YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

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 tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirit of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
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 flood below, -
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests 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.
CAMPBELL.

In both from age to age, thou didst. rejoice,

They were thy chosen music, Liberty!

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee

Thou foughtst against him, but hast vainly striven;

Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven,

Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.

Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:

Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left;

For, high-souled maid, what sorrow would it be

That mountain floods should thunder as before,

And ocean bellow from his rocky shore,

And neither awful voice be heard by thee!

WORDSWORTH.

SONNET.

ALAS! what boots the long, laborious quest

Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill;

Or pains abstruse, to elevate the will,

And lead us on to that transcendent

rest

Where every passion shall the sway

attest

Of Reason, seated on her sovereign hill?

What is it but a vain and curious

skill,

If sapient Germany must lie depressed

Beneath the brutal sword? Her haughty schools

Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say,

A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,

Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought

More for mankind at this unhappy

day,

Than all the pride of intellect and thought.

WORDSWORTH.

THERE was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gathered then

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men:

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it? - No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street:

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

But, hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more,

As if the clouds its echo would repeat,

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! arm! it is- it is the cannon's opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain: he did hear

That sound the first amidst the festival,

And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear;

And when they smiled because he deemed it near,

His heart more truly knew that peal too well

Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,

And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago,

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;

And there were sudden partings, such as press

The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs

Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,

Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure,

No drum-beat from the wall, No morning gun from the black forts' embrasure,

Awaken with their call!

No more, surveying with an eye impartial

The long line of the coast, Shall the gaunt figure of the old fieldmarshal

Be seen upon his post!

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior,

In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer,

The rampart wall has scaled!

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper,

The dark and silent room; And, as he entered, darker grew, and deeper

The silence and the gloom.

He did not pause to parley, or dissemble,

But smote the warden hoarAh! what a blow! that made all England tremble

And groan from shore to shore.

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited,

The sun rose bright o'erhead, Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated

That a great man was dead!
LONGFELLOW.

THE LOST LEADER.

I.

JUST for a handful of silver he left

us;

Just for a ribbon to stick in his

coat;

Found the one gift of which fortune

bereft us,

Lost all the others she lets us

devote.

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,

We shall march prospering, -not through his presence;

Songs may inspirit us, not from
his lyre;
Deeds will be done - while he boasts
his quiescence,

Still bidding crouch whom the
rest bade aspire.

Blot out his name, then, - record
one lost soul more,

One task more declined, one more foot-path untrod,

One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!

Life's night begins; let him never come back to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain,

Forced praise on

our part, the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again!

Best fight on well, for we taught him, strike gallantly,

Aim at our heart ere we pierce

through his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in Heaven, the first by the throne!

ROBERT BROWNING.

GRENVILLE MELLEN.

INDIANS.