VI.

Oh! the bliss in youth's fair morning,
Free and careless, ever roaming,
Flora every scene adorning ;

To range from morn till evening's gloaming,
With love's soft glance to sympathize,
And peep at heaven in beauty's eyes.

VII.

Worldly cares then fly away,

Harmony reigns here and revels,
Young love, with nature's charms at play,
All distinction drowns or levels,
Avaunt ye! sordid wrinkled care!
Here all pure nature's bounties share.

VIII,

Tell us not that cares are coming,
Let them come, they cannot sting us
Listen how the bees are humming,

Feel the balm the breezes bring us,
Hear the music of the grove,
Confess the charms of youthful love.

IX.

Love, the purest gem on earth,

The constant true heart's richest pleasure, Still yields a mine of priceless worth,

Wealth cannot buy with all its treasure; Gold forms a bar that love's sweet joys retard, But genuine love is its own pure reward.

!

A NEW SONG,

SUNG AT A TEMPERANCE FESTIVAL.

I.

In bacchanalian strains, the song
Of festive glee has often been
Re-echo'd round, both loud and long,
At festivals that I have seen;
And many a cheerful heart and voice,
Responding to the sprightly lay,
Join'd chorus freely to rejoice,

That cares were vanish'd far away.

CHORUS.

Over the hills and far away,

Over the hills and far away,

All care seem'd vanish'd on that day,
Over the hills and far away.

II

But Bacchanalian joys soon fly,

Wine steals the social mind away,

And noisy riot rising high,

Oft rules with wild o'erwhelming sway ; The festive charm-the flow of soul,

Depart the scene, and will not stay,

At last the overpowering bowl,
Ends all in one disgraceful fray.

CHORUS.

Then over the hills and far away,
Over the hills and far away,
Joy flies and never turns to stay,
Till over the hills and far away.

III.

But here no angry eyeballs roll,
No brawling our delights annoy;
Our healthful beverage moves the soul,
To pure untainted social joy.

And if the world would learn our way,
To multiply the joys of life,
Discord would vanish, war decay,
And all the elements of strife.

CHORUS.

Over the hills and far away,
Over the hills and far away,
Discord would die, and war decay,

Both here at home and far away.

SPINNING JINNY!

I.

Poor TOMMY HIGHS *

In death's long slumber lies,

His daughter, JINNY,

Hath closed her eyes,

And finished her own spinning. ARKWRIGHT, the Barber, sleeps in clay,

The worms feed now on artist Kay. †

II.

Now mark the strange

Vicissitudes of fate;

How wonderful the change,

Small things produce on great;

And mark how oddly honour finds

Rewards for merit of all kinds.

* The original inventor of the Spinning Jinny, named after his daughter, Jinny.

† A watchmaker, who assisted HIGHS