143 THE BANKS O* THE TTNE. 



"Where the hills are all clad with the furze bush 



and trees ; 

 Where down the deep glen blows the sweet 



western breeze ; 

 Where the May flower, the wild rose, and bonny 



woodbine, 

 Send forth their sweet breath on the banks o' the 



Tyne. 



Where the fruit blossom's verdure there's nought 



can surpass, 



And the daisy would soften a heart made o' brass ; 

 Where the cowslip and primrose peep out in the 



dell; 

 Where Nature's own self seems delighted to 



dwell ; 

 WTiere the winter-sick world seems delighted to 



gaze, 

 And the critic's keen eye there will meet with 



amaze ; 



WTiere fortune and sunshine united do shine, 

 On the green grassy hills on the banks o' the 



Tyne. 



But how does it happen, dear brother Armstrang, 

 That the fair-sex is scarce ever nyem'd in yer 



sang? 



The real masterpiece o' Dame Nature's fine 

 hand 





