English

Come , Captain Age,
With your great sea-chest full of treasure!
Under the yellow and wrinkled tarpaulin
Disclose the carved ivory
And the sandalwood inlaid with pearl;
Riches of wisdom and years.
Unfold the India shawl
With its border of emerald and orange and crimson and blue
Weave of a lifetime!
I shall be rich and splendid
With the spoils of the Indies of Age.

Come, Brother, turn with me from pining thought
And all the inward ills that sin has wrought;
Come, send abroad a love for all who live,
And feel the deep content in turn they give.
Kind wishes and good deeds, — they make not poor;
They'll home again, full laden, to thy door;
The streams of love flow back where they begin,
For springs of outward joys lie deep within.

Even let them flow, and make the places glad
Where dwell thy fellow-men. Shouldst thou be sad,
And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press

He that loves Sack doth nothing lack,
If he but Loyal be;
He that deny's Bacchus' supplyes,
Shows meer Hypocrisie.

Come Boyes, fill us a Bumper, we'l make the Nation roare.
She's grown sick of a Rumper that sticks on the old score.
Pox on Phanaticks, rout 'um, they thirst for our blood;
We'l Taxes raise without 'um, and drink for the Nation's good.
Fill the Pottles and Gallons, and bring the Hogshead in,

Come back to me! my life is young,
My soul is scarcely on her way,
And all the starry songs she's sung,
Are prelude to a grander lay.
Come back to me!

Let this song-born soul receive thee,
Glowing its fondest truth to prove;
Why so early did'st thou leave me,
Are our heaven-grand life of love?
Come back to me!

My burning lips shall set their seal
On our betrothal bond to-night,
While whispering murmurs will reveal
How souls can love in God's own light.
Come back to me!

Come and see the chimney-pots, etched against the light!
Half-a-moon of gold above the lovely-phantomed night;
Half-a-silver-moon below, underneath a span,
Mirrored in the vaulted dark, like a jewelled fan.

Dust in dormer window-ledge, age in bolted door,
Roof-tops leaping from the dark, jumbled towards the shore;
Beauty in the shadow-lanes, like an April pain,
Hanging in the hearts of trees, lyric with the rain.

Yellow lines across the black, shimmering and pale,
Falling from the bridges' lights, undulating, frail.

" Come and see! Come and see! "
The thrush pipes out of the hawthorn tree:
And I and Dicky on tiptoe go
To see what treasures he wants to show.
His call is clear as a call can be —
And " Come and see! " he says:
" Come and see! "

" Come and see! Come and see! "
His house is there in the hawthorn-tree:
The neatest house that ever you saw,
Built all of mosses and twigs and straw:
The folk who built were his wife and he —
And " Come and see! " he says:
" Come and see! "

This song of journeys into sorrow
Is mine. I sing it. I alone
Can ravel out its misery, full-grown
When I was, and never worse than now.
The darkness of exile droops on my life.
His going began it, the tossing waves
Taking my lord. I was left in the dawn
Friendless where affection had been. I travelled
Seeking the sun of protection and safety,
Accepting the exile as payment for hope.
But the man's family was weaving plans
In the dark, intending to drive us apart
With a wedge the width of the world, condemning

Of all the beauteous wares
Exposed for sale at fairs,
None will give more delight
Than those that to your sight
From distant lands we bring.
Oh, hark to what we sing!
These beauteous birds behold,
They're brought here to be sold.

And first the big one see,
SOfull of roguish glee!
With light and merry bound
He leaps upon the ground;
Then springs up on the bough.
We will not praise him now.
The merry bird behold, —
He's brought here to be sold.

And now the small one see!

1

Come, all young girls, pay attention to my noise,
Don't fall in love with the Kansas boys,
For if you do your portion it will be,
Johnny cake and antelope is all you'll see.

2

They'll take you out on the jet black hill,
Take you there so much against your will,
Leave you there to perish on the plains,
For that is the way with the Kansas range.

3

Some live in a cabin with a huge log wall,
Nary a window in it at all,
Sand stone chimney and a puncheon floor,

Come, all you sons of Liberty, that to the seas belong,
It's worth your attention to listen to my song;
The history of a privateer I will detail in full,
That fought a " six-and-thirty " belonging to John Bull.

The General Armstrong she is called, and sailed from New York,
With all our hearts undaunted, once more to try our luck;
She was a noble vessel, a privateer of fame:
She had a brave commander, George Champlin was his name.

We stood unto the eastward, all with a favoring gale,