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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
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,
And love when they should fight, — when such as
Of her magnificent and awful cause ?
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.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke;
As the loud blasts that tear thy skies
Serve but to root thy native oak.
Rule Britannia ! etc.
Will but arouse thy generous flame,
Rule Britannia ! etc.
To thee belongs the rural reign ;
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.
Rule Britannia ! etc.
The Muses, still with Freedom found,
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.
| 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
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 !"
In each saying, “This shall be my land" ;
We'd show 'em some play for the island.
We'd fight for our right to the island ;
The Genius of our clime
From his pine-embattled steep
While the Tritons of the deep
Then let the world combine, -
O'er the main our naval line
Like the Milky Way shall shine
Bright in fame!
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,
O'er untravelled seas to roam,
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !
And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame
Which no tyranny can tame
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,
From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast;
While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,
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.
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace !
The elder dames, thy haughty peers,
Admire and hate thy blooming years ;
With words of shame
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
For on thy cheeks the glow is spread
That tints thy morning hills with red ;
Thy step, the wild deer's rustling feet
Within thy woods are not more fleet ;
Thy hopeful eye
Is bright as thine own sunny sky.
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 generous men
In woodland homes,
Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
There's freedom at thy gates, and rest
Power, at thy bounds,
And, as they fleet,
And light up a smile on the aspect of woe.
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
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."
SONG OF MARION'S MEN.
COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise,
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 !
A strange and sudden fear;
They grasp their arms in vain,
Are beat to earth again ;
A mighty host behind,
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.
As if a hunt were up,
To crown the soldier's cup.
That in the pine-top grieves,
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 — and away
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.
With kindliest welcoming,
And tears like those of spring.
And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore.
STAND! the ground's your own, my braves !
Hope ye mercy still ?
Ask it, — ye who will.
Fear ye foes who kill for hire ?
And, before you, see
Let their welcome be !
In the God of battles trust!
Be consigned so well,
THE OLD CONTINENTALS.
In their ragged regimentals
Of the isles,
ner of the rampant
Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll
of the drummer,
Then with eyes to the front all,
Stood our sires ;
Blazed the fires;
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.