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My mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign

A queen there to sway without measure ; Then come, o'er its wishes and homage to reign,

And make it an empire of pleasure. Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd,

That rebelled at stern reason and duty, Returning-shall yield all their loyalty proud

To the Halcyon dominion of beauty.

THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION.

OH! leave this barren spot to me,
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.
Though shrub or flow'ret never grow,
My wan unwanning shade below,
Nor fruits of autumn blossom born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn,
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
The ambrosial treasures of the hive,
Yet leave this little spot to me,
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree,
Thrice twenty summers I have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude;
Since childhood in my rustling bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour,
Since youthful lovers in my

shade Their vows of truth and rapture paid,

And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long forgotten name.
Oh, by the vows of gentle sound
First breathed upon this sacred ground,
By all that Love bath whispered here,
Or beauty heard with ravished ear,
As Love's own altar honour me,
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen’tree.

HOHENLINDEN.

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neighed,

To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder rivin,
Then rushed the steed to battle driv’n,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,

Far flashed the red artillery. And redder yet those fires shall glow, On Linden's hills of blood stained snow, And darker yet shall be the flow

of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,

Shout mid their sulph’rous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave !
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry!
Ah! few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet
And
every

turf beneath their feet,
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

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Ye Mariners of England!
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
T'he battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

II. The spirits of your

fathers Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean

was
their

grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

III. Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow v; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy teinpests blow.

IV.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors !
Our
song

and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

GLENARA.

O HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail !
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier.
Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud:
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around:
They marched all in silence—they looked on the ground.
In silence they reached over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;

Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn: Why speak ye no word!”-said Glenara the stern. " And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?" So spake the rude chieftain :-no answer is made, But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed. “I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathsul and loud: “ And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Genara ! now read me my dream!” 0! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: - I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem ; Glenara ! Glenara! now read me my dream !"

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