SONG

ON THE THREATENED INVASION,

BY CAPTAIN MORRICE.

WHILE deeds of Hell deface the world,
And Gallia's throne in ruin lies,
While round the earth revolt is hurl'd,
And Discord's baneful banner flies:
Loud shall the loyal Briton sing

To arm! to arms!-your bucklers bring,
To shield our Country, guard our King,
And George and England save.

Ne'er shall the desolating woe

That shades with horror Europe o'er,
To us her hideous image shew,

Or steep in blood this happy shore ;
Firm as our rock-bound isle we'll stand,
With watchful eye and iron hand,
To wield the might of Britain's land,
And George and England save.

While wide the threat'ning frenzy burns,
And prostrate nations mourn its rage,
Sternly his eye the Briton turns

To Edward's and to Henry's page.
As o'er their conquering urn he sighs,
Touch'd by their fame's proud fire, he cries
Thus o'er our foes we'll ever rise,

And George and England save.

Oft Fancy views them on the deep,
And turning, as their squadrons roll,
Where great Eliza's ashes sleep,

With triumph fills the Briton's soul. As Drake and Raleigh catch the glance, Advance! he cries-rash fools advance! The grave of Spain shall ope for France, And George and Eugland save.

What prompts these restless foes of life,
To dare our dreaded arms again;
What, but the hope that party strife

Hath broke Britannia's shield in twain ?
But know they not, when France is near,
The war of tongues is silent here,
That ALL may grasp Britannia's spear,
And George and England save.

Ne'er in the pinch of Britain's fate,
Shall statesmens' rival feuds be known,

Or faction strive, with thwarting hate,
To break the British bulwark down:

No-round the altar of our land,
Link'd in one soul, the British band
Shall firm in sacred union stand,

And George and England save.

Tho' moral order sink to ground,
Tho' all the virtues trodden lie,
Tho' fury tear the nations round,

And blood and rapine fill each eye;
Ne'er shall the storm HERE turn its flight,
While British hearts at home unite,
To guide our thoughts, to guard our right,
And George and England save.

Oh, happy Isle! wise-order'd State !
Well temper'd work of Freedom's hand!
No shock of realms can touch thy fate,
If union bind thy sea-girt land !—
Vainly the storms shall round thee ring,
While Britain's sons in concord sing,
We'll shield our Country, guard our King,
And George and England save.

OVER THE TOMB OF ANACREON,

BY ANTIPATOR OF SIDON.

MAY the fair field in purple foliage bloom,
And wanton Ivy bind Anacreon's tomb !
Soft milky fountains o'er the marble play,
And sweetest wine in beds of roses stray;
So shall his ashes still some pleasure know,
If pleasure ever lights the shades below!

F. E. C. D.

TRANSLATION

Of the Chorus at the End of the Second Act of the Hecuba of Euripides:

YE breezes, mild and gentle gales,

Whose breath propitious fills the swelling sails,
And bids the vessel swiftly glide

Thro' angry seas, and stem the stubborn tide;
O! whither, whither will ye bear me hence,

To haughty power a slave, and lawless insolence?

Will ye,

alas in Doric lands

Subject me to some haughty Greek's commands?
Or waft me to the fertile coast

Of Pthia, where in wandring mazes lost,

Apidanus pours forth his silver floods

Thro' meads of verdant hue, and shadowy darkling woods.

Or must I to the isle repair,

Sacred to Latona's care,

Where verdant laurels and the lofty pine,

Their friendly shades and blooming branches join,

And with the youthful choir's united lays,

Raise the chaste voice in fair Diana's praise.

For lofty Athens must I part,

To shade the curious vest with nicest art;
To paint Minerva's glorious car,

Adorn the tapestry with scenes of war,
Or point the forked bolt with flaming rage,
On Titans hurl'd, that durst Heaven's awful king
engage.

See blazing fires from hapless Ilion rise,

While clouds of circling smoke obscure the skies;
O dire distress! why only am I left,

Of children, parents, brethren, all bereft,

Why thus reserv'd a prey for lawless bands,

To drag the galling chain far hence in foreign lands?

CANZONET,

FROM ANACREON,

BY J. HURDIS, B. D.

WHEN the maid, that possesses my heart,

Was content at my mansion to stay,

Rapid Time was in haste to depart,

And the moments fled laughing away.

But now, since I see her not near,

And to seek her is not in my power,

Every day is as long as a year,
Every moment as slow as an hour.