The GOD OF ARMIES can alone secure

The Warrior's fortune, and make vengeance sure;
Aud who can tell th' OMNIPOTENT's decree
Or dare exclaim-"This shall or shall not be?"
Who knows but Heaven the Corsican design'd
Its potent instrument to scourge mankind?
And with surround'ng state the war to wage,
The stern chastiser of a sinking age?
The soul, where Honor's genuine feelings glow,
Would scorn to steal a conquest from a foe;
And would regard success as a disgrace,
Whate'er the intention, if the means are base.
Yet must the brave, howe'er they hate the theme,
With care avoid a contrary extreme.

Blind to the future, men too rashly dare
Neglect to guard against the coming war;

The proud contempt with which they danger view,
Makes conquest easy even to a few.

Natives of Britain's warlike Isle arise;
Exalt your flag imperial to the skies !
In well-ray'd cohorts seize the pointed lance,
And hurl defiance to the power of France.
No common cause now wages to the strife,
The prize is Honor-Liberty-and Life!
Freedom and Bondage now before us stand,
The last a stranger to the English land;
Then while in Gallia's view the patriot host
Undaunted stand, to guard their sea-girt coast,

Loud let the shout thro' heaven's wide concave ring

"OUR GOD! OUR GOD! OUR COUNTRY! AND OUR KING !"

Morning Post.

G. BUTTLER.

THE DEVOTED AND VICTORIOUS BRITISH SOLDIER.

BY MR. COURTENAY, M. P.

TO battle let despots compel the poor slave,

His country for him has no charms,

But the voice of fair Freedom is heard by the brave,
And calls her own Britons to arms.

Our Country, and King, may triumphantly rest
Encircled by Loyalty's bands,

For the spirit of Liberty glows in each breast,

And her sword shall ne'er drop froin our hands.

In

In the bright race of glory Britannia still runs,
And her foes shall shrink back in despair ;
What nation in valour can rival her arms,

Or vie with the charms of her fair.

How glorious to fall in youth's early bloom,
For Britain life's joys to resign;

The voice of loud fame will be heard in each tomb,
And our names be enroll'd in her shrine.

Raise the song to the heroes of Freedom's proud isle,
While in strains of exultance we tell,

How the soldier's lov'd chief, by the blood-streaming Nile,
Triumphantly conquer'd and fell.

Then, Britons, strike home-to the French on our shore,
Their Invincible standard display ;

By MotRA array'd, on their vain legions pour,
And rival fain'd Aboukir's day.

While proudly the banners of victory wave,
The Soldier exultingly dies,

The trophies of glory shine over his grave,
And his spirit ascends to the skies.

DEFIANCE TO THE CORSICAN.

TO subdue the Armadas of FRANCE and of SPAIN,
NEPTUNE gave us his Trident, as Lords of the Main;
Bade our Cannon's dread thunder, in loud peals to roll,
From the banks of the THAMES to the furthermost pole;
Then enroll, my brave lads! to chastise them, prepare,
And the CORSICAN TYRANT may come, if he dare!

Though by slaughter or threats, from.the ELBE to the Po,
With his iron and gold, he has silenced each foe;
Both his gold and his iron he soon shall see broke
By the all-conqu'ring force, of our firm HEARTS of OAK.
Then arouse, my brave lads! their destruction prepare,
And the CORSICAN TYRANT may come, if he dare!

Not content with the blood, which in EUROPE he shed,
Still he hop'd to advance, where the NILE hides his head,
But ABOUKIR and ACRE beheld his dismay----

When defeated, he fled, and his fleet was our prey ;

Then let NELSON, and SIDNEY new triumphs prepare,

And the CORSICAN TYRANT may come, if he dare!

Yet

Yet against us, he vaunts, his base myriads to bring,
Who oey an Usurper, who murder' their King;

Impious wretches! in terror, who kiss the vile rod-

BUT We fight for our Laws, for our King, and our GOD!
Let us all then, united, for battle prepare,

And the CORSICAN TYRANT may come, if he dare!

From their coasts, by the winds, should our navy be tossed,
And, in spite of our tars, should the Channel be crossed:
FRENCHMEN never our dear native land shall explore:-
IF NOT SUNK IN THE SEA, THEY SHALL DIE ON OUR SHORE!
See! already we march, and to crush them prepare;

Let the CORSICAN TYRANT then come, if he dare!

