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We have balls, we have plays,
We have routs, public days,
And yet still I find something is wanting
What should it be but the girl of my heart,
To share those treasures with me!
For had I the wealth which the Indies impart,
No pleasure would it give me,
Without the lovely girl of my heart,
Then give me the girl of my heart.
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.
'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone,
All its lovely companions are faded and gone;
No flow'r of its kindred, no rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back its blushes, or heave sigh for sigh
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, to pine on the stem
Since the lovely are sleeping, go sleep thou with thein;
