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Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust, It would raise the old dead from their grave.
Then rise, &c.
In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide,
Profaning its loves and its charms ? Shall a Frenchman insult a loved fair at our side ? To arms—0 my Country, to arms !
Then rise, &c. Shall tyrants enslave us, my countrymen ?-No
Their heads to the sword shall be given; Let a death-bed repentance await the proud foe And his blood be an offering to Heaven !
Then rise, &c.
I'll bid my hyacinth to blow,
I'll teach my grotto green to be;
The holly bower and myrtle tree.
There, all his wild-wood scents to bring,
The sweet South Wind shall wander by ;
Delight my rustling canopy.
Thou spirit of a milder clime!
With all thy rural echoes, come,
Sweet coprade of the rosy day, Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
Or cuckoo's plaintive roundelay. Where'er thy morning breath has played,
Whatever isles of ocean fanned, Come to my blossom woven shade,
Thou wandering wind of fairy land ! For sure from some enchanted isle,
Where Heav'n and love their sabbath bold, Where pure and happy spirits smile,
Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould: From some green Eden of the deep,
Where pleasure's sigh alone is heaved, Where tears of rapture lovers weep,
Endeared, undoubting, undcceived;
From some sweet paradise afar,
Thy music wanders, distant, lost; Where nature lights her leading star,
And love is never, never crossed.
Oh! gentle gale of Eden bowers,
If back thy rosy feet should roam, To revel with the cloudless hours,
In nature's more propitious home
Name to thy loved Elysian groves,
That o’er enchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves,
And let the name be Caroline.
CAR O L I N E.
Companion of retiring day,
Beloved star, dost thou delay?
When soft the tear of twilight flows, So due thy plighted step returns,
To chambers brighter than the rose; To peace, toʻpleasure, and to love
So kind a star thou seem'st to be, Sure some enamoured orb above
Descends and burns to meet with thee, Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
When all unbeavenly passions fly; Chased by the soul subduing power
Of love's delicious witchery. Oh! sacred to the fall of day,
Queen of propitious stars, appear! And early rise, and long delay,
When Caroline herself is here Shine on her chosen green resort,
Where trees the sunward summit crown; And wanton flowers, that well may court
An angel's feet to tread them down. Shine on her sweetly scented road,
Thou star of evening's purple dome! That lead'st the nightingale abroad,
And guid’st the pilgrim to his home.
Shine, where my charmer's sweeter breath
Embalms thy soft exhaling dew; Where dying winds a sigh bequeath
To kiss her cheek of rosy hue. Where, winnowed by the gentle air,
Her silken tresses darkly flow, And fall upon her brows so fair,
Like shadows on the mountain snow. Thus, ever thus, at day's decline
In converse sweet to wander far, Oh! bring with thee my Caroline,
And thou shalt be my ruling star!
MEMORY OF BURNS.
Soul of the Poet! wheresoe'er
Her wings of immortality;
The gladness of our jubilee.
Exorcised by his memory;
And high delicious revelry.
And Loye's own strain to him was giv'n
With Pythian words unšought, unwilled,
Who that has melted o'er his lay
But pictured sees in fancy strong,
their mutual love,-
Nor skilled one flame alone to fan-
What patriot pride he taught !-how much
Grow beautiful beneath his touch.
Him in his clay-built cot* the muse
Of fairy-light and wizard gloom,
And martial shades from glory's tomb.
On Bannock field what thoughts arouse
Beat not his Caledonian veins,
And all their scorn of death and chains ?
* Burns was born in a Clay cottage, which his father had built with his own hands.