Page:March to the battle field.pdf/4

4 THE POLACCA.

No moreby sorrow chas'd my heart
 * Shall yield to fell despair;

Now joys repel the envenom'd dart,
 * And conquers ev'ry care.

So in our woods the hunted boar,
 * On native strength relies;

The forest echoes with his roar,
 * In turn the hunter flies.

CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING

‘Twas on a Monday morning
 * Right early in the year,

That Charlie cam to our town,
 * The young Chevalier.
 * And Charlie he's my darling,
 * My darling, my darling,
 * Charlie he’s my darling.
 * The young Chevalier.

As he was walking up the street,
 * The city for to view,

O there he spied a bonny lass;
 * The window looking through.
 * And Charlie, &c.