Of our wives, and our daughters, protecting the charms;
And our country defending, our cry is-" To arms!”

TO BLASPHEMERS AND SLAVES, BRITONS never will yield,
FOR RELIGION'S OUR BULWARK, AND FREEDOM OUR SHIELD!

OUR INVINCIBLE BANNER then wave high in air,

And the CORSICAN TYRANT may come, if he dare!

As a COMET descends, that has blazed from afar

While he scatters around desolation, and war:

So this merciless Despot, who makes the earth groan,

Let her wake from her trance, shall be hurled from his throne.
Wake then, Earth! at our call-rise, our glory to share,
And the CORSICAN TYRANT o'erwhelm with despair!

VOL. I.

PATRIOTIC SONG.

TUNE, The Prince and Old England for ever.

THE day, Fellow Soldiers, is nearly at hand,
On which is suspended your own,

And the fate of your happy, your dear native land,
Your Freedom, Religion, and Throne.

In defence of your ISLE, let each sinew be strung,
Our banners terrific unfurl'd;

That isle, the just pride of an Englishman's tongue,

The envy and praise of the world.

Then sound, sound the trumpet, your standards advance,
Loud, loud let the drum beat to honour;

Our ranks shall dismay the proud legions of France,
And hurl Briton's thunder upon her.

The eyes of all Europe are fix'd upon you,
They your noble atchievements await,
By Heav'n deputed its foes to subdue,
And Tyranny hurl from its seat;

The base violation of virtue and truth,
Of national faith to chastise,

And wreak on its authors the blood of our youth,
And widows and fatherless cries.

Cemented by Nature's, Humanity's call,

Avaunt each political feud,

Let private opinion, let personal gall,
Dissolve in the general good.

Thus greatly united, the insolent foe

Shall tumble if Britons but nod,
And the Corsican Atheist shudder t' know
The being, the vengeance of GOD.

Untarnish'd that Fame, which our ancestors bought,
And deathless bequeath'd unto their's,

Inspir'd by the shades of the heroes that fought
And bled-we'll transmit to our heirs:

To latest posterity shall it descend;
The laurels the father had won,
Unfaded, encircling, unconscious to bend,
Round the patriot brow of the Son.

Oh Gods!-what a theme for the rest of his life,
By fond recollection beguil'd,

Who, loaded with honours, returns to his wife,
And tells the proud tale to his child.

Fill, fill to the brim, hark the wide welkin rings,
With rapturous peals of applause-

Here's the kindest of Fathers, the mildest of Kings,
Our Church, Independence and Laws.

May happy he reign, till the sand of his glass
Exhausted by nature shall cease;

Then find in the pray'rs of his subjects a pass

To Honour, to Glory, and Peace.

Then

Then sound, sound the trumpet, your standards advance,

Loud, loud let the drum beat to honour;

Our ranks shall dismay the proud legions of France,
And hurl Briton's thunder upon her.

SONG, BY EDWARD WILMOT, ESQ.

Tune-"Hearts of Oak."

COME cheer up my lads, 'tis our Country that calls,
And bids us repel the proud foe from her walls:

Our stake is our liberty, laws, and our lives,

And ourselves are the shield of our children and wives.
That shield o'er our wives and our children we throw,
And now we are ready,

Steady, boys, steady!

Our Country to save, and repel the proud foe.

They come to invade with the sword and the brand,
Το
ravage and ravish the pride of our land;

But each son of the isles a sure bulwark shall prove
In defence of a wife, or a child, or a love:

In defence of the call to the field we will go,
Where all will be ready, &c.

Of times far remote should their memory fail,
Let Cressy and Agincourt tell the proud tale,
How Briton's out-number'd, disdaining to yield,

Mow'd the ranks of the French like the grass of the field!
Like the grass of the field then the French we will mow,
And always be ready, &c.

Be it ours then to teach these all-insolent slaves,

How the lads of the isles, and the sons of the waves,

United shall guard hallow'd Liberty's coast

From tyranny's yoke and republican boast!

From the yoke and the boast we our freedom will show,
And always be ready, &c.

Be theirs the abhorr'd atheistical sword,

And murder, rape, rapine, or plunder the word;

But ours be the boast, that no Briton but draws

In defence of the Faith, and the King, and the Laws!
In defence of those names we with confidence go,

And will always be ready, &c.
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