Pledge to the memory of her parted worth! And be it deemed not wrong that name to give, In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh' Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal, Rose on the flames of victory to Heav'n! How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn Peace to the mighty dead!—our bosom thanks Dear symbol wild! on freedom's hills it grows, Joy to the band* this day on Egypt's coast Joy for the day on red Vimeria's strand, First of Britannia's hosts her Highland band Gave but the death shot once, and foremost closed! *The 42d Regiment. Is there a son of generous England here Or fervid Erin?-he with us shall join, that in eternal union dear, Το pray The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine! Types of a race who shall the invader scorn, LINES, WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE. Ar the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, On the wind shaken weeds that embosom the bower, All ruined and wild is their roofless abode, Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all That remains in this desolate heart! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright, Be hushed, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain, Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain PATRIOTIC STANZAS, Composed and recited at a meeting of North Britons, in London, on Monday, the 8th of August, 1803. OUR bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife, And our oath is recorded on high, To prevail in the Cause that is dearer than life, Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right-hand, "Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust. God bless the green Isle of the brave! Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust, In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide, Shall a Frenchman insult a loved fair at our side? Shall tyrants enslave us, my countrymen ?—No- CAROLINE. PART I. I'LL bid my hyacinth to blow, There, all his wild-wood scents to bring, Delight my rustling canopy. Come to my close and clustering bower, L With all thy rural echoes come, Where'er thy morning breath has played, For sure from some enchanted isle, Where Heav'n and love their sabbath hold, From some green Eden of the deep, 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. 3 |