So kind and so loving, what less could I do, Than buy the dear creature a fairing or two; Some things that she fancied, I paid for I swear. Says she, I shall oft think on Haltwhistle Fair. With very good judgment, and very good sense, I brought down my shillings to so many pence: And sometime near midnight it fell to my share, To see home Miss Bouncer, from Haltwhistle Fair. I will grow very careful, and that you shall see, To try if Miss Bouncer and me can agree; Each shilling and sixpence I will hurd up with care, In hopes for to spend them next Haltwhistle Fair. ANNA OF THE TYNE. A bonny swain, blithe Sandy nam’d, Who’d muckle land and kine, A lassie lov’d, for beauty fam’d, Fair Anna of the Tyne. And thus would Sandy joyous sing, “Fair maid, O be but mine; More blest I’d be than laird or king, With Anna of the Tyne.” “Kind youth,” she cried, “nae kine or land, Nor money I’ve in store; Then cease to ask my humble hand, Nor wed a maid so poor.” Yet still would Sandy joyous sing, “Fair maid, O be but mine; More blest I’d be than laird or king, With Anna of the Tyne.” “For Anna thou art rich in charms, The wealth of worlds to me; Then wed, and bless thy lover’s arms.” She smil’d, and blest was he. How rapturous then did Sandy sing, “Now, now, the fair one’s mine; I am more bless’d then laird or king, With Anna of the Tyne!” THE TYNE. _By Henry Robson._--1807. Henry Robson, the author of this, as also of the _Collier’s Pay Week_, see page 38, was born at Benwell, near Newcastle; and is now residing at the latter place, where, besides the above, he has written several pieces of poetry, possessing a considerable degree of merit. In Britain’s blest island there runs a fine river, Far fam’d for the _ore_ it conveys from the mine: Northumbria’s pride, and that district doth sever From Durham’s rising hills, and ’tis called--_The Tyne_. Flow on, lovely Tyne, undisturb’d be thy motion, Thy sons hold the threats of proud France in disdain; As long as thy waters shall mix with the ocean, The fleets of Old England will govern the main. Other rivers for fame have by poets been noted In many a soft-sounding musical line; But for _sailors_ and _coals_ never one was yet quoted, Could vie with the choicest of rivers--the Tyne. Flow on, lovely Tyne, &c. When Collingwood conquer’d our foes so completely, And gain’d a fine laurel his brow to entwine; In order to manage the matter quite neatly, Mann’d his vessel with tars from the banks of the Tyne. Flow on, lovely Tyne, &c. Thou dearest of rivers, oft times have I wander’d Thy margin along when oppressed with grief, And thought of thy stream, as it onward meander’d, The murmuring melody gave me relief. Flow on, lovely Tyne, &c.