard
Say, Mary, weep no more for me.
She from her pillow gently rais'd
Her head to ask who there might be ;
She saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With pallid cheek and hollow eye!
Oh! Mary, dear, cold is my clay,
It lies beneath the stormy sea;
Far, far from thee I sleep in death,
So, Mary, weep no more for me.
Three stormy nights and stormy days,
We toss'd upon the raging main;
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain;
E'en then, when horror chill'd my blood,
My heart was fill'd with love for thee;
The storm is past, and l'in at rest,
So, Mary, weep no more for me.
O maiden dear, thyself prepare,
We soon shall meet upon that shore, Where love is free from doubt and care, And thou and I shall part no more. Loud crew the cock, the shadow fled, No more of Sandy could she see; But soft the passing spirit said,
Sweet Mary, weep no more for me.
BLUE-EYED MARY.
Come tell me, blue-ey'd stranger,
Say whither do'st thou roam?
O'er this wide world a ranger,
Hast thou no friends or home?
They call'd me blue-ey'd Mary,
When friends and fortune smil'd;
But ah, how fortunes vary,
I now am sorrow's child.
Come here, I'll buy thy flowers,
And ease thy hapless lot,
Still wet with waning showers,
I'll buy, Forget-me-not.
Kind sir, then take these posies,
They're fading like my youth,
But never, like these roses,
Shall wither Mary's truth.
Look up thou poor forsaken,
I'll give thee house and home,
And if I'm not mistaken,
Thou'lt never wish to roam.
Born thus to weep my fortune,
Though poor, I'll virtuous prove,
I early learnt this cantion,
That pity is not love.
No, no, sweet blue-ey'd stranger,
I'll give thee hand and heart,
Be not a friendless ranger,
We never more will part.
Once more I'm happy Mary,
Once more has fortune smil'd,
Who ne'er from virtue vary,
May yet be fortune's child.
AULD LANG SYNE.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?
CHORUS For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
We twae hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.
We twae hae paidlet i' the burn,
Fra mornin sun till dine :
But seas between us braid hae roar'd,
Sin' auld lang syne.
And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
And we'll tak a right gude wille-waught For auld lang syne.
And surely ye'll be your pint stowp,
And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
HOW STANDS THE GLASS?
How stands the glass around?
For shaine, ye take no care, my boys!
How stands the glass around?
Let mirth and wine abound!
The trumpets sound!
The colors now are flying boys,
To fight, kill, or wound;
May we still be found
Content with our hard fate, my boys,
On the cold ground!
Why, soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy, boys?
Why, soldiers, why!
Whose business 'tis to die.
What sighing! fie!
Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys! 'Tis he, you, or 1—
Cold, hot, wet or dry;
We're always bound to follow, boys!
And scorn to fly!
I mean not to upbraid you, boys;
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