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SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed | How, in the name of soldiership and sense, shall career,

Should England prosper, when such things, as
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shallsteer, smooth
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt, And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er
Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance unfelt ! | With odors, and as profligate as sweet,

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,
Gather, gather, gather, etc.

And love when they should fight, — when such as

these
Presume to lay their hand upon the ark

Of her magnificent and awful cause ?
ENGLAND.

Time was when it was praise and boast enough

In every clime, and travel where we might, I TRAVELLED among unknown men

That we were born her children. Praise enough In lands beyond the sea ;

To fill the ambition of a private man, Nor, England ! did I know till then

That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, What love I bore to thee.

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.

WILLIAM COWPER.

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FROM

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
MY COUNTRY.

More dreadful from each foreign stroke;

As the loud blasts that tear thy skies
THE TIMEPIECE."

Serve but to root thy native oak.
ENGLAND, with all thy faults, I love thee still, -

Rule Britannia ! etc.
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found, Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy All their attempts to hurl thee down
clime

Will but arouse thy generous flame,
Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed And work their woe -- - but thy renown.
With dripping rains, or withered by a frost,

Rule Britannia ! etc.
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer France

To thee belongs the rural reign ;
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers.

All thine shall be the subject main, To shake thy senate, and from height sublime

And every shore encircle thine.
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire

Rule Britannia ! etc.
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task :
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake

The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart

Shall to thy happy coast repair ; As any thunderer there. And I can feel

Blest Isle ! with matchless beauty crowned, Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain

And manly hearts to guard the fair. Frown at effeminates whose very looks

Rule Britannia ! etc. Reflect dishonor on the land I love.

JAMES THOMSON,

THE ENGLISHMAN.

| Julius Cæsar, the Roman, who yielded to no

man, THERE's a land that bears a world-known name, Came by water, — he couldn't come by land ; Though it is but a little spot ;

And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turned I say 't is first on the scroll of fame,

their backs on, And who shall aver it is not?

And all for the sake of our island. Of the deathless ones who shine and live

O, what a snug little island ! In arms, in arts, or song,

They 'd all have a touch at the island ! The brightest the whole wide world can give

Some were shot dead, some of them fled, To that little land belong.

And some stayed to live on the island. 'T is the star of earth, deny it who can, The island home of an Englishman.

Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Nor

man, There 's a flag that waves o'er every sea,

Cried, “Drat it, I never liked my land. No matter when or where ;

It would be much more handy to leave this And to treat that flag as aught but the free

Normandy, Is more than the strongest dare.

And live on your beautiful island." For the lion spirits that tread the deck

Says he, “'T is a snug little island ; Have carried the palm of the brave;

Sha' n't us go visit the island ?” And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck, Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump, But never float over a slave.

And he kicked up a dust in the island. Its honor is stainless, deny it who can, And this is the flag of an Englishman.

But party deceit helped the Normans to beat ;

Of traitors they managed to buy land ; There 's a heart that leaps with burning glow By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne'er had been The wronged and the weak to defend ;

licked, And strikes as soon for a trampled foe

Had they stuck to the king of their island. As it does for a soul-bound friend.

Poor Harold, the king of our island ! It nurtures a deep and honest love,

He lost both his life and his island. The passions of faith and pride,

That's all very true: what more could ho And yearns with the fondness of a dove

do? For the light of its own fireside.

Like a Briton he died for his island ! 'T is a rich rough gem, deny it who can, And this is the heart of an Englishman. The Spanish armada set out to invade a,

'T will sure, if they ever come nigh land. The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone, They could n't do less than tuck up Queen Bess, And boldly claim his right;

And take their full swing on the island. For he calls such a vast domain his own

O the poor queen of the island ! That the sun never sets on his might.

The Dons came to plunder the island ; Let the haughty stranger seek to know

But snug in her hive the queen was alive, The place of his home and birth,

And “buzz” was the word of the island. And a flush will pour from cheek to brow While he tells his native earth.

These proud puffed-up cakes thought to make For a glorious charter, deny it who can,

ducks and drakes Is breathed in the words “I'm an Englishman." Of our wealth ; but they hardly could spy land,

When our Drake had the luck to make their

pride duck

And stoop to the lads of the island ! THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND.

The good wooden walls of the island ;

Devil or Don, let them come on; DADDY NEPTUNE, one day, to Freedom did say,

And see how they 'd come off the island ! If ever I lived upon dry land, The spot I should hit on would be little Britain ! Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept Says Freedom, “Why, that's my own island !"

time,
0, it 's a snug little island !

In each saying, “This shall be my land" ;
A right little, tight little island ! Should the Army of England,” or all it could
Search the globe round, none can be found

bring, land,
So happy as this little island.

We'd show 'em some play for the island.

ELIZA COOK.

THOMAS DIBDIN.

FROM

We'd fight for our right to the island ;

The Genius of our clime
We'd give them enough of the island ;

From his pine-embattled steep
Invaders should just bite once at the dust, Shall hail the guest sublime ;
But not a bit more of the island.

While the Tritons of the deep
With their conchs the kindred league shall pro-

claim.

Then let the world combine, -
THE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN.

O'er the main our naval line

Like the Milky Way shall shine
THE MYRTLE AND THE VINE."

