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"My lips that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast.

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,

The eclipse of Nature spreads my And the stormy winds do blow.

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The majesty of darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

"This spirit shall return to Him
Who gave its heavenly spark:
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robbed the grave of Victory, -
And took the sting from Death!

“Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste-
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his Immortality,

Or shake his trust in God!”

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

A NAVAL ODE.

YE Mariners of England!
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved a thousand

years,

The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow:
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

And ocean was their grave;

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
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 winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

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.

HOW DELICIOUS IS THE WIN-
NING.

How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!

Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.

Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays, when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when pressed and

bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odor to the lily,

For the deck it was their field of fame, Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,

Then bind Love to last for ever!

Love's a fire that needs renewal

Of fresh beauty for its fuel;

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,

Love's wing moults when caged and Adown the glen rode armed men,

captured,

Only free, he soars enraptured.

Can you keep the bee from ranging,
Or the ring-dove's neck from chang-
ing?

No! nor fettered Love from dying
In the knot there's no untying.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter,

"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,

Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,

When, oh! too strong for human
hand,

The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore;
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm
and shade,

His child he did discover;
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-O my daughter!"

My blood would stain the heather. 'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?"

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief- I'm ready,
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:

"And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

the shore,

Return or aid preventing:-
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

FIELD FLOWERS.

YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,

Yet, wildings of Nature, I dote upon

you,

For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,

Like treasures of silver and gold.

I love you for lulling me back into dreams

Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams,

And of birchen glades breathing their balm,

While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote,

And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note

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.

Made music that sweetened the Then shook the hills with thunder calm.

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And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God.

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang,
On earth delivered from the deep,
And the first poet sang.

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam: Theme of primeval prophecy,

Be still the prophet's theme!

The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshened
fields

The snowy mushroom springs.

How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower and town,
Or mirrored in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down!

As fresh in yon horizon dark,

As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam.

For, faithful to its sacred page,

Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.

THE RIVER OF LIFE.

THE more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages:
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.

The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.

But as the careworn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man.
Why seem your courses quicker?

When joys have lost their bloom and breath,

And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid ?

It may be strange- yet who would change

Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone

And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnitying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportioned to their sweetness.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

OF Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly
shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand;

And the prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
"Hearts of oak!" our captain cried,
when each gun

From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.

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