Bright in fame!
SINCE our foes to invade us have long been pre-
paring,

Though ages long have past

Since our Fathers left their home, 'T is clear they consider we've something worth

Their pilot in the blast,
sharing,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,
And for that mean to visit our shore ;
It behooves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !

And shall we not proclaim
And though 't will be nothing uncommon to

That blood of honest fame
beat 'em,
We must try how they 'll take it once more :

Which no tyranny can tame
So fill, fill yourglasses, be this the toast given,

By its chains ? Here's England forever, the land, boys, we live

While the language free and bold in !

Which the Bard of Avon sung, Sofill, till your glasses, be this the toast given,

In which our Milton told Here's England forever, huzza !

How the vault of heaven rung Here's a health to our tars on the wide ocean

When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; ranging,

While this, with reverence meet,

Ten thousand echoes greet,
Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchang-

From rock to rock repeat
ing,
We'll on shipboard and join in the fight;

Round our coast;
And when with the foe we are firmly engaging,
Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,

While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul,
On our country we 'll think with delight.

Still cling around our hearts,
So fill, fill your glasses, etc.

Between let Ocean roll, On that throne where once Alfred in glory was Our joint communion breaking with the Sun :

Yet still from either beach seated, Long, long may our king by his people be greeted;

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech, 0, to guard him we 'll be of one mind !

“We are One." May religion, law, order, be strictly defended,

WASHINGTON ALLSTON. And continue the blessings they first were in.

tended,
In union the nation to bind !
So fill, fill your glasses, etc.

AMERICA.
O MOTHER of a mighty race,

Yet lovely in thy youthful grace !
AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

The elder dames, thy haughty peers,

Admire and hate thy blooming years ;
All hail ! thou noble land,

With words of shame
Our Fathers' native soil !

And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
0, stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore !

That tints thy morning hills with red ;
For thou with magic might

Thy step, the wild deer's rustling feet
Canst reach to where the light

Within thy woods are not more fleet ;
Of Phoebus travels bright

Thy hopeful eye
The world o'er !

Is bright as thine own sunny sky.

ANONYMOUS.

Ay, let them rail, those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart

Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe.

A world is thy realm ; for a world be thy laws, Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; On Freedom's broad basis that empire shall rise, Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.

They know not, in their hate and pride,
What virtues with thy children bide,
How true, how good, thy graceful maids
Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades ;

What generous men
Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen;
What cordial welcomes greet the guest
By thy lone rivers of the west ;
How faith is kept, and truth revered,
And man is loved, and God is feared,

In woodland homes,
And where the ocean border foams.

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east see thy morn hide the beams of herstar,
New bards and new sages unrivalled shall soar
To fame unextinguished when time is no more ;
To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed,
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind;
Here gratefulto heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring.
Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And genius and beauty in harmony blend ;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ;
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined,
And virtue's bright image, enstamped on the mind,
With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to

glow,

There's freedom at thy gates, and rest
For earth's down-trodden and opprest,
A shelter for the hunted head,
For the starved laborer toil and bread.

Power, at thy bounds,
Stops, and calls back his baffled hounds.
O fair young mother ! on thy brow
Shall sit a nobler grace than now.
Deep in the brightness of thy skies,
The thronging years in glory rise,

And, as they fleet,
Drop strength and riches at thy feet.

And light up a smile on the aspect of woe.
Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display,
The nations admire, and the ocean obey ;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the east and the south yield their spices and

gold. As the dayspring unbounded thy splendor shall

flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow, While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the

world.

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Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'er

spread, From war's dread confusion, I pensively strayed, The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired ; The winds ceased to murmur, the thunders

expired; Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along, And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung: “Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies."

COLUMBIA.

TIMOTHY DWIGHT.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and child of the skies !
Thy genius commands thee ; with rapture behold,
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold.
Thy reign is the last and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime;
Let thecrimes of the east ne'erencrimson thy name,
Be freedom and science and virtue thy fame.

Our band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea ;

To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire ; Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire ; Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.

We know its walls of thorny vines,

Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands

Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery

That little dread us near !
On them shall light at midnight

A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,

They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us

Are beat to earth again ;
And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil ; We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads, The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb

Across the moonlight plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind

That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp —

A moment — and away
Back to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,

Grave men with hoary hairs ; Their hearts are all with Marion,

For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band

With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,

And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,

And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton

Forever from our shore.

WARREN'S ADDRESS.

STAND! the ground's your own, my braves !
Will ye give it up to slaves ?
Will ye look for greener graves ?

Hope ye mercy still ?
What's the mercy despots feel ?
Hear it in that battle-peal !
Read it on yon bristling steel !

Ask it, — ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire ?
Will ye to your homes retire ?
Look behind you ! – they're afire !

And, before you, see
Who have done it! From the vale
On they come ! — and will ye quail ?
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be !

In the God of battles trust!
Die we may, — and die we must :
But, 0, where can dust to dust

Be consigned so well,
As where heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head,
Of his deeds to tell ?

JOHN PIERPONT,

THE OLD CONTINENTALS.

In their ragged regimentals
Stood the old continentals,

Yielding not,
When the grenadiers were lungeing,
And like hail fell the plunging

Cannon-shot ;
When the files

Of the isles,
From the smokynight encampment, bore the ban.

ner of the rampant

Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll

of the drummer,
Through the morni

Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,

Stood our sires ;
And the balls whistled deadly,
And in streams flashing redly

Blazed the fires;
As the roar
On the shore,

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